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Author Thought
I'm thrilled to share that I've begun work on my new book, Tales of Dhira — a fantasy fiction novel set in the era of the Mahabharata.
This story blends mythology, imagination, and the timeless essence of heroism and destiny.
It's only the beginning of a long creative journey, and I would be truly grateful if you could read the chapters and share your thoughts.
Your feedback and encouragement will help shape Tales of Dhira into something truly special.
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The rest day had passed, but its silence lingered. The academy cafeteria buzzed with stories of city visits, street food, and selfies. But one name hadn't joined the chatter.
Suresh Raina.
He hadn't come for dinner. Nor for breakfast. Even by lunch, he remained absent from the dining hall. Most assumed he was resting. Only Mohammad Kaif knew better.
They had been together earlier that afternoon, discussing match rotations and player fatigue. But after lunch, Raina had quietly slipped away.
Kaif followed instinct.
He walked toward the field, past the empty nets and silent stands, until he reached the far corner of the stadium—the same place Raina had sat two nights ago.
And there he was again.
Same chair. Same posture. Same gaze.
Kaif climbed the steps and sat beside him. "You missed lunch."
Raina didn't look away. "I wasn't hungry."
Kaif followed his line of sight. A lone figure was packing up cones, dragging the bowling machine back to the shed, wiping sweat from his brow.
Raina finally spoke. "That boy… he's got one hell of a will. And one hell of a body."
Kaif raised an eyebrow.
"He's absorbing everything like a sponge," Raina continued. "Every drill, every mistake, every condition. No sprain. No injury. After that hellish session yesterday, he's still moving like he's made of wire."
Kaif nodded slowly. "In our days, we practiced hard. But we focused on fortitude. On surviving. This one… he practices like it's his hobby."
Raina smiled faintly. "No. He practices like it's his language."
They sat in silence as Nikhil walked off the field, unaware of the eyes that had followed him.
Match Day: Game Three
The next morning, the third match of the camp was announced. Same format. Same squads. Same playing XI.
Nikhil wasn't in it.
He checked the sheet, nodded once, and walked to the dugout with his notebook.
Team Green batted second. The chase was tight—down to the final three overs. But Divakar anchored the innings with calm precision, and the lower order held firm.
Team Green won.
Cheers erupted. Players high-fived. Raina clapped once, then turned toward the dugout.
Post-Match Drill: Gear Shift Mastery
While the others celebrated and dispersed, Nikhil returned to the nets.
He set the bowling machine to 135 kmph—a speed that once felt sharp, now felt familiar. The ball came at him like a football, large and readable. His eyes had adjusted. His reflexes had sharpened.
He began his drill:
Alternate overs—one fast-paced, boundary-focused; one slow-paced, strike rotation and defense.
He imagined match scenarios—chasing 60 in 5 overs, defending 20 in 3.
He adjusted footwork, changed grips, and called imaginary field changes.
His confidence had grown. Gear shifts no longer rattled him. He could accelerate. He could anchor. He could adapt.
Then he bowled—off-spin to an empty crease, imagining a batter like Kohli or Williamson at the other end. He varied flight, pace, and angles. He set imaginary fields and bowled to them.
He took breaks—short ones. Sat on the turf. Breathed. Then resumed.
By 10:00 PM, he was exhausted. His shirt clung to his back. His breath was shallow. His legs trembled.
But his mind was clear.
He packed up slowly, whispered to Veer, "We're getting closer," and walked back to Room 101.
Tomorrow, the sheet would be posted again.
And he'd be ready.