The wicket of Rohan, caught so agonizingly close to the boundary, sucked the last vestiges of hope out of the dugout. 25 needed from 12 balls, with the last recognized batsman gone. Aarav stood in the middle, the lone fighter, facing an impossible equation with only the true tailenders for company. He felt the familiar ache in his gut, the raw despair that had gripped him watching India crumble in 2015.
But this time, the despair sparked something different. A fierce, almost reckless defiance. The initial plan of quiet defense, of providing an anchor, had served its purpose. Rohan's brave hitting had brought them closer than anyone expected. Now, with the field spread and the target still distant, defense was no longer an option. There was nothing left to lose.
Aarav looked at the new batsman walking to the crease, a nervous fresher who could barely hold a bat. This is it, he thought, a grim smile touching his lips. This is where I either make a statement, or I go down swinging. The memory of Dhoni, fighting a lone battle, fueled him. India's lower order had crumbled that day, offering no resistance, no support. But Aarav wouldn't yield. Not here. Not now.
The opposition captain, sensing victory, brought back his fastest bowler, hoping to finish the game quickly. Aarav took guard, his bat held high, no longer thinking about rotation, but about impact. He wouldn't be content with just soaking up pressure. He would take the risk.
The first ball of the 18th over was full and fast, aimed at the stumps. Aarav stepped out, cleared his front leg, and swung with everything he had. The ball connected with the sweet spot of the bat, a satisfying thwack that echoed across the ground. It soared, flat and true, over the long-on boundary for a magnificent six.
A gasp from the crowd, followed by a sudden, stunned silence from the opposition. Aarav watched the ball land, a raw, primal roar escaping his lips. He had done it. He had taken the risk.
The next ball was a bouncer, delivered in anger. Aarav swayed out of the way, calmly, almost dismissively. He knew what he had to do. The field would be in, looking for a single. He wouldn't give it.
Third ball: a slightly slower delivery, trying to deceive him. Aarav was ready. He waited, then whipped his wrists, pulling it powerfully through mid-wicket. It raced to the boundary for four.
The dugout was on its feet, shouting, cheering, a wave of incredulous hope washing over them. 15 needed off 9 balls. Aarav felt a surge of exhilaration. He was in uncharted territory, playing a game he hadn't trained for, yet every instinct felt right. He was no longer just the defensive anchor; he was the aggressor, the one taking the fight to the opposition.
The next two balls were dots, and he took a single of meticulously placed ball, ensuring he remained on strike for the last over of the spell. As the over ended, the momentum had violently shifted again.
The final over of the match was given to their best spinner, brought in to finish the job. The equation was 14 runs off 6 balls. Aarav stood at the striker's end, feeling the weight of expectation, the thrill of the chase. He looked at the field, the desperate faces of the opposition. He hadn't won the World Cup for India in 2015, but he was here, now, fighting for his team, for his dream. He would not yield.