England training camps weren't loud.
That surprised most people.
Zayn noticed it the moment he walked through the gates at Loughborough. No music. No hype banners. No cameras. Just nets, fitness stations, and quiet conversations spoken in the clipped shorthand of professionals who already knew the stakes.
This wasn't about impressing anyone.
It was about not being exposed.
The group was split across formats without being labelled as such. No one said red-ball block or white-ball unit, but the drills told the story. Slip catching on one square. Power-hitting on another. Seamers rotating through controlled spells under the watch of multiple coaches.
Zayn was placed… everywhere
Morning: red-ball net. New Dukes. Fresh surface. He left for twenty minutes straight. Not demonstrative. Not flashy. Just correct.
One coach made a note.
Afternoon: white-ball scenario work. Twelve balls left. Two wickets in hand. Required rate climbing.
Zayn finished unbeaten. Not with a six, but with three twos and a late cut that split point and third man.
The analyst beside the net murmured, "He manages risk."
The system logged it.
[England Camp Evaluation: Multi-Format Utility]
[Decision-Making Under Pressure: High]
Bowling came last.
He wasn't the fastest there. He knew that. There were lads touching ninety regularly, backs held together with tape and bravado. Zayn didn't chase that.
He bowled in spells of four overs. Seam upright. Wrist firm.
The ball did just enough.
One of the batters — established, capped — edged him twice in succession. The second flew low to slip.
Caught.
No celebration.
The camp ran for four days. By the end, patterns formed. Some players gravitated together, swapping stories of tours and dressing rooms Zayn hadn't seen yet.
He didn't force his way in.
He didn't need to.
On the final afternoon, the head coach called him aside.
"Where do you see yourself?" he asked, neutral tone.
Zayn didn't answer immediately.
"Useful," he said eventually. "In more than one way."
The coach smiled faintly.
"That's not a wrong answer."
No promises followed. No timelines. Just a nod and a handshake.
Zayn understood. England didn't hand out futures. They offered windows.
Back at Lancashire, the Championship resumed. Different tempo. Different demands.
The pitch at Scarborough was green but drying. Overhead conditions teased swing without committing to it.
Zayn was in early.
He survived a sharp first spell, beaten more than once. No runs for the first fifteen balls.
Then he adjusted. Opened his stance slightly. Let the ball come deeper.
Runs followed — slowly at first, then freely.
A hundred looked likely.
He fell on ninety-six.
Inside edge. Onto pad. Looping catch.
The dressing room was quiet when he walked in. He removed his gloves methodically, sat, and drank water.
No outburst. No disbelief.
[Emotional Regulation: Stable]
Lancashire still won. Someone else made the hundred. Zayn bowled eighteen overs across two innings. Two wickets. Economy below three.
Reliable.
That word followed him now.
Not exciting. Not headline-friendly.
But reliable got picked when conditions turned hostile.
That night, Lauren messaged again.
Camp done?
Yeah.
How did it feel?
Zayn considered the question longer than usual.
Like they were seeing how much space I take up.
And?
I don't waste it.
She sent back a single word.
Good.
Zayn lay back on the bed, phone face down on his chest. Outside, Scarborough wind rattled the window.
The system updated once more.
[England Selection Probability: Conditional]
[Role Projection: All-Format Squad Player]
He exhaled slowly.
Conditional was fine.
Nothing about his career had ever been unconditional.
He would make them choose him the hard way.
Again.
End of Chapter 7
Author's Comment
Chapter 7 shifts Zayn from being noticed to being assessed. England is no longer a distant goal but an active environment testing his adaptability, temperament, and usefulness. The narrative resists glamour, reinforcing that long-term international careers are built on trust before brilliance.
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