Every story needs friction.
Arjun's arrived wearing a smile and brand-new gloves.
His name was Siddharth Naidu—Sid to everyone who mattered. Son of a local businessman, early bloomer, naturally powerful. He had the kind of confidence that came from praise arriving before doubt ever had a chance.
Sid hit the ball hard.
Very hard.
At the district under-12 trials, Sid announced himself immediately—two towering sixes, a helicoptered finish, parents erupting in applause. Coaches scribbled furiously. Phones came out.
Arjun watched from the boundary.
He noted Sid's grip—too tight under pressure.His backlift—flashy but inconsistent.His eyes—always searching the crowd after a shot.
He needs witnesses, Arjun thought.
That was dangerous.
Rao paired them together in the nets.
Sid glanced at Arjun's plain bat and worn pads. "You play here often?"
Arjun nodded. "Sometimes."
Sid grinned. "Stick around. You'll learn a lot."
Arjun smiled faintly.
In the nets, Sid went first. He attacked everything. Even good balls. Even bad ideas. The sound off the bat was intoxicating.
Then it was Arjun's turn.
He didn't try to out-hit Sid.
He didn't need to.
He played late. Soft hands. Gaps that shouldn't exist. The ball kept finding empty space like it was guided.
Sid's smile thinned.
"Why don't you hit big?" Sid asked.
Arjun shrugged. "Why waste energy?"
Sid laughed, but it was sharp. "That's not how you get noticed."
Arjun looked at him calmly. "I don't want to be."
That answer stayed with Sid far longer than the session.
By the end of the trials, both were selected.
But only one walked away feeling watched.