The clock in Dilli's room blinked like a tiny, impatient heart. Tuesday—14/09/2004—was circled in his mind not as a date on a calendar but as a promise. That morning his Demat account would be activated and, in front of his father's solemn eyes, he would drop ₹1,95,000 into the first stocks of his life. It was a small, brave seed he intended to plant in plain daylight — a seed that might, one day, grow into something his family could stand tall beside. But first, he had to move the money from a place nobody suspected: his Bet365 wallet.
There was a practical rule he'd learned: transfers to digital wallets could take up to twenty-four hours. So Dilli planned like a strategist. He had already created a PayPal account — a quiet bridge between the online wins and his bank. If he wanted the funds to sit, ready and clean, by Tuesday morning, he needed to act after the Sunday night match on 12/09/2004. For the next forty-eight hours, everything he did would be an exercise in timing, nerve, and secrecy.
Saturday, 11th September, arrived like a drumroll. India vs Kenya—odds showed 1.5 for India, and Dilli saw a clear path. He placed ₹3,54,900 on India, each rupee charged with a dream. As the match unfolded and India carved out a 98-run win, the screen glowed with the new balance: ₹5,32,350 (his ₹3,54,900 stake + ₹1,77,450 winnings). Dilli felt his chest open, as if a window had been pushed aside to let fresh air in. Gratitude bubbled up — not just for the money, but for the proof that risk could meet reward when guided by courage and a careful heart.
The very next day—12th September—the second match of his calculated plan unfurled: Bangladesh vs South Africa. The odds again read 1.5 for South Africa. Trusting the momentum, Dilli placed ₹5,32,350 on South Africa. The match was merciless in its brilliance; South Africa chased down the target, losing only one wicket—winning by 9 wickets—and the Bet365 counter chimed another small miracle: ₹7,98,525 (stake + ₹2,66,175 winnings). He sat motionless for a while, the numbers reflecting on his face like starlight.
That same night, with his heart a mix of adrenaline and relief, Dilli moved. He withdrew ₹1,98,525 to his PayPal wallet — a deliberate, modest amount chosen to avoid raising questions and to look ordinary in a bank statement. Behind the surface of numbers was a quiet urgency: he initiated the transfer from PayPal to his SBI account, a slow-moving but safe stream that would, with luck and patience, be there when the Demat activation next morning. He timed every click, every confirmation, imagining his father watching from the next room, the old man's curiosity shadowed in silence.
Dilli felt like a magician who had learned not to show his tricks. He tucked the plan away beneath a mask of normalcy: small chores, polite smiles, the practiced calm of someone who keeps his triumphs private. The thrill was not only in the wins, but in the cleverness of using them for something better — to plant that ₹1,95,000 in stocks while his father watched, as if to say, silently, see — this was not luck; this is the beginning of a life I can build.
And through it all, gratitude returned like a steady chant. He pressed his palms together in the quiet of the night, whispering to the presence that had been with him in every secret prayer: "Om Namah Shivaya." Tears pricked, yes — gentle, cleansing tears — but underneath them was a new sound: a low, determined hum. The small withdrawal, the transfer, the impending Demat activation — they weren't just transactions. They were the first careful footsteps out of the life he'd known and into the life he was resolving to create.
By dawn, Dilli slept with his phone warm against his chest and his head full of plans. The wallet numbers were more than figures now; they were a map. The future, once only a whisper in his prayers, had begun to take shape in hard currency and harder resolve. He would present the invested ₹1,95,000 to his father like an offering — not out of bravado, but out of a deep, trembling pride. Tonight had been thrilling; tomorrow might be ordinary. But the ordinary tomorrow would belong to him, at last.