‘There must be a catch somewhere, Saba . . . ’

‘Well, check out her website then. See for yourself if you don’t believe me—even though I am the only person in the world who really supports your dream of meeting Jhulan Goswami on the pitch one day; apart from your Daada and Daadi of course . . . and maybe Zain. Perhaps Mudassar Chacha . . . ’ rambled Saba, getting sidetracked as always.

‘Of course, I believe you, Saba—it’s just that nothing like this ever happens to me . . . ’

‘Nothing like this has ever happened to you yet . . . ’ Saba interjected.

Inaya rose, all charged up. If this were true, things really were looking up. ‘Saba Hussaini. You are the best friend that any girl could ask for,’ Inaya declared.

‘Tell me something I don’t already know!’ grinned Saba. ‘So, the trials are next month. And there is practice happening every night until then.’

‘How will I get away so much, Saba? Abba would never let me,’ moaned Inaya, her happy bubble popping at the thought of her father’s reaction.

‘Well, Ramzan starts soon, so you can say that you’re with me—and then, between Tarawih prayers and sehri, you can go and practise for a bit. I know some parks where tape-ball is being arranged with floodlights and all,’ said Saba with quiet authority.

Inaya beamed, floodlit from within. ‘What would I do without you, Saba?’

‘Hmm. That is a very good question. One day, when I’m sitting in the pavilion at Lord’s Cricket Ground in London watching you walk out to bat for Pakistan, I will tell the world that Inaya Haider would be nothing if it wasn’t for me.’

Both girls burst out laughing.

‘Okay, I’ve got to go now,’ said Saba. ‘Ammi is taking me to choose my new lehengas for Mahira’s wedding.’

‘Already? Isn’t the wedding six months away?’

‘Yes, but you know Ammi and her obsession with advance planning. Anyway, see you tomorrow at school.’

‘Sure,’ said Inaya. ‘And Saba . . . ’

‘Yes?’

‘Thank you,’ said Inaya.

‘You’re most welcome, my dear,’ said Saba, mimicking a British accent. ‘I know you’re headed to London, so you can save all this formality for the Brits, okay?’

Inaya smiled as she hung up. Then she jumped to her feet and reached for her laptop to google Nabeel Said.

‘Nabeel’s Kitchen’ came up as expected, but what caught Inaya’s attention was a website called ‘Tapeball4All’. She eagerly clicked on the link. The first thing she spotted was the flashing ticker running across the screen: ‘Calling all girls aged between 14 and 16 for trials for the Tapeball4All League Tournament for Under-16s. Selected players will be flown out to London for the tournament.’

A thrill leapt into Inaya’s heart. She bounced up and down on the bed, then jumped off and did a little jig—interrupted midway by a peremptory knock on her bedroom door. Inaya quickly kicked the poster of Jhulan Goswami under her bed, shut her laptop cover and opened the door to find her father standing there.