By the time the Ranji Trophy season wrapped up in January, Aarav could feel it in every part of his body — the fatigue wasn't just physical, it was buried deep in his mind. His debut season had been everything he'd dreamed of: the sound of the new ball smacking into the keeper's gloves, the rush of taking a wicket, the thrill of bowling under pressure in long-format cricket. But he had underestimated the grind.
It wasn't like the shorter formats he'd played in college or club cricket. This was test cricket, four days of relentless focus, overs after overs in the heat, bending your back on unresponsive pitches, and fielding for hours even when your legs felt like lead. The travel from one city to another, the constant mental planning for the next match, the media chatter, the pressure to perform — it all added weight to his shoulders.
Some days in the middle of the season, he'd catch himself in the hotel mirror looking tired, not just sleepy-tired, but that deep, sunken tired that came when your mind and body were both running on fumes. He knew this feeling. It was the same sensation he'd had in his final year of college when he'd overworked himself into exhaustion, pushing through late nights of studies and practice until one day he simply crashed. Back then, it had taken weeks to feel normal again.
He couldn't afford to let that happen now.
This was his first Ranji season, and he'd made a name for himself already. If he burned out before the IPL trials, all that progress would mean nothing. He needed to step away — not from cricket forever, but just for long enough to breathe.
So, instead of booking extra nets or hitting the gym the very next morning, Aarav did something completely out of character. He pulled up a travel website, picked a destination far from any cricket ground, and booked himself on the first available trip to Manali.
No cricket gear. No schedule. Just a backpack, a pair of trekking shoes, and the thought of snow-covered mountains.
When his train pulled into Chandigarh, the change already began to sink in. The air felt sharper, cleaner, carrying the faint scent of pine. The long bus ride into the hills wound through valleys and alongside roaring rivers, each turn opening up views that made him forget the numbers on the scoreboard. By the time he reached Manali, he'd already gone hours without thinking about his bowling run-up or seam position.
Manali was a world apart. Snow capped the distant peaks, the streets bustled with tourists in colorful jackets, and the Beas River cut through the valley like a ribbon of glass. The mornings were slow, wrapped in a light fog that lifted only when the sun crept over the ridges. Aarav spent hours walking through the narrow lanes, sipping steaming cups of chai from roadside stalls, letting the cold air bite at his cheeks.
He hiked to viewpoints where the silence was broken only by the crunch of his boots in the snow. Some days he sat for hours by the river, watching the water crash over rocks, the sound drowning out everything in his head. For the first time in months, he wasn't planning, calculating, or worrying. He was just there.
And then, on the fourth day of his trip, it happened.
The sun was dipping low, painting the valley in a golden haze. Aarav was wandering through the old part of town, where a small wooden bridge arched over a narrow stream. That's where he saw her.
She stood at the edge of the bridge, her back to him, holding a camera up to her eye. Her scarf fluttered in the breeze, a lock of hair escaping from under her woolen cap. She seemed lost in her own little world, focused entirely on the frame in her viewfinder.
Something about the scene made Aarav pause mid-step. Maybe it was the stillness around her, maybe it was the way the fading sunlight caught in her hair, but in that moment, cricket — the only thing that had dominated his thoughts for years — slipped quietly to the background.
She shifted slightly, adjusting her camera. And then, as if sensing his gaze, she turned.
Aarav's breath caught.
Was this just a fleeting moment in a stranger's story? Or the beginning of something that could change his own?