The summer holidays, which had begun with such fervent hope, dwindled into their final days. Aarav returned home to Hyderabad, the familiar comfort of his family's apartment a stark contrast to the solitary grind of the hostel nets. The academic relief was immediate, but the cricketing bottleneck he'd hit during his solo practice sessions gnawed at him. He was fitter, stronger, and more knowledgeable, but the truth was undeniable: he wasn't really bowling like Dale Steyn, not yet. He was stuck.
For two weeks, he moved through the motions of being home. He helped his mother with errands, offered Ananya unsolicited (and largely ignored) advice for her upcoming 10th standard exams, and made polite conversation with his father about current affairs. Yet, beneath the veneer of normalcy, Aarav was running a silent, subtle test. He'd casually bring up cricket, not his own aspirations, but general discussions about the sport.
"Did you see the latest news about the national team, Appa?" he'd ask during dinner, carefully observing his father's reaction. His father, ever practical, would usually offer a curt remark about the team's inconsistent performance or the commercialization of the sport. There was no real warmth, no deep interest, just a detached assessment.
His mother, ever observant, sensed his lingering preoccupation with the game. "You're still thinking about that World Cup loss, aren't you, beta?" she'd gently inquire, her voice laced with concern. He'd nod, a noncommittal hum his only reply, gauging her tone. It was sympathetic, but still carried an underlying current of worry, a subtle reminder of the uncertainty that surrounded anything outside the traditional academic path.
Ananya, buried in her textbooks or glued to her phone, was oblivious to his internal struggle. She'd occasionally glance up if the conversation turned heated about a particular match, offering a quick, "Oh, wasn't that the game where Kohli got out early?" before diving back into her world. Her focus was entirely on her own impending academic hurdle.
Aarav realized the timing wasn't right. The family conversations, though brief and seemingly innocuous, confirmed his suspicion: their default setting was stability, academic achievement, and a secure future. His "cricket dream," as vivid and urgent as it felt to him, would likely be perceived as a reckless distraction, an expensive folly. The thought of formal coaching, of dedicated time and money invested in something so uncertain, felt like a bridge too far for them, at least for now. He couldn't drop this bomb on them just yet. The unspoken fear of their disapproval, of adding another layer of stress to their lives, held him back.
As the two weeks drew to a close, and the day for him to return to college for his final year approached, Aarav made a quiet decision. He would keep his cricketing ambition to himself for a little longer. The bottleneck was still there, but perhaps the solution didn't lie in immediate, overt action. Perhaps it lay in a more calculated approach, a more patient game. He would return to college, resume his studies, and in the quiet moments, continue to plot his course.