The night at the Wankhede was alive — the lights gleaming like a thousand suns, the crowd roaring in a rhythm only cricket could compose. Aarav stood at mid-on, his eyes fixed on the pitch, trying to absorb everything — the noise, the pressure, the thrill. The scoreboard read 82 for 4 after 11 overs. The Mumbai Indians' fortress was trembling, but not fallen yet. And standing tall at the crease were two giants — Rohit Sharma and Kieron Pollard.
Just a few overs ago, the momentum had turned in Pune's favor. Stokes had struck gold — Nitish Rana's wicket and giving only 1 run of the over sent waves of energy through the RPS camp. The dugout erupted when Washington Sundar outfoxed Buttler in the ninth over. Aarav could still hear the sound of the off stump cartwheeling — the crowd's cheer breaking into gasps as Parthiv's bat froze mid-swing.Moments like that stayed with you.
But T20 cricket was a beast — one that could turn on its head within a single over. Pollard's presence at the crease was like a thundercloud waiting to explode. Rohit, calm and watchful, was beginning to find his timing. The Pune players knew it — this was the storm before the calm, or maybe the storm that would destroy their calm.
Captain Smith walked up to Aarav, placing a hand on his shoulder."You're coming in next over, champ. Keep it tight. Don't give them width."
Aarav nodded, though his heartbeat was faster than the cheering crowd. His mind flashed back to the fourth over — his first of the night. Parthiv Patel had gone berserk in the previous over, but Aarav had pulled it back. The first ball, a perfect line outside off stump. Dot.The second, a short-of-length that got a top edge over the keeper for four.He remembered gritting his teeth, shaking off the frustration. Then came the third ball, his new weapon — the yorker he had been perfecting for weeks. He released it with precision, and the result was electric — Parthiv's middle stump cartwheeling, the lights glinting off it as if saluting him.
That moment… that roar from the crowd… it still buzzed in his veins.He had raised his fist, eyes closed for a split second — feeling the adrenaline surge through every nerve. Not arrogance, not relief, but something deeper — validation.
But now, as he warmed up again, twirling the ball in his fingers, he knew this over would test him far more. Pollard was capable of sending any bowler into orbit. Rohit — the master of timing — could dismantle rhythm without breaking a sweat. Aarav's palms were damp; he rubbed them against his trousers.
The commentators added to the tension:
"The youngster Aarav Reddy is coming back into the attack. He's bowled beautifully earlier tonight, got Parthiv Patel with a dream delivery, but this—this is a whole new challenge."
The crowd grew louder. Half of them were chanting for Mumbai; the other half for Pune.He took his mark, exhaled, and looked around. Rahane gave him a small nod from the slips."Stick to your plan," Rahane's voice echoed in his mind — the advice from their earlier chat."You can't control the crowd, or the situation. But you can control your next ball. That's where discipline starts."
He whispered it to himself like a mantra.
Pollard at strike.Aarav began his run-up — smooth, focused, his heartbeat syncing with each stride.This was the kind of pressure he had dreamt of, trained for.But dreams and reality rarely felt the same under the glare of the floodlights.
As he reached the crease, he felt the moment stretch — the noise fading into a hum, time slowing down. His arm came over, ball released perfectly.The camera zoomed in, Rohit watching intently from the non-striker's end, and the commentators leaned forward in their booth.
What would happen next?Would Aarav, the rookie, rise to the moment again — or would the experience of Mumbai's titans prove too much?
The ball kissed the pitch…and the world seemed to hold its breath.
Would the young bowler handle the pressure and deliver another masterstroke, or would he buckle under the weight of expectations?
The answer waited in that over — and in Aarav's heart.