chapter 3-unknown pitch

The midday sun hovered over Sultanganj, casting long shadows across the new cricket stadium. The air buzzed with the hum of construction workers hammering and shouting instructions, as parts of the stadium were still under development. But none of that mattered to Sonu Kumar. For him, the world had shrunk to the net he was standing in, the bat gripped tightly in his hands, and the growing adrenaline coursing through his veins.

Sonu had faced many informal games back in the dusty fields of Sultanganj, but here, the stakes felt different. The stadium, even half-complete, had a presence. The thought of the crowds that would one day fill the seats sent a shiver down his spine. But more pressing was the fact that he was about to face his first real fast bowler in a professional setting.

After his brief exchange with Arjun, Sonu found himself mentally preparing for his turn at bat. He had gone through the drills in the notebook Vishal Bhaiya had given him, but the reality of facing a trained bowler was something else entirely. His palms were sweaty, and though he tried to wipe them on his track pants, the moisture persisted. He kept glancing at the other boys practicing around him, their clean white uniforms and branded cricket gear intimidating him slightly. They seemed so comfortable, so at ease, as if they were born to be here.

Sonu, in contrast, felt like an outsider.

Still, this was what he had worked for—this was his chance. His bat might have been old, and his gear second-hand, but his determination was brand new, sharpened by years of yearning to prove himself.

As he took his position in the practice net, a coach approached from the far side. He was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a salt-and-pepper beard and sharp eyes that seemed to miss nothing. He wore a simple white polo shirt and khaki shorts, his whistle dangling around his neck like a badge of authority.

"You ready, kid?" the coach asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Sonu swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "Yes, sir."

The coach studied him for a moment, his gaze lingering on Sonu's worn-out bat and slightly too-big shoes. He frowned, but didn't say anything. Instead, he turned to the bowler who was warming up a few paces away—a tall, lanky boy with a fierce look in his eyes.

"Karan, give him a few balls," the coach instructed.

Karan nodded, cracking his knuckles and stretching his arms. He had the look of someone who had been bowling for years, his movements fluid and controlled. As he took his run-up position, Sonu felt his heart thump louder in his chest.

This is it, he thought. Just breathe.

Karan's first delivery was fast—much faster than anything Sonu had ever faced in his informal games with the local boys. The ball zipped through the air, its seam spinning sharply as it approached Sonu. Instinctively, Sonu swung his bat in a defensive shot, but the ball glanced off the edge and thudded into the side netting.

Sonu gritted his teeth. The ball had moved faster than he expected. He knew he had misjudged the timing. He adjusted his stance, reminding himself of the tips from the notebook: Stay low, keep your eyes on the ball, let your hands follow through smoothly.

The next ball came, just as fast, but this time Sonu was ready. He moved his feet, leaned into the stroke, and connected cleanly. The ball shot off the bat, cutting through the air with a satisfying crack, and bounced toward the far end of the net.

A flicker of pride lit up inside him. He could do this.

Karan, however, was unfazed. He narrowed his eyes and prepared for another delivery, this time switching to a shorter length. The ball came in fast and low, aimed at Sonu's body. It was a classic bodyline delivery, designed to intimidate. Sonu's reflexes kicked in, and he jerked the bat upward, managing to fend off the ball before it could strike his torso.

The coach watched with keen interest, his eyes never leaving Sonu's form. "Not bad," he muttered under his breath, though Sonu didn't hear it.

Karan bowled a few more deliveries, each one testing Sonu in different ways—one was a bouncer that Sonu ducked under, another swung away at the last second, leaving him swinging at empty air. But despite the challenges, Sonu held his ground. His eyes sharpened with every ball, and his feet started moving instinctively, aligning with the rhythm of the game. It wasn't perfect—he missed some, mistimed others—but with each ball, he learned, adapted, and improved.

After about fifteen minutes of intense practice, the coach blew his whistle. "That's enough for now," he said, walking over to where Sonu stood, panting slightly from the exertion.

Sonu lowered his bat, wiping sweat from his forehead, and looked at the coach, awaiting his judgment. His stomach churned with nervous anticipation.

The coach crossed his arms, looking at Sonu with a mixture of curiosity and appraisal. "You've got raw talent, kid," he said. "But you're rough. Your timing's off, your stance needs work, and you're not reading the ball as well as you should."

Sonu nodded, his heart sinking a little. He had known there was a lot he needed to improve on, but hearing it out loud was still hard to swallow.

"However," the coach continued, "what you do have is instinct. You don't freeze under pressure, and that's something you can't teach. You've got potential."

Sonu's eyes widened slightly, his chest swelling with a cautious sense of pride. Potential. That word echoed in his mind, like a glimmer of hope. It wasn't a promise, but it was enough to keep him going.

"Thank you, sir," Sonu said, trying to keep his voice steady.

The coach nodded. "You keep practicing. The academy tryouts are in a month. If you're serious about this, you'll need to work hard—real hard. That bat you've got there," he gestured to the old bat Sonu was holding, "has seen better days. Get yourself some decent equipment, or at least borrow it from someone. And start working on your fitness. If you can make it through the tryouts, we'll see about taking you on board."

Sonu nodded, determination flaring inside him. The academy tryouts—this was the path to his dream. He had one month to prepare, to hone his skills, and prove himself worthy of being part of something bigger.

As the coach walked away, Arjun appeared at the edge of the net, his bat resting casually on his shoulder. "Not bad, Sonu," he said with a grin. "You held your own out there."

Sonu smiled, though his muscles ached from the practice. "Thanks."

"But like the coach said, you've got a lot of work to do. The boys trying out for the academy aren't going to go easy on you. Most of them have been playing with professional coaches for years."

Sonu felt a slight pang of doubt, but he quickly pushed it aside. "I know. But I'm ready to put in the work."

Arjun studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Because you'll need every bit of it."

Sonu watched as Arjun walked away, his confidence and experience clear in every step. For a brief moment, the weight of the challenge ahead seemed overwhelming. The other boys had everything—coaches, equipment, and years of experience. All Sonu had was a worn-out bat, an old notebook, and a month to prepare.

But he also had something else. He had the fire to prove himself, to rise above the limitations of his small-town life, and make a name for himself in the world of cricket. He wouldn't let fear hold him back.

Clutching the bat tightly, Sonu took one last look at the practice nets before heading toward the exit of the stadium. He had a lot to do—train harder, improve his technique, and, most importantly, find a way to get some proper equipment.

As he walked down the street, his thoughts racing, a plan began to form in his mind. He would visit Vishal Bhaiya again, maybe ask for advice. And perhaps there was someone in town who could lend him a better bat, just for the tryouts.

This was just the beginning, Sonu reminded himself. He might not have the best resources, but he had the will to succeed. And with a little help, he would turn that will into skill.