The morning sun had barely touched the snowy peaks when Aarav set out on the trek. His guide had said it was a "moderate climb," though for someone who had bowled close to fifty overs in a single match a few weeks ago, his legs still ached at the thought of an uphill walk. But he didn't mind. This was why he'd come to Manali — to breathe fresh mountain air, to let his body recover, and to give his mind something new to focus on.
Half an hour into the trail, as the path narrowed into a rocky slope, Aarav heard a familiar voice behind him.
"Careful, there's loose gravel there!"
He turned, surprised. Kavitha, in a dark-blue trekking jacket, a cap pulled low over her forehead, was climbing with a small group of friends. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold, and she looked every bit as startled as he was to see him again.
"You again," she said, laughing slightly as she caught her breath.
"Guess Manali really is a small place," Aarav replied, smiling. "Or maybe we're just following the same guidebook."
Her friends moved ahead, chatting among themselves, leaving Kavitha and Aarav to fall into step together. The mountain air was crisp, the scent of pine thick around them, and the crunch of their shoes on the trail filled the quiet stretches.
"So, long season, huh?" she said after a while. "What do you actually do back in Hyderabad?"
Aarav hesitated for just a beat. On one hand, he liked being anonymous here. On the other, he felt it wasn't fair to keep dodging the truth. Finally, he decided to be honest.
"I play cricket," he said simply.
She tilted her head, her brow furrowing. "Like… college cricket? Or club matches?"
"Professional," Aarav clarified, watching her reaction carefully. "I just finished my first Ranji season with Hyderabad."
Kavitha stopped walking for a moment, blinking at him. "Wait—Ranji? As in Ranji Trophy? That level?"
He nodded. "That level."
Her mouth fell open slightly before she let out a small laugh of disbelief. "This is unreal. I mean, I've read about cricketers in the newspaper, seen them on TV. But I've never actually met one. Not in my family, not in my circle of friends. It's always been this… distant world."
Aarav chuckled. "Most people think it's glamorous. But trust me, it's a lot more sweat, sunburn, and sore muscles than anything else."
She looked at him differently now, as though she were trying to reconcile the quiet, modest guy walking beside her with the image of a professional athlete under stadium lights. "So when you said 'long season,' you weren't joking. No wonder you came here to escape."
"Exactly," he said, grateful that she understood without him having to explain further. "I was close to burning out. Needed to step away before cricket swallowed me whole."
They resumed walking, the path now curving around a ridge that offered a breathtaking view of the valley below. Kavitha paused to take a photo, then glanced at him with a smile.
"You know, Aarav-from-Hyderabad, I think this is the first time I'll go back from a trip with a story no one in my hostel will believe. 'I met a Ranji cricketer on a trek in Manali.' They'll laugh at me."
Aarav laughed too, the sound echoing faintly in the open air. "Well, at least it makes a good story."
As they climbed higher, their conversation flowed more easily — about her MBBS studies, his struggles with fitness and form, their families back home, even their favorite foods. With every step, Aarav felt lighter, as if the weight of cricket was slowly slipping from his shoulders, replaced by something more grounding, more real.
For the first time in months, he wasn't thinking of wickets or fitness drills. He was just Aarav, walking beside Kavitha, the mountains stretching endlessly around them.
And somehow, that felt like the most important match he'd ever played.