The camp at Pune only got tougher as the days passed. Morning fitness drills, back-to-back net sessions, tactical meetings, then video reviews. By evening, most players dragged themselves to their hotel rooms, barely able to keep their eyes open.
Aarav was no exception. His body ached from long spells, his fingers were bruised from holding the seam for hours, and his shoulders screamed in protest each time he hurled the ball. But strangely, he never felt worn down completely. There was something—or rather, someone—that made the fatigue lighter.
Kavitha.
Every night, once the day's work ended, Aarav would sit by the window of his hotel room, phone in hand, waiting for her call. Sometimes it lasted ten minutes, sometimes it stretched to an hour. She would tell him about her classes, the dissection labs, the stress of exams, and the silly jokes her friends cracked in the hostel mess. Aarav found himself laughing in ways he hadn't in weeks.
And when he spoke, she listened—curious, fascinated. She'd never known a cricketer personally, and every detail of his training, his dressing room stories, even the way bowlers planned their lines against different batsmen, seemed new to her.
"I can't imagine bowling for twenty-five overs in a day," she said once, her voice tinged with amazement."You'd be surprised how much the body can take," Aarav chuckled. "But the real test is in the head. Once that cracks, the legs stop moving.""And what keeps your head steady?" she asked softly.Aarav paused, smiling at the ceiling. "Maybe… talking to you."
Silence hung between them for a moment before Kavitha changed the subject, but Aarav knew she'd understood.
At the camp, things were heating up. He began getting noticed—not just by the coaches, but by senior players.
Ben Stokes often pulled him aside. "Mate, you've got good bounce. Don't waste it by trying to be too full. Hit the deck, make them hurry."
Steve Smith, ever the perfectionist, had long conversations with him about reading batters' trigger movements. "See my feet? If I plant early, go shorter. If I hang back, drag me forward. Bowling is a chess game—you've got to see three moves ahead."
Even Dhoni, calm and inscrutable, observed from the sidelines. Aarav never heard him speak much, but one day after nets, Dhoni walked past, simply saying, "Good lines. Patience will reward you." That one sentence echoed in Aarav's mind for days.
Despite the intense days, Kavitha's voice at night gave him balance. When others wound down by scrolling through social media or crashing into sleep, Aarav found his sanctuary in their conversations. She never judged, never overanalyzed—she just listened. And slowly, he realized something: he didn't feel the same crushing loneliness he had felt last season.
For the first time in months, the boy who had once feared burnout felt light.
Yes, the grind was brutal. Yes, the competition was fierce. But between the crack of ball on bat in the mornings and the warmth of Kavitha's words at night, Aarav found himself standing taller.
The camp wasn't just about fitness and skill anymore—it was about learning how to carry both cricket and life together, without losing himself to either.
And for Aarav Reddy, that was perhaps the biggest victory of all.