Chapter 13: The Semifinals
The build-up to the semifinals carried an energy unlike any match we'd played so far. Whispers about title favorites and match-ups filled the air, and for the first time, we weren't underdogs. The two-run win against the defending champions had cemented us as a serious threat, though that didn't mean anything would come easy.
Our opponents were a disciplined side known for their clinical approach. Their captain, Abhinav Singh, was a seasoned batsman who could anchor an innings with surgical precision. With the stakes higher than ever, Coach Verma sharpened our preparation, ensuring no detail was left unchecked.
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Morning of the Match
As the morning sun bathed the ground in soft light, I felt the tension in every muscle. Standing by the boundary during warm-ups, I noticed Aman shadow-bowling with visible intensity, his lips moving as though rehearsing a script. Parthiv paced up and down, occasionally glancing at the pitch.
"Arjun," Aditya called from behind me, his tone neutral.
I turned to see him adjusting his gloves. "Ready for this?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," I replied.
He nodded, then added, "Don't forget—these are the games people remember. Make it count."
It wasn't quite encouragement, but it wasn't dismissal either.
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A Tense Start
Parthiv won the toss and elected to field, banking on the early morning conditions to aid our bowlers. Aman set the tone with a blistering opening spell, and the opposition found themselves pinned at 21/2 after seven overs.
But Abhinav Singh's composure was unshaken. He absorbed the pressure, gradually rebuilding the innings with calculated shots and sharp running between the wickets. When he began to accelerate in the middle overs, Parthiv turned to spin, hoping the slower pace would break his rhythm.
That's when I was thrown into the fray.
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Facing the Best
Abhinav met my first delivery with a firm forward defense, his bat angled perfectly. The next ball, slightly fuller, was driven smoothly to long-off for a single.
It was a cat-and-mouse game. I tossed in the occasional flighted delivery, tempting him to play a big shot, but he remained patient, waiting for the loose ball. I adjusted, turning to straighter lines and subtle variations in flight, determined not to let him settle entirely.
In my third over, a flatter, quicker ball caught his partner on the back foot, striking his pads dead in front. The umpire's finger shot up. A small victory, but Abhinav was the prize.
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Abhinav's Counterattack
With wickets falling around him, Abhinav decided it was time to shift gears. His aggression was precise—calculated lofts over the infield, swift placements to find twos where there seemed to be only singles. Every decision seemed perfectly timed, and the fielders started to wilt under the pressure.
I knew the team needed something special to dislodge him. In my final over, I flighted the ball just a fraction more, daring him to go over the top. He stepped out and launched it high toward long-off.
Aman raced in from the boundary, diving forward at the last second, his hands grasping the ball just above the grass. For a moment, the world held its breath, and then the umpire's raised finger unleashed a roar from our team.
Abhinav was gone for 82, and the opposition limped to 219 all out.
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The Chase Begins
Chasing 220 in a knockout match felt like a deceptively easy task. Parthiv's advice as we padded up was simple: "Focus on partnerships. Don't let the pressure creep in."
The opposition, however, bowled with incredible discipline. Their opening spell choked our run rate, and a mistimed cut from one of our openers saw the first wicket fall early. Aditya walked out at 17/1, his usual stoic expression masking whatever nerves he might've felt.
He started slowly, but I could sense he was settling in, his compact technique soaking up the pressure. When Parthiv fell to an edge at 44/2, I joined him.
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Tensions on the Crease
"Let's rotate strike," I said as I faced him mid-pitch after a few quiet overs.
Aditya's reply was terse. "They're waiting for us to force things. Let's wait for the bad balls."
We both had valid points, but the match was hanging on a knife's edge. Every run felt like a battle. Eventually, Aditya broke free, punching a straight drive past mid-off for four.
Slowly, we began to wrestle back control. A misfield allowed us an extra boundary, and a couple of delicate cuts past point eased the scoreboard pressure. As our partnership grew, the fielding side began to show cracks.
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The Turning Point
At 135/2 in the 31st over, disaster struck. Aditya, trying to force a ball over extra cover, mistimed it straight into the fielder's hands. His 47 was vital, but the timing of his dismissal was brutal. As he walked off, he glanced back briefly at me. Was it frustration? Disappointment? I couldn't tell.
"Focus," I muttered to myself as I faced the next ball.
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The Finish Line
With the lower order now exposed, the chase became a battle of attrition. I anchored the innings, grinding out singles while Aman provided bursts of power hitting at the other end.
The equation boiled down to 18 runs off the final three overs. By then, the opposition was visibly desperate, their field placements becoming erratic. I used their anxiety against them, targeting gaps with flicks and nudges to keep the runs flowing.
When Aman smashed a full-toss through mid-wicket for four, the crowd erupted. The chase ended in the next over, with a crisp drive from me sealing the victory.
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The Aftermath
The dressing room exploded in celebration. Parthiv delivered an emotional speech about teamwork and resilience, but I couldn't shake the feeling of Aditya's silence. He sat apart from the noise, his expression blank.
Later, as we were packing up, Aditya walked up to me.
"Well batted," he said, his voice low. "But don't think it'll always go your way."
Before I could respond, he turned and left.
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Reflections
The semifinal win secured our place in the finals, but it came with a cost. The undercurrents of rivalry and ambition were growing stronger, threatening to tear at the fabric of the team.
In my diary that night, I wrote:
"Victory hides fractures, but only for so long. If we can't keep the team together, the finals will break us."
With the title within reach, the stakes were higher than ever—and so were the risks.