The clock struck half past ten. Besides the ticking of the hands, another sound echoed through the silent room. It was the commentator’s voice, once again predicting victory for the opposing team.

She knew it was pointless to watch till the very end, yet she stayed where she was, lying hopelessly on the sofa, her right hand beneath her head and the TV remote in her left hand, adjusting the volume every few minutes.

Just a few more overs left and then the match would be over, and so would her suffering… probably.

“They’re going to lose again. You should just go to bed instead of wasting your time on this,” came her elder brother’s voice as he passed by the dimly lit lounge, occasionally teasing his little sister for her patience.

“Yeah, I’m leaving,” she said at last, rising from her place and leaving the remote behind. She slowly climbed the stairs to her room. As she moved towards her bed, her phone buzzed. She clicked the screen. It was a text message: short, but heavy: “We lost again!”

It was her friend, who, despite swearing a thousand times to quit watching, had probably seen every over and was now suffering from another heartbreak. But it didn’t matter anymore. Not after so many defeats.

After trying for nearly 20 minutes, she still couldn’t sleep. Slowly, she got up and walked to her study table. Inside one of the drawers lay a brown leather diary. She took it out and began to write:

“We lost again. Three times in a row, and all in the same month! But this time it was the final. Yesterday I thought, what if we win? What if we finally beat India in a final and lift the trophy as champions? But sadly, it remained just a thought, as always.

I don’t know who to blame — the bowlers, our poor fielding, the collapse of the batting line-up, or maybe the selection committee? Or perhaps myself, for supporting them again and again, despite being heartbroken a hundred times. And what do we, the PCT (Pakistan Cricket Team) fans, get in return? Another loss, another failure, another heartbreak, sprinkled with the jokes of Indian fans.

Every time I think, ‘This is the worst. How can we lose from such a strong position?’ yet somehow, we do. Every time I promise myself to boycott the next match, but I still end up watching, only to face another disastrous heartbreak.

Now, it’s become a routine for me. I go through this so often that now I don’t even feel or express anything. The truth is, I don’t care anymore. And I won’t be watching the next match.”

She closed the diary firmly, but as she was putting it back, a picture slipped out — an old newspaper clipping. It showed the Pakistani cricket team posing for a selfie — Afridi holding the camera, everyone smiling wholeheartedly. In the top right corner was a small inscription: 24 Oct 2021 — Pak vs Ind — 152/0.

Hurriedly, she opened her diary again and turned to the pages from 2021. There were photos, cutouts from newspapers and magazines. Babar and Kohli shaking hands after the match. Rizwan running between the stumps. Shaheen celebrating the wicket of KL Rahul.

“He is on absolute fire! They cannot play him!” She would never forget the commentator shouting those words.

That moment, that World Cup, it was nostalgic. Every single person in Pakistan had been celebrating the next day. They were happy, truly happy. It was beautiful. Even though Pakistan had lost the semi-final, that World Cup still held a special place in her heart. It was the last time all PCT fans had felt that way.

Going through the mem­ories she had carefully preserved in her diary, she realised that winning isn’t always about lifting the trophy. Sometimes, it’s about fighting, surviving till the very end. It doesn’t matter whether you lose or win, what matters is that you tried.

Published in Dawn, Young World, November 15th, 2025