The cricket ground was quiet when Aarav approached it that evening, the sun dipping below the pavilion roof. A few junior players were packing up, laughter echoing faintly. Coach Reddy stood near the boundary, arms crossed, watching the last few deliveries from the underclassmen.
Aarav waited until the last net was wound up before stepping forward.
"Coach," he called gently.
Reddy turned, and the usual sharpness in his eyes softened. "You've been quiet lately."
Aarav nodded. "A lot's happened. I wanted to talk to you before I disappear for a while."
Coach raised an eyebrow. "Disappear?"
"Not for good," Aarav said quickly. "Just until finals are over. I had a long conversation with Appa. He's given me the green light—but only if I finish my degree properly. So until then… no distractions."
Coach studied him for a moment, then gave a faint, knowing nod. "Fair. A strong base before the leap."
"And after that," Aarav added, voice steady, "I'm coming back. Fully. I want to train again. Seriously. Not just to play… but to see where I really stand."
Coach Reddy gave a small smile. "Good. Because I've seen your best—and I've also seen what happens when you burn both ends. Let's do it right this time."
They shook hands—no grand speeches, no promises shouted into the wind. Just mutual understanding and a quiet pact.
With that clarity, Aarav plunged into exam prep like a man with unfinished business. But this time, the desperation was gone. He wasn't trying to prove anything. Not to his professors, not to his teammates, not to himself. He simply wanted to do well—to finish what he'd started on his own terms.
He revised with focus, slept properly, and ate like a student who'd finally learned how to take care of himself. The headaches didn't return. The panic stayed away. Each test came and went with a calm steadiness he hadn't known he was capable of.
In the quiet gaps between study sessions, he'd scribble bowling drills in the margins of his notebooks. Muscle memory didn't fade—but he wanted to be smart this time, to train not harder, but wiser. His notebook soon filled with small ideas: a better warm-up routine, mental composure strategies, things he'd learned the hard way.
The last exam ended on a warm Friday afternoon. Aarav stepped out of the hall, paper in hand, blinking into the sunlight as a breeze danced through the neem trees outside. He didn't feel elated, didn't feel shattered. Just… ready.
Two days later, he was back on the ground.
Not for glory. Not for redemption. Just for the ball, the run-up, and the rhythm.
The old kit bag was unpacked and reorganized. His spikes were scrubbed. The tape on his fingers wrapped clean and tight. His body, rested and respected, responded with crisp movements and clear focus. The first few deliveries out of his hand weren't thunderbolts—but they came out smooth, sharp, controlled.
Coach Reddy, watching from the side, made no comments—just an approving nod as Aarav found his rhythm again.
There was no more hiding, no more pressure to impress.
Just him. The ball. And the open sky ahead.