The Wankhede was alive in a way Aarav had only seen on television. The floodlights shone like white suns, the chants from the stands rose and fell like ocean waves, and every boundary from Jos Buttler carried the crowd's energy higher and higher.
The scoreboard glared: 41-0 after 4 overs.
Aarav stood on the boundary near third man, sweat clinging to his temples despite the night breeze from the Arabian Sea. He had dreamed of this moment for years, but in his dreams, the game was always in control, the script neat and balanced. Reality was different—ruthless, noisy, chaotic.
The plan was simple. The experienced men—Ben Stokes and Ashok Dinda—would take the new ball. Aarav, still untested at this level, was being eased into the contest. The last thing Smith or Dhoni wanted was a nervous youngster serving half-volleys in the glare of the powerplay.
But plans bend when pressure mounts.
Buttler was savage. He was reading lengths early, slicing through gaps, and even Stokes' best deliveries were disappearing to the rope. Dinda looked rattled, searching for rhythm that wouldn't come. Smith muttered under his breath at cover, pacing between deliveries, eyes darting to the scoreboard.
At 41 without loss, the Pune fielders knew they needed something different.
Smith called Tahir. The South African strode in with his characteristic swagger, arms pumping, face sharp with focus. He tossed the ball up bravely, and it paid off—Parthiv Patel missed the line of a sharp googly, and the ball kissed timber. The Wankhede roared again, but this time it wasn't all joy. A ripple of unease moved through the Mumbai fans.
From Behind the stumps, Dhoni clapped once. Not loudly, not for the cameras—just enough to let everyone know the door had cracked open.
Aarav's pulse quickened when Smith walked over after Tahir's over. The captain's eyes were steady, voice firm.
"You'll bowl the sixth," Smith said, and placed the ball in Aarav's hand.
The Kookaburra felt heavier than it had in nets, smooth and cool under his fingers. Aarav turned it over once, tracing the seam like a ritual. This was it. His debut over in the IPL.
He jogged to his mark slowly, each step measured. Around him, the world felt too big—50,000 people, cameras trained on every twitch of his body, teammates clapping him on. And yet, in the middle of all that noise, Aarav felt something strange. Calm.
The kind of calm he had felt before his Ranji debut in Nagpur. The kind of calm that comes when preparation meets opportunity.
This is not about wickets, he told himself. Not about showing off. It's about control. About one ball at a time.
He tapped the ball into his palm, took a breath, and glanced around the field. Stokes was patrolling mid-off, Dinda at fine leg. Dhoni crouched low behind the stumps, mask-like calm on his face, eyes locked on Aarav. A tiny nod from the veteran keeper was enough.
As Aarav began his run-up, the stadium's roar dulled, like a radio dialed down to static. The batsman at the crease was no longer just a name or a reputation. He was simply the man holding the bat.
One ball. One chance. The beginning of everything.
Aarav Reddy, the boy who had once bowled barefoot in college grounds under the Hyderabad sun, was about to deliver his very first ball in the IPL 2017, though he played the last season this season felt different from last time.
And he felt ready.