Just a gentle disclaimer: this chapter is in 1st person POV. So please keep that in mind while reading it
Aarav's POV
The game had started to feel like a cycle, and I was beginning to understand it in layers. Every role I played—whether on the field, with the ball in hand, or on the bench—was shaping me in ways I hadn't expected.
In the Field
The grass felt damp under my spikes as I crouched at cover, body tense, eyes trained on the batsman. My heart thudded louder every time the bowler hit his stride. Fielding was no longer a passive duty to me; it was a test of awareness.
Coach words came back again: "Fielding isn't waiting. It's hunting."
So I hunted. I leaned forward on my toes before every ball, alert for the faintest edge, the mistimed drive. When the ball sped in my direction, I threw myself low, letting the ground scrape against my elbows as I cut it off. The roar from the crowd didn't matter—the moment was mine. When I picked up and fired it back to the keeper, I imagined invisible threads tying me into the match.
And even on overs when the ball never came near me, I stayed locked in. I studied angles—how quickly I could cut off a boundary if I started left instead of right, how deep my position had to be depending on who was batting. Every dive, every sprint, was another reminder: my impact wasn't measured only in wickets.
With the Ball
When the captain tossed me the ball, the world shrank. The crowd blurred, the chatter in the slips dissolved; it was just me, the seam, and the batsman's stance.
I focused on the basics. Seam upright. Arm high. Stride strong. Don't overcomplicate. The temptation was always there to try something flashy—to experiment mid-game. But I reminded myself: Not yet. Practice is where I experiment. Matches are where I execute.
The first ball hit a good length and was pushed back gently. My shoulders relaxed. The second, a fraction fuller, beat the outside edge. A ripple of satisfaction surged through me, but I forced myself to reset. Delivery by delivery—that was my mantra.
When a boundary was hit off me, I clenched my jaw, walked back slowly, and took a deep breath. The pitch didn't care about my frustration. My teammates didn't need my sulking. Reset. Focus. Hit the next length.
It was a strange calm, almost meditative. I wasn't chasing wickets anymore; I was building trust in my craft. Each over was another brick laid in the foundation I was trying to build.
In the Dugout
But it was in the dugout where another side of me lived. When my teammates batted, I wasn't just cheering them on—I was studying.
My notebook sat open on my lap, pages slowly filling with hurried scribbles.
Bumrah ran in, stuttering at the crease, slingy arm carving through the air. I paused the replay in my mind and jotted:"Releases yorker closer to the stumps, angle sharper from wide crease."
Then came a spinner. Piyush Chawla. Arm speed almost identical for leg-break and googly. But I spotted it—the googly was a fraction slower through the air. I underlined the note twice.
Another entry:"Krunal Pandya bowls straighter when under pressure—targets stumps."
I wasn't writing everything, only the things I felt I could one day use. I wasn't chasing mastery of all skills; I was planting seeds.
Rahane noticed me once, quietly jotting away. He leaned over, glancing at my notebook. His calm smile was almost fatherly."You know," he said, "this is how careers last. Talent takes you far, but curiosity takes you further. Just make sure you keep playing free, don't let the notes cage you."
I nodded, his words carving themselves deeper into me than any advice on technique ever had.
And then, there was Stokes. During a practice break, I caught him watching me scribble."Good habit," he said, tossing me a ball. "But remember—notes are like shadows. They follow you, they remind you. The real work is turning them into muscle memory in the nets."
I grinned. "That's the plan. Game is for execution, nets are for experiments."
He winked. "Then you're already ahead of half the young lads I've seen."
Reflection
As the matches passed, I realized something. I wasn't a rookie desperately waiting for my breakthrough moment anymore. I was a student of the game, learning in three dimensions.
On the field, I lived in the urgency of the present.With the ball, I lived in discipline and execution.In the dugout, I lived in curiosity and study.
Three roles. One mind.
The scoreboard would never show how many angles I studied in the field, how many mental resets I practiced while bowling, or how many lines filled my notebook. But I knew. And that was enough.
Because every ball, every sprint, every note was shaping me—not into the player I was, but into the one I was becoming.