ZAIN
The Queen's Club Stadium buzzed with electrifying energy, packed to the brim with spectators. For tennis lovers, it was nothing less than a paradise.
Tickets for the match had sold out within minutes...many of Zain Farooq's diehard fans had even resorted to buying them in black, determined not to miss the chance to see their idol.
Though Zain had lost his last three matches, the crowd's loyalty never wavered. They roared his name with unshakable passion, waving banners painted with his face and slogans of encouragement. Their cheers echoed across the stands, a wave of hope urging him to rise again.
Today's match, the fourth of the championship, was decisive. A loss would send Zain out of the Queen Mary Championship. Yet, his fans weren't just yearning for his victory as an athlete; they wanted to see their hero smile again.
Everyone could see it in his eyes....the lingering agony of losing his parents. And so, the entire stadium seemed united in one voice, willing him not just to win, but to heal.
Zain sat alone in his vanity, dressed in a crisp white shirt and shorts, his racket resting loosely in his hand. He looked exhausted...drained not just by the game, but by life itself.
Faith in himself, in everything, seemed to be slipping away. He knew today's match would decide his future at Wimbledon. Yet, despite the weight pressing down on him, he was ready to risk everything.
Reaching for his phone on the side table, he pressed a familiar number on speed dial.
"Mr. Alam... how is Mom?" His voice trembled with desperation.
"She's fine, don't worry," Mr. Alam replied gently. "Focus on your match. We're here to take care of her."
But they both knew the truth. His mother's condition hadn't changed. She was alive, yet lifeless... showing no signs of improvement.
"Mr. Alam... please, bring her on camera. Just once."
The screen shifted, and there she was, ..his mother. His everything. One glance at her frail, still form, and his eyes filled with tears.
"Ma," his voice cracked, heavy with sobs and yearning.
"Please... come back. I need you. You were never this stubborn. Stop it now ... it's enough. We're both tired, exhausted, empty. We need each other, Mom."
Even Mr. Alam's hands trembled as he held the phone, moved by the young man's pain.
"Today is my fourth match," Zain continued, his words spilling like a confession.
"I've already lost three. If I lose today, I'll be out of the championship. You know how hard Baba worked for this... he sacrificed everything, preparing me for this very moment."
He paused, then whispered a desperate bargain.
"Okay, let's make a deal. If you take even one step toward me, I'll take one step toward success. I'll fight my way back. So please, Mom....if you want me to win, show me your love. Because if I lose today... I'll lose myself forever."
Just then, the alarm buzzed, reminding him it was time to leave. "Mom..." he whispered, "time is running out...."
Before he could finish, Mr. Alam suddenly cried out with joy.
"Zain! She moved! Her hand... she responded!"
The camera zoomed in on her frail hand, trembling, but alive. She had heard him. She had answered her son's call, because she was his mother, and she had never let him down.
Zain wiped his tears and, for the first time in weeks, managed a smile. That day, he walked onto the court with new fire in his heart. And from that moment on, he never looked back. He won every match of the tournament, and the day finally came when his father's dream came true .... Zain lifted the championship trophy high above his head.
Soon, Zain Farooq became an unstoppable force. His almond-shaped eyes and jet-black straight hair were gifts from his Malaysian mother, while his darker complexion and powerful build came from his father. Once a cheerful and lively boy, he was now known for his sharp, arrogant edge.... an attitude that only made his fan base grow.
Ranked 14th in the world, still competing under the LTA, Zain Farooq had become more than just a player. He had become a legend in the making.
KIRT
Ming and Kirt spent three years together in the same agency. As a team, they worked in perfect sync, earning the supervisor's praise and even a raise in their pay. Yet, despite the time and closeness, Ming remained an enigma to Kirt.
Ming was deeply introverted. His conversations with Kirt never strayed beyond work ... short, precise, and distant. Most of the time, he buried himself in tasks, head lowered, shoulders drawn. He couldn't even bring himself to eat in front of others, not even Kirt.
At first, Kirt felt relieved. Ming's aloofness meant he wasn't a threat to him ... or to the only place he found rest, his sofa. But as time passed, that same indifference began to gnaw at him, turning relief into irritation.
Time slipped by, yet Ming remained unchanged ... silent, withdrawn, and mysterious. Kirt noticed he behaved the same way with everyone.
There was something strangely elusive about him. Every Sunday morning, without fail, Ming would ask for leave and vanish without a trace. Kirt knew he had no home to return to, yet the distance between them kept him from prying. Still, the enigma lingered, weighing heavier on his curiosity with each passing week.
Meanwhile, the boys silently crossed the threshold of puberty together. Kirt's body changed first. His face now required shaving, and the sharp line of his Adam's apple lent him a maturity that made him look older than sixteen. His appearance no longer went unnoticed .... he often caught the female staff and crew sneaking glances his way.
"He began spending less on cigarettes and more on himself, investing in clothes, hitting the gym to build his body, and adding accessories that enhanced his already striking features. With a handsome face and an unexpectedly sharp fashion sense, he carried himself with a quiet confidence that made him all the more intimidating."
And yet, what captivated people most wasn't his appearance. It was his voice ... deep, husky, and unmistakably masculine, a tone impossible to ignore. By sixteen, Kirt had gained a presence that commanded attention, whether he wanted it or not.
"One day during his shift, Kirt realized Ming was nowhere to be seen. At first, he thought of looking for him, but his attention quickly shifted to a girl across the room. Her lingering glances, the way she toyed with her hair, and the faint curve of a smile made her intentions obvious.
Kirt never encouraged girls to build hopes around him, yet he secretly basked in their attention ... it was the kind of focus he had always longed for. Still, the scars of a few dark childhood experiences made him wary of intimacy, leaving him afraid to step into the very relationships..
Finding Kirt's attention, the girl gained confidence and approached him. After a few minutes of conversation, Kirt's mind drifted back to Ming. It was strange ... Ming had never been irresponsible before. He excused himself, deciding to search for him. No matter how aloof they had been with each other, they had still spent years working side by side.
As Kirt stepped out of the studio, he heard a familiar voice coming from the supervisor's office. Ming was pleading for something, but the supervisor was refusing. Kirt couldn't help himself; he moved toward the office and pushed the door open. Both Ming and the supervisor froze, their eyes locking on Kirt in surprise at his sudden entrance.