Just a gentle disclaimer: this chapter is in 1st person POV. So please keep that in mind while reading it
Aarav's POV
Two days. That's all the gap the schedule allowed before the next clash on April 8th. And in the unforgiving cycle of the IPL, two days felt like a blink. I could still hear the echoes of the stadium, still replay my first-ball wicket, still feel the sting of the edges that flew for boundaries. But celebration was over. I had my notebook, my data, my body, and the nets.
I opened the match analysis sheet on the team's tablet. The analyst had broken down everything. My economy: 7.5 runs per over. Dot-ball percentage: 32%. Variations attempted: slower length ball, 2 times (both picked early). Strike rate against left-handers: 1 wicket in 8 balls. Good, but not complete. Death overs? Not yet tested. That last part gnawed at me — I didn't want to just be "safe" in the middle. I wanted to be trusted when the game was on fire.
In my notebook, I drew two columns:
Weapons I Have:– Back-of-a-length seamers– Full deliveries angling in– Occasional slower ball (but too obvious)
Weapons I Need:– Disguised slower ball– Yorker consistency (at least 6/10 under pressure)– Short ball variation with follow-up (setups, not surprises)
The nets that evening weren't just about bowling overs. They were about experimenting with edges sharp enough to carry into a game. I set a simple rule: don't bring anything into a match until it feels like muscle memory here.
Ben Stokes joined me midway. He had that calm swagger, carrying himself like someone who had seen every high and low the game could throw. He watched a couple of my slower balls, smirked, and said, "Mate, you're telling the batsman what's coming."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Your wrist drops. Your shoulder angle changes. A smart batter like Rohit or Kohli — they'll read it a mile away." He stepped closer, taking the ball from me. "Look at this." He rolled the ball out of his hand in three ways — one the regular seam-up, one the off-cutter, one the back-of-the-hand slower ball. From ten feet away, it all looked the same. "The key isn't the ball. It's your body. Same load-up, same action, then let the fingers do the talking."
I spent the next half hour just shadow-bowling, recording myself on the iPad. Watching in slow motion, I could see it: the tiniest dip of the shoulder, the slowing of my wrist. Stokes stood behind me, correcting, nudging. "Quicker run-up. Commit to it. Don't signal it."
Then came yorkers. I set up six plastic bottles on the popping crease, my "targets." Out of 18 balls, I hit the base four times, got close another five. Not bad, but not game-ready. Stokes clapped after one perfect toe-crusher. "That, Aarav, that's your weapon at the death. Build it. Ten out of ten before you bring it out in a match."
Sweat poured down my face. My calves burned. But inside, there was a strange calm. I wasn't chasing magic anymore. I was building tools, one by one, ready to pull out when the moment demanded.
The next morning, nets again. This time, it was Ajinkya Rahane watching. He wasn't loud like Stokes; his presence was quiet, precise, almost surgical. I bowled a couple of overs at him, keeping my line on off-stump. He defended, left, nudged. After one over, he walked up, bat under his arm.
"You know what makes a good bowler tough to face, Aarav?" he asked softly.
I shook my head.
"It's not just the ball. It's the story you tell across six deliveries." He crouched, miming a defensive shot. "If you bowl three good length balls, my brain starts saying, 'Okay, this is safe.' That's when the surprise hurts the most — the bouncer, the yorker, even a slower ball. But if you keep changing too much, you give me patterns to pick."
He pointed at my run-up mark. "Your strength is discipline. Don't forget that. Variations are weapons, yes, but the shield is your line and length. Build the wall first, then choose when to break it."
That hit me differently than Stokes's advice. One had shown me the tricks. The other reminded me of the foundation.
Walking back from the nets, notebook in hand, I scribbled my closing thought for the day:
You don't become a bowler teams fear by chance. You become it by sharpening edges until even the smallest cut bleeds runs from the opposition. Two days. Sharpen harder. Build the wall. Then choose when to break it.