The score was a chaotic blur, the required run rate a mocking siren. As the fifth wicket fell, a gasp went through the crowd, and a palpable wave of resignation swept through the dugout. The game was surely lost. But instead of the usual number 9 or 10 batsman, a surprising call came from Coach Reddy, cutting through the despair like a sharp incision. "Aarav! Pad up!"
Aarav's head snapped up. He wasn't going in at his usual lower-order position. Because of his improved defensive batting and his demonstrated ability to soak up pressure, Coach Reddy was making a desperate gamble, sending him in at number 7, ahead of other specialist tailenders. It was a recognition that they needed someone, anyone, to just stay there.
He grabbed his bat, the familiar weight a comfort in his hand. The memories of Dhoni and Jadeja, fighting alone against an inevitable tide in 2015, flooded his mind. He recalled the helplessness, the lack of support. Not today, he vowed. Not this time. He might not be able to win them the match, but he would not be another easy out. He would not let his teammates fight alone.
As he walked to the crease, the hostile cheers of the opposition seemed to wash over him without impact. His mind, honed by months of mental practice, was an island of calm amidst the storm. He didn't look at the scoreboard, didn't think about the impossible target. His world shrank to the pitch, the bowler, and the ball.
The first delivery was a full, fast inswinger. Aarav's eyes tracked it, his head moving directly over the line, and he brought his bat down dead straight, presenting a perfect defensive block. The ball thudded against the bat, then harmlessly rolled to the offside. Dot ball. He heard a surprised murmur from the fielding side.
He faced the next few deliveries with the same quiet determination. He left anything wide, defended anything on the stumps, his footwork precise, his hands soft. He didn't try to score boundaries. Instead, his focus was solely on protecting his wicket and, when the opportunity arose, rotating the strike. He nudged a ball into the leg side for a quick single, then calmly worked another into the covers to get his more aggressive partner, a young all-rounder named Rohan, back on strike.
His presence, a quiet defiance in the face of inevitable defeat, had a subtle but profound effect. Rohan, seeing Aarav's unflappable resolve, seemed to gain confidence. He started finding boundaries, knowing he had a partner who wouldn't just throw his wicket away. The scoreboard, which had been stagnant, began to tick over again, however slowly.
Aarav wasn't hitting towering sixes or cracking glorious drives. His contribution was measured in dot balls absorbed, singles cleverly taken, and overs calmly seen through. He provided a steadfast anchor, frustrating the opposition bowlers who expected easy wickets. Each ball he defended, each single he took, was a tiny act of rebellion against the script of collapse. He was proving that even in a losing cause, a batsman could make a statement through sheer grit and unwavering composure. The ghost of 2015 was still present, but this time, the lower order had found its unyielding stand. Aarav Reddy was fighting.