It wasn't the way Aarav imagined his first time on the IPL field.
No fanfare. No call from the skipper. Just a quiet nod from the team physio and a frantic gesture from the dugout.
Ishant Sharma had pulled up after the 15th over. Nothing serious—just a tight hamstring, but enough for the team to play it safe.
"Reddy, warm up. You're fielding," the assistant coach said, already handing him the bib.
Aarav's heart surged. Not as a bowler. Not yet. But this wasn't a net. This was the game. And the stadium—packed and roaring under floodlights—was very, very real.
He sprinted out.
No cameras zoomed in. No graphics on screen. Just a substitute fielder replacing a veteran.
But by the time his four overs were done, Aarav Reddy was no longer just a name on a roster.
He was a presence.
First ball he fielded, he was at deep square leg. The batter flicked it hard, flat. Aarav sprinted to his right, dived full length, and pulled the ball back inches from the rope. It saved two runs, but more than that—it snapped something awake in the fielding unit.
Next over, at point, he slid in on his knees to cut off a punch from a top-order bat. No theatrics. Just sharp positioning and clean technique. Then, a direct hit on a back-footed single—just missing the stump by a breath—drew a loud cheer from the dugout.
In the 18th over, with the death overs underway and the crowd surging with noise, a top edge spiraled into the night sky at third man.
Aarav ran back, tracking it over his shoulder. He steadied, arms out, knees bent, feet dancing at the rope—but he let it go.
The ball dropped just beyond the boundary. Six.
Commentators had begun to notice.
"That's smart cricket from the young substitute," said one, watching the replay. "He judged the line, knew he couldn't risk the momentum with a misjudged catch. Good awareness."
Next ball, the batter tried to repeat the shot. This time, Aarav was ready. He sprinted in, slid forward, and cut it off inside the circle, stopping what could've been another boundary.
In the final over, with the batter attempting to loft over cover, Aarav covered 30 meters in a blink, dove and parried the ball back in mid-air. The ball never crossed the rope.
By the time Ishant returned, Aarav had spent only 24 minutes on the field.
But those 24 minutes had left their mark.
In the dugout, Ashwin clapped. "Who's this kid saving 10–12 runs on his own?"
Even Dhoni, usually measured, turned to the fielding coach and murmured, "Good intent. Plays like he knows these are his overs."
Up in the commentary box, former pros watching the replays remarked:
"He may not be in the starting XI, but that's what you want from a squad player. Sharp, alert, committed. Remember the name—Aarav Reddy."
That night, Aarav didn't sleep much.
Not from adrenaline—but reflection.
He hadn't bowled. He hadn't taken a catch. But in four overs, he'd earned respect—from teammates, commentators, and more importantly, from himself.
He hadn't just survived among stars.
He had stood out.
Even in the smallest window, he had proven one thing:
He belonged.