Step. Step. Step. 

One foot in front of the other. On each step, a little acceleration. Crossing the 26 yards in a blink, he had focused all the momentum he had gathered into the 5.6 ounce 'kookaburra' held between his thumb and two forefingers of his right hand. Both of his dark blue eyes focusing on the stump at the far right, the leg stump of a right-hand batsman. Adjusting the seam between his fingers, Ishan Sharma let go of the ball, his hand almost pointing directly…

Scribble! Scribble! Scribble! 

The graphite pencil shaded in the sketch of a couple cuddling their newborn; different shades of grey clouding the white A4, the shadowy colour making the picture lack luster, contradictory of its cheerful concept. Despite being a natural artist, he failed to let the smiles reach into the eyes.

The eyes! Jet black, deep and empty. Those were the eyes which were looking at the picture. Bent over the tea-table in the lounge area of his room,…

One dream-girl, with bright lights in her eyes...

One Rich heir who never heard the word 'no'...

One abandoned player, who who lives by no laws...

One striving sportsman searching the destiny which lost him his family...

Four extraordinary people, young of blood, kind at heart, strong of will, but rash at actions...living in their own worlds, following isolated paths to their own goals...when the paths cross, the worlds shall crash...into a complex bonds…

Click! Flash! Flash!

Shreya twisted herself ever so gently, adjusting herself into a new pose, as the white light blinded her again. Her flowing red gown reached the bottom step of the white staircase despite her sitting five steps up. The tight satin  bodice fitted her like a glove, while the colour stood out majestically against her powdered, fair skin. "I wouldn't have worn it anywhere!" she thought,recalling her pageant lessons. "A gown that is more than two inches below the foot…