The past few weeks had been relentless. The Pune IPL camp, while grueling, had finally started to bear fruit. Aarav's mornings began with stretching routines that tested every fiber of his body, followed by extended net sessions where he honed his lengths, perfected his seam position, and experimented with subtle variations. He kept meticulous notes—delivery by delivery, batsman by batsman—recording what worked and what didn't.
The intra-squad matches were the true tests. These simulated games, played with the intensity of a real IPL fixture, were where reputations were made. Aarav bowled with the focus of a man who knew the stakes, yet with a newfound calmness that surprised even him.
He remembered one match vividly. Facing the team captained by an experienced domestic all-rounder, he had bowled a tight opening spell, keeping the batsmen under pressure with a combination of good lengths and deceptive slower balls. One over, in particular, had made him feel alive in a way he hadn't for months—he executed a knuckleball he had perfected in secret, deceiving a right-hander who edged to the keeper. A small success in the practice game, yet the exhilaration it gave him felt monumental.
Yet, despite these small triumphs, doubts lingered. The team had world-class bowlers—Chahar, Zampa, Stokes, and others. Aarav was just a net bowler who just had an experience of 1 ranji season , he felt like an outsider stepping into a realm of seasoned pros. He had learned to celebrate incremental victories: a sharp fielding save, a single batsman bowled out, or even just executing a plan without panic. Each success was quietly noted in his mental ledger.
Then came the final intra-squad match, a high-intensity game designed to finalize the playing XI. Aarav bowled a steady 4-over spell, conceding just 22 runs, but more importantly, he made the senior players work for every run. He got feedback from Dhoni on small tweaks—adjusting wrist angle, watching the batsman's trigger foot, and subtly altering the seam position. The feedback was invaluable, and Aarav absorbed it eagerly, nodding silently as he adjusted his next spell.
After the match, as the squad gathered, Coach announced that the official team list for the April 6 match against Mumbai was ready. Aarav's heart pounded. He had expected to remain in the shadows of the net, observing, learning, growing, but the announcement changed everything.
His name was in the XI.
Shock, disbelief, and a flood of conflicting emotions surged through him. Deepak Chahar, the talented young bowler whose friendship Aarav had quietly treasured, had a last-minute health issue and was unable to play. Aarav would be taking his place.
He sat on the edge of his chair, staring at the list. A small part of him ached for Chahar—he knew the disappointment his friend must have felt. But another, louder part, whispered that this was his chance. The chance he had worked tirelessly for, the moment he had dreamed about since the first time he held a red cricket ball in college.
He texted Chahar immediately:"All the best, get well soon. I'll do my best out there, for both of us."
No reply came immediately, but Aarav didn't care. His emotions were a complex mix of humility, excitement, and quiet determination. He knew that every over, every delivery, every slip catch would count. This wasn't just another game—it was his first opportunity to prove to himself, the team, and the selectors that he belonged here.
That night, Aarav lay awake, revisiting every training session, every piece of advice, every late-night conversation with Kavitha that had given him unexpected mental strength. He reminded himself that cricket was as much a test of the mind as the body. He visualized the pitch in Nagpur, the feel of the ball, the stance of an opener like Mumbai's, the rhythm he needed to maintain over his spell.
By the time he drifted into sleep, he had made a quiet vow:I will bowl with intent. I will leave everything on the field. I will play my first IPL game not just as a replacement, but as a bowler ready to seize every opportunity.
The next morning, walking out of the team hotel and onto the practice pitch for the warm-up, the sun on his face felt different. Not heavier, not brighter, but like a signal—a herald of something new, something real. Every muscle remembered the past months of preparation, every memory of his struggles and triumphs converged into one singular thought: this was his moment.
Aarav adjusted his cap, inhaled the early morning air, and whispered to himself:"Time to show what I'm made of."
And with that, the journey toward April 6 began in earnest—the day his IPL dreams would step off the practice nets and onto the stadium turf.