The air in the hostel room was thick with the scent of anxiety and stale coffee. It was Saturday, and the campus was already buzzing with the low hum of anticipation for the practice match. For most, it was a warm-up for the tournament. For Aarav, it was an audition, a battlefield where his secret ambition would either take flight or be grounded.
He had barely slept. The previous nights had been a whirlwind of frantic study sessions to keep Professor Sharma's promise, followed by hours spent in his "mental net." He'd seen every delivery, every defensive block, every single-rotation, played out in his mind countless times. The anger from the World Cup loss still simmered, but it was now a controlled burn, channeled into a fierce, almost monastic calm.
He forced himself through his morning routine: a quick, cold shower to jolt his senses awake, a light, protein-rich breakfast he'd prepped the night before. His cricket gear, meticulously laid out, seemed to hum with silent energy. The worn, old ball from his summer practices sat beside his new, polished college team ball – a tangible symbol of his journey from isolation to this moment.
As he walked towards the college ground, the morning sun already beginning to beat down, he could hear the distant thwack of bat on ball, the excited shouts of players. The grandstands, usually empty, had a smattering of early spectators, eager for a taste of competitive cricket.
He met his teammates in the changing room. The atmosphere was a mix of nervous energy and competitive banter. Vijay, nursing his hamstring, offered a sympathetic nod, a silent acknowledgment of the pressure Aarav was under. Raghav gave him a confident slap on the back. "Remember those chai sessions, mate? This is where it begins."
Aarav just nodded, his gaze fixed, his mind already on the pitch. He felt a peculiar blend of fear and exhilaration. His engineering books felt a million miles away. His family's worries were distant echoes. All that mattered now was the strip of green, the sound of leather on willow, and the chance to prove that a late start didn't mean a lost cause.
He walked out onto the field with the team, the green expanse of the outfield stretching before him. The sun was brighter now, the noise louder. Coach Reddy stood by the boundary, his arms crossed, his gaze sharp and assessing. Aarav took a deep breath, the scent of freshly cut grass filling his lungs. This was it. The culmination of months of hidden work, of borrowed inspiration, and of a relentless, burning desire. The game was about to begin.