Raghava Rao was not the kind of man who liked being wrong.
For weeks after the trials, he told himself that Arjun Verma had been just another skinny kid with borrowed pads and no footwork. But something nagged at him—not the boy's batting, but the absence of it.
Children who failed usually failed loudly. They swung too hard, panicked, cried. Arjun hadn't done any of that. He had walked off as if getting out was a planned inconvenience.
So when the inter-school league began, Rao made a quiet decision.
He would watch.
Arjun's school was weak. Poor facilities, mismatched jerseys, no proper nets. Rao expected to confirm his earlier judgment and move on.
Instead, he found himself leaning forward.
Arjun batted at number five. The team was three down early. Chaos. Panic. Parents shouting instructions from the boundary like stock traders on a bad day.
Arjun took guard.
First ball: he left it.
Cleanly. Confidently.
Rao frowned.
Second ball: short. Arjun ducked late, eyes never leaving the bowler.
That's timing, Rao thought. Too good for this level.
Arjun scored slowly. Too slowly. Singles where doubles were possible. Defensive pushes when gaps were open.
Rao felt irritation rise.
Why is he holding back?
Then the moment came.
The opposition brought on their best bowler early, hoping to break the partnership. Rao knew the boy—quick arm, sharp outswing.
First ball: Arjun didn't move his feet.
The ball kissed the edge and flew—low, fast—past slip, crashing into the fence.
It wasn't a big shot.
It was a perfect one.
Rao's pen froze mid-air.
That edge wasn't luck. The bat angle was deliberate. The head was still. The hands were soft.
Arjun didn't celebrate. He simply reset his stance.
For the rest of the innings, he returned to mediocrity. Finished with 28. Not out. Team lost anyway.
Parents complained. Teachers sighed.
Rao stayed behind.
When Arjun walked past, Rao called out casually, "Boy. You ever get coaching?"
Arjun looked up, face open, innocent. "No sir."
Rao studied him closely. "You want to?"
Arjun hesitated—just a second too long.
Enough for Rao to notice.
"Yes, sir," Arjun said.
That night, Arjun lay awake longer than usual.
He had miscalculated.
Someone had looked twice.