Aarav didn't make the playing eleven.
Not yet.
But that wasn't a disappointment.
It was an assignment.
After his composed spell in the intra-squad match, word spread quietly through the camp. Coaches took note. Players asked his name. And then, one afternoon after nets, the team manager pulled him aside.
"You'll be traveling with the squad as a backup bowler. Be ready."
Those words weren't a consolation prize—they were an invitation into a new world.
The IPL wasn't just matches and glamor. It was flights, recovery sessions, hotel strategy meetings, and the constant hum of elite professionalism. Aarav wasn't bowling every day anymore. But he was watching—always watching. Every detail became a classroom.
He traveled with the Rising Pune Supergiants across India—Mumbai, Delhi, Bengaluru, Kolkata—wearing the team jersey, warming up during matches, and bowling at nets with world-class batters.
Even in silence, he soaked it all in.
At team dinners, he sat quietly with the senior bowlers: Ashwin, who spoke about angles and deception like a mathematician; Ishant, who broke down the psyche of tailenders; and Stokes, who spoke openly about handling pressure when the crowd wanted a six every ball.
With Steve Smith, he didn't talk much—but he noticed how the Aussie never treated even a net session lightly. Every ball faced, every foot movement—intentional. Sharp. Ruthless.
And there was MS Dhoni—the quiet compass of the team. He never said much to Aarav directly, but sometimes, while packing his gloves or speaking to bowlers in a huddle, he would glance over, gesture, or throw a short line that stuck in Aarav's head for days.
One evening, in a team meeting room before the match against RCB, the bowling coach spoke about the next day's match-ups. Aarav, not expected to play, still brought his notebook and sat in the corner.
After the meeting, the analyst—Ravi—called him over.
"You always take notes," he said. "Come sit with us during the match tomorrow. Track overs. We'll show you how match-ups really work."
That single night changed everything.
As Kohli stepped in to bat the next day, Aarav sat behind the analyst's laptop, watching heat maps, strike rates, data overlays. He saw how bowlers like Shardul Thakur or Lockie Ferguson didn't just bowl to batters—they shaped them. Forced errors. Built tension.
Aarav began helping sort training videos, asking for footage of himself and comparing it with pros. He even started logging his own net sessions—tempo, seam angles, speeds.
When teammates rested on travel days, he asked the analyst staff if he could stay behind to review footage.
"You're not playing?" one of them asked.
"Not yet," Aarav replied. "But when I do, I can't afford to catch up. I have to already be there."
In the nets, he was no longer the nervous new bowler trying to avoid being hit.
He experimented now.
One day, he bowled a knuckleball that beat a seasoned domestic finisher.
"Nice ball," Stokes remarked. "Now do it when it matters."
Aarav smiled. "I'm practicing like I'll need it tomorrow."
By mid-season, he hadn't played a match.
But coaches noticed that when he warmed up, his rhythm was tighter. His angles sharper. His plans, clearer.
When a senior seamer picked up a minor niggle before a key away game, the bowling coach looked over the bench and paused at Aarav.
"Soon," he said. "Stay loose."
It wasn't a promise.
It was a warning.
Aarav was walking the edge now—the waiting edge, where one call, one chance, could define everything.
But he wasn't anxious.
He was readying his blade.
Because even shadows learn to move like warriors when they live among legends.