The stadium was a living, breathing thing that night.The floodlights glared down like celestial eyes, and the energy at the Wankhede was raw — thick with tension, hope, and rivalry. As the twelfth over loomed, Aarav Reddy took his mark at the top of his run-up once again. The ball felt heavier this time, not because of the leather, but because of the responsibility it carried.
He'd bowled beautifully earlier — silencing Parthiv Patel with a dream delivery that split middle stump and pride in one motion. But this… this was different.Standing at the crease now was Rohit Sharma, the Hitman himself. Calm, composed, unflappable. The kind of batsman who didn't just play the ball — he dictated the game.
Aarav knew it.Everyone knew it.
The scoreboard read 82 for 4. Pune were ahead, but only just. One partnership — one explosive over — could undo everything they'd built.
Smith, ever the calculating leader, gave Aarav the ball and a look of quiet trust."Keep it simple," he said, walking past him. "Don't chase magic. Just bowl your plans."
Simple words. But the moment was anything but simple.The Mumbai crowd was chanting Rohit's name — "Rohit! Rohit! Rohit!" — and each syllable echoed through Aarav's chest like a drumbeat. He took a long breath, tilted his head to the sky for a heartbeat, and let the noise dissolve into silence in his mind.
His first delivery…
Short of length, outside off.Rohit saw it early, stepped back, and cracked it through cover point. The ball raced away like a tracer bullet. Four.The crowd erupted.
Aarav didn't flinch, though inside he felt a pang — that familiar burn of frustration.
He turned around, walked back to his mark, rolling the ball between his fingers. He whispered to himself, "Stay in the moment. Focus."But before he could even reset, Rohit was ready again, eyes glinting with confidence.
The second ball came.Fuller this time, but just a shade too wide outside off. Rohit stretched forward, meeting it with that effortless elegance that defined him. The ball screamed through extra cover again. Another four.
The Mumbai supporters leapt to their feet. Drums echoed, flags waved, and the commentary box came alive.
"That's two in a row! Rohit Sharma is starting to open up, and this young bowler's under real pressure now!"
Aarav exhaled sharply. His palms were damp again. He clenched his fists, trying to crush the doubt that had started whispering in his head.He looked up — saw Smith clapping, encouraging him to stay composed. Rahane at cover gave him a thumbs up.
He closed his eyes for half a second.This is what I trained for. The pressure, the noise, the moments where one mistake can define you.
He thought of the long nights at the academy, bowling yorkers till his fingers ached. The mornings he'd wake up early just to rewatch footage of Bumrah, Starc, and Malinga, studying their calm under pressure.And somewhere in that storm of thoughts, he found focus again.
Third ball.Back of a length, aimed at the body this time. Rohit tried to pull, but the ball skidded faster than he expected, hitting the top of his thigh pad and rolling away. Dot ball.
Small victory. But a big one for Aarav's confidence.
The crowd murmured. The fielders' voices grew sharper — "Come on Aarav!" "Keep it there!"He nodded.
Fourth ball.Good length, top of off. Rohit defended it solidly, the sound of willow on leather crisp, echoing faintly before dying into applause.Another dot.
He was finding his rhythm again.Each breath steadier, each thought clearer. The fire in his chest was no longer panic — it was purpose.
Fifth ball.Slower one. Rohit shaped to drive, but the ball gripped the pitch and stopped a fraction earlier. It trickled back toward the bowler. Aarav fielded it himself, smiling faintly.
The commentator's tone shifted —
"And what a comeback from the youngster! Two boundaries to start, but he's come back beautifully — three dots in a row!"
The fielders clapped louder now. The energy had shifted ever so slightly.
Last ball of the over. Aarav took a deep breath, fingers pressing into the seam, eyes locked on Rohit. He decided to go back to his strength — the yorker.
He ran in with full intent, body leaning into the motion, every muscle syncing with that single goal — hit the blockhole.Rohit expected pace, but not that line. The ball dipped late, sneaking under his bat, kissing the edge of his shoe, and rolling toward short fine leg. Single.
Over complete.Just one run from the last four balls.
Aarav exhaled — long, relieved, almost emotional. The crowd was still buzzing, but in his heart, there was peace. He'd been hit. Tested. But he'd fought back.
He turned, walking to his position at fine leg, and as he did, he caught Smith's nod — that proud, almost paternal nod of approval.
Rahane jogged past him, patting his shoulder."That's how you grow, kid. Not when you take wickets, but when you come back strong after getting hit."
Aarav smiled faintly, but inside, he felt something ignite — a quiet fire that told him he belonged here.
And as he looked toward the scoreboard — 91 for 4 after 12 overs — he knew this wasn't just another game. It was a test of character.
He took one last glance at the pitch, the same strip that had both humbled and empowered him in the span of six deliveries.
The crowd may remember the fours.But he would remember the fight.
And somewhere deep inside, he whispered —"This is only the beginning."
Question: I just have one question guys. Is the Story going little too slow? or the pace right now enough. Please let me know so that I can plan the next chapters and as always thank you everyone for your support.