The message came on a quiet Tuesday afternoon, tucked between two missed calls and a reminder to refill his father's prescription. Nikhil stared at the screen, blinking twice to make sure it was real.
"Congratulations, Nikhil Srivastam. You've been selected for the Uttar Pradesh U-16 State Camp. Report to Lucknow Cricket Academy by Friday."
He read it again. Then again.
State camp.
It was the next tier—the gateway to national recognition, to selectors who mattered, to matches that shaped careers. But instead of elation, Nikhil felt a strange stillness. Like the moment before a storm.
He walked to the tea stall, where his father was stirring chai for a customer. The old man looked up, saw Nikhil's expression, and paused.
"You made it?"
Nikhil nodded. "State camp. Lucknow. Friday."
His father smiled, but it was a quiet smile. "Then it's time."
They didn't say much after that. The kettle hissed. The customer paid. Life moved.
Later that evening, Nikhil sat with Coach Devraj at the academy. He showed him the message.
Devraj read it, then looked up. "You earned this."
"I know," Nikhil said. "But I'm scared."
"Of what?"
"Of leaving. Of failing. Of forgetting who I am."
Devraj leaned forward. "You won't forget. You've written your journey in sweat and silence. That doesn't fade."
Nikhil nodded. "I just don't want to become someone else."
"You won't," Devraj said. "Unless you choose to."
The next day, Nikhil trained harder than ever. He batted for two hours, bowled for one, and ran sprints until his legs burned. Viraj joined him midway.
"State camp, huh?" Viraj said, panting. "Big leagues."
"You'll be there soon," Nikhil replied.
Viraj grinned. "Maybe. But you'll be the one they talk about."
That night, Nikhil packed his bag. He wrapped Veer in cloth,Inserted the notebook in his bag. He stared at the empty space in the bag, then added a photo—his father, the tea stall, and Shera leaning against the wall.
Friday came fast.
The Lucknow Cricket Academy was sprawling—green fields, indoor nets, fitness centers, and dorms that smelled of ambition. Nikhil checked in, received his kit, and was assigned a room with two other boys—Arjun, a fast bowler from Kanpur, and Sameer, a wicketkeeper from Noida.
They were friendly, but different. Arjun talked about protein shakes and gym routines. Sameer had a YouTube channel where he posted match highlights.
"You're the Bijnor Warriors Monk, right?" Arjun asked.
"Yeah."
"You're quiet."
"I play better that way."
The camp began with fitness tests. Nikhil passed most, struggled with the beep test, and excelled in reaction drills. The coaches were strict, the sessions long, and the expectations relentless.
On the third day, during a net session, Nikhil faced a state-level pacer. The first ball was a bouncer. He ducked. The second was full. He drove—clean, straight, loud.
The coach nodded. "Good hands. Good head."
The training continued for the day, and Nikhil gave his best in all.
He was here to strengthen his foundation not for fame.