Chapter 81 :

Meanwhile, in a small tea stall in Bangalore, the match played on an old television screen, the grainy image barely keeping up with the tension in the air. A crowd had gathered—students, office workers, auto drivers, families—everyone united in one moment.

The camera cut to Advay standing still, his eyes closed, looking at the sky.

A hush fell over the stall. Everyone knew what he was thinking.

The 2019 IPL final.

The same team. The same six runs needed off the last ball.

They remembered how he had fallen short, how he had walked off with his head down, how the city had mourned with him.

Some people closed their eyes and prayed, unable to watch.

Some clenched their fists, their jaws tight, their hearts pounding.

One man whispered, "Not this time."

In a bar in Bangalore, the usual chaos was nowhere to be seen.

No music. No dancing. No cheering.

Every single person—drunk or sober, young or old—was glued to the TV screen.

On the screen, Advay Rai stood motionless at the crease, eyes closed, looking up at the sky.

Some people had tears in their eyes, remembering the pain of 2019. The same team. The same final ball. The same six runs needed.

Others clenched their fists, muttering under their breath.

"He'll do it."

"This time, he will hit the six."

Someone in the back whispered, voice shaking, "Come on, Advay."

A bartender, frozen with a glass in his hand, exhaled. "Finish it, brother."

And as the bowler took his mark again, Bangalore held its breath.

In the VIP stands, the wives and girlfriends of the players sat frozen, watching the moment unfold.

No one said a word.

Some had their hands clasped together, silently praying.

Ananya sat among them, tears streaming down her face. She didn't wipe them away—she couldn't. Her eyes never left Advay.

The camera zoomed in on him, standing at the crease, every muscle in his body tense, every breath measured.

The entire stadium, the entire world, the entire city of Bangalore rested on his shoulders.

Advay took a deep breath and walked back to his mark, his fingers tightening around the handle of his bat. His eyes locked onto the bowler, his body still, but his mind razor-sharp.

The umpire gestured to the bowler to run in again. The stadium held its breath.

The bowler charged in, sprinting towards the crease. The ball left his hand—a full delivery, right in the slot.

Advay took a step forward, planted his front foot, and swung with everything he had.

CRACK!

The ball exploded off his bat, soaring high into the night sky.

Harsha Bhogle: "HE'S GOT ALL OF IT!"

Danny Morrison: "IT'S GONE, IT'S GONE, IT'S OUT OF THE STADIUM!!!"

The entire RCB dugout ERUPTED. Players screamed, jumped over the boundary rope, sprinting onto the field.

Advay threw away his bat and ripped off his helmet, letting out a roar as he ran.

Virat Kohli was the first to reach him, crashing into him with a hug, lifting him off the ground.

The rest of the team piled on, mobbing him, screaming in pure ecstasy.

The stadium shook, fireworks lit up the sky, and the city of Bangalore had its moment of glory.

Across Bangalore, pure madness unfolded.

In homes, families screamed, hugging each other, some falling to their knees in disbelief. Parents lifted their kids in the air, voices hoarse from shouting.

In bars, people threw their drinks in the air, tables shook, glasses shattered, but no one cared. Strangers hugged, some pounded the counters, chanting "RCB! RCB!" at the top of their lungs.

At tea stalls, auto drivers and students held their heads in their hands, tears in their eyes, while others jumped and danced in the streets.

In restaurants, chairs were overturned as people stood on tables, screaming Advay's name, celebrating like never before.

Bangalore had waited for years.

Back at the stadium, the emotions were overwhelming.

Almost every RCB player was in tears, the weight of years of heartbreak, near-misses, and unfulfilled dreams finally lifted.

Advay Rai stood in the middle of it all, eyes glistening, his chest rising and falling as he tried to steady his breath. He had done it—they had done it.

Virat Kohli, tears rolling down his face, pulled Advay into a tight hug. "We finally did it, man," he whispered, voice thick with emotion.

Chahal collapsed onto the ground, sobbing, pounding the turf in disbelief.

AB de Villiers, usually composed, wiped his eyes, shaking his head in admiration.

Chris Morris and Washington Sundar had their jerseys pulled up over their faces, wiping away tears.

Even the support staff, who had been with the team through years of heartbreak, were crying on the sidelines.

For years, RCB had suffered. For years, they had waited.

The cameras captured everything—every raw emotion, every tear, every moment that would go down in history.

Virat Kohli, eyes red, arms wrapped around Advay Rai, shaking with emotion.

Chahal, sobbing into the turf, pounding the ground as if he still couldn't believe it.

AB de Villiers, head tilted back, wiping his eyes, smiling through the tears.

Harsha Bhogle: "Take a look at this. Just look at this. This is what this means to them. This is not just a trophy—this is years of pain, of heartbreak, washed away in one moment."

Danny Morrison: "OH, THE TEARS! THE EMOTION! ROYAL CHALLENGERS BANGALORE HAVE LIVED THROUGH SO MUCH HEARTBREAK—AND NOW, THEY HAVE CONQUERED IT ALL!"

The camera panned to Advay, standing in the center, tears rolling down his face, still holding onto Virat. His eyes were red, his breath unsteady.

Simon Doull: "And there's the man who did it. The man who stood tall. The man who, when all seemed lost, pulled off the impossible."

The screen flashed the words that every RCB fan had waited years to see.

"ROYAL CHALLENGERS BANGALORE – IPL 2020 CHAMPIONS."

A moment frozen in time. A moment that would never be forgotten.

As the celebrations erupted, the wives and girlfriends of the players came running onto the field, emotions spilling over.

Ananya sprinted straight to Advay, throwing her arms around him, holding him tightly.

Her breath hitched as she felt him still trembling, his heartbeat racing. She cupped his face, wiping away the tears rolling down his cheeks.

"You did it," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Advay exhaled sharply, his arms tightening around her.

She smiled through her own tears, resting her forehead against his. "No more pain. No more heartbreak."

He nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. "We finally did it."

As Ananya moved away to congratulate the other players, Advay took a deep breath and turned toward Anushka Sharma, who was standing near the sidelines, tears of joy still in her eyes.

He walked up to her, his heartbeat steady but his mind racing. This was the moment.

Anushka noticed him approaching and immediately knew what he wanted. Her lips curled into a knowing smile.

"You're really doing this now, aren't you?" she asked, eyes twinkling.

Advay smirked. "I made a promise."

Without another word, Anushka reached into her bag and pulled out the ring box. She placed it in his hand, squeezing his wrist lightly.

"Go get her," she whispered.

Advay nodded, his fingers tightening around the box. This was it.

As Advay walked toward Ananya, his heart pounded—not with nerves, but with the weight of this moment.

Anushka, smiling knowingly, stepped up behind Ananya and gently placed her hands over her eyes.

Ananya laughed, confused. "Anushka, what are you—?"

"Just trust me," Anushka whispered.

Meanwhile, Advay knelt down on one knee, flipping open the ring box.

The cameras zoomed in, capturing the entire scene.

Anushka finally let go.

Ananya blinked, adjusting to the sudden light—and then froze.

Right in front of her, Advay knelt, ring in hand, eyes locked onto hers.

The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath.