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Author Thought
In the last chapter, our hero parted ways with a faithful companion—Shera. Yet, as every battle leaves its mark, so too does every journey carry its share of loss. Now, determined and hopeful, he sets out in search of a new bat—one that will become his next ally and help him chase his dreams. This chapter explores how he finds that special bat, forging ahead toward his goals with renewed spirit
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The broken bat lay on the floor like a fallen soldier. Nikhil stared at it, heart heavy. Shera had been more than wood and tape—it had been his companion, his confidence, his shield against doubt.
He picked it up gently, ran his fingers over the cracked handle, and whispered, "Thank you."
But matches were coming. Trials were near. And he had no bat.
The next morning, Nikhil skipped training. Instead, he walked three kilometre's to the old market street, where a small, dusty shop sat wedged between a cycle repair stall and a paan vendor. The faded sign read: "Rana Sports – Since 1972."
Inside, the air smelled of sawdust and linseed oil. Bats hung from the ceiling like sleeping beasts. An old man sat behind the counter, carving a handle with quiet precision.
"You're the boy from Chandpur," he said without looking up.
Nikhil blinked. "How do you know?"
"I saw you play last week. You hit Rohan's spin like it was nothing. That bat of yours—Shera, right?—it had character."
Nikhil nodded. "It broke."
The man, Rana ji, finally looked up. His eyes were cloudy but kind. "Bats break. Dreams don't."
"I need a new one," Nikhil said. "But I don't have money."
Rana ji stood, walked to the back, and returned with a bat wrapped in cloth. He unwrapped it slowly, revealing a Kashmir willow, slightly heavier than Shera, with a thick spine and a curved blade.
"This bat was made for someone who never came to collect it," he said. "It's not perfect. But it's honest."
Nikhil touched it. The grip was fresh. The balance felt right.
"I can't pay," he said.
"You will," Rana ji replied. "Not with money. With runs."
Nikhil's throat tightened. "I'll make you proud."
"You already have," Rana ji said. "Now go. Trials won't wait."
That evening, Nikhil returned to the academy. Devraj raised an eyebrow. "Missed training?"
"I was upgrading," Nikhil said, holding up the new bat.
Devraj smiled. "Let's see if it's earned its name."
Nikhil hadn't named it yet. He didn't want to rush. Shera had earned its title through battle. This one would too.
The next morning, the academy held a surprise match—Team A vs. Team B. Kabir was leading Team A. Nikhil was vice-captain of Team B.
The pitch was dry, the sun unforgiving. Team B batted first. Nikhil walked in at number three.
Kabir opened the bowling. His first ball was fast, aimed at the ribs. Nikhil stepped back and flicked—four runs.
Second ball: short. Nikhil pulled—six.
Third ball: full and swinging. Nikhil drove—straight past the bowler.
The bat sang.
By the end of the innings, Nikhil had scored 52 off 30 balls. Clean, composed, commanding.
After the match, Devraj walked over. "Name it yet?"
Nikhil looked at the bat, then up at the sky.
"Not yet," he said. "But it's earning it."