Two days of back-to-back matches had left the camp drained. Players limped through warm-ups, shoulders taped, knees iced. The coaches noticed. So did the mentors.
Coach Rameshwar announced a short technical session for the day—light drills, no nets, no match simulation. The following day was declared a full rest day.
The players exhaled in relief.
But Nikhil didn't.
He hadn't played either match. His body wasn't sore. His mind wasn't fatigued. His hunger hadn't dipped.
So while the others packed up early, Nikhil walked to the far net, dragging the bowling machine behind him. He placed cones across the field—deep midwicket, extra cover, third man, fine leg. Imaginary fielders. Imaginary pressure.
He wasn't just batting.
He was captaining both teams.
He adjusted the machine's pace, angle, and bounce. He played each ball with intent—some overs at high tempo, others with slow, calculated nudges. He imagined chasing 240. He imagined defending 220. He imagined himself at number four, then at number seven.
He was building scenarios. Building himself.
By noon, the field was empty. The academy cafeteria buzzed with laughter and clinking plates. Nikhil took a short break—two bananas, a bottle of water—and jogged back to the turf.
He ran laps around the boundary. Then shuttle sprints. Then back to the net.
He bowled off-spin to an empty crease, visualizing a world-class batter at the other end—someone who punished width, danced down the track, and read flight like poetry.
He bowled slower. Then flatter. Then looped it again.
He took breaks—short ones. Sat on the grass. Breathed. Then resumed.
By 10:00 PM, the floodlights were dimming. The academy was silent.
But in the last row of the stands, someone was watching.
Suresh Raina, seated quietly, arms folded, gaze fixed on the lone figure in the net.
He hadn't moved for an hour.
Just then, Mohammad Kaif entered the stadium, looking for Raina.
"You missed dinner," Kaif said, walking up the steps.
Raina didn't respond.
Kaif followed his gaze toward the field. A player was still practicing—batting, bowling, adjusting cones. The face wasn't clear in the shadows.
Kaif squinted. "Who's that?"
Raina stood up, finally. "Just someone who doesn't know how to stop."
Kaif nodded, and the two mentors walked away without another word.
Tomorrow was rest day.
But for Nikhil, the game never paused.