Chapter 4

Nitish's phone buzzed incessantly on a humid afternoon in Kurnool. Even after the IPL Auction 2025 had ended, his passion for cricket—and his need to share his opinions—kept him glued to Twitter. That day, his fingers flew over the keyboard as he composed tweet after tweet about the teams, the players, and his undisguised love for his favorite team, the Punjab Monarchs.

It all started with a series of posts that Nitish had planned for weeks. In his small room, lit only by the weak glow of a desk lamp, he began by sharing his excitement about the new auction picks. His first tweet of the day read:

"IPL Auction 2025: So many surprises! But one thing is clear—Punjab Monarchs are set to rule the competition. Their team spirit is unmatched! #IPLAuction #PunjabMonarchs"

Within minutes, replies and likes began to roll in. Some fans agreed with him; many others, however, did not. Critics on Twitter wasted no time in voicing their disagreement, fueling a fire that would soon spiral out of control.

As the day progressed, Nitish stayed active on Twitter. He posted another tweet:

"Just watched the auction recap—I'm telling you, the Punjab Monarchs are the best team of all. Their mix of youth and experience is a perfect blend. #TrueCricket"

Almost immediately, the tone of the comments shifted. Replies filled with sarcasm and harsh criticism poured in. One user wrote, "@NitishCrick, get real. Punjab is a mess, not the best team by any measure. #Disappointed." Another chimed in, "Your bias is so obvious, man. Have some objectivity! #IPLBanter."

Nitish replied to these messages, clinging to his belief in his team. He tweeted:

"Objectivity? Maybe you need to see the stats for yourself. Punjab Monarchs have the best record in recent practice matches! #DataDontLie"

He continued with a thread of tweets, each more enthusiastic than the last. His timeline filled with his own opinions:

Tweet 1:

"Punjab Monarchs are quality personified! They have a strong captain and a balanced squad. Who else can claim that? #BestTeam"

Tweet 2:

"While others boast inconsistent form, Punjab stands firm. Their spirit is what makes cricket beautiful! #IPL2025"

Tweet 3:

"Do not believe the haters. Trust the numbers and your gut—Punjab is on top! #CricketAnalysis"

For a few hours, Nitish was absorbed in his digital battle. He defended his team relentlessly, his words coming out sharp and fiery. But as the criticism grew louder and more personal, something inside him began to break down. The once energetic tweets now carried a tone of desperation. His earlier pride was shifting into an angry pride, and then into anxiety.

Around mid-afternoon, Nitish noticed something unsettling on his screen. His follower count, which had grown steadily over time, began to drop. One retweet turned into a barrage of negative comments, direct messages full of vitriolic rebukes, and a loss of supporters who once cheered his every word. Each notification later in the day brought with it yet another reminder that many did not share his vision.

One tweet after another, the backlash came pouring in:

User1:

"@NitishCrick, your team bias is blinding you. Check your stats, mate!"

User2:

"Not surprised your follower count is dropping. No one cares about your memes when you distort facts."

User3:

"Cricket should be fun, not a tool for your obsession. Go home, Nitish."

The final blow came when, after a heated thread on how the Punjab Monarchs were the best team, his followers had virtually disappeared. His notifications remained silent, and the numbers on his profile dropped steeply. His heart pounded as he refreshed his follower statistics page repeatedly, watching in disbelief as the once-buzzing community around him evaporated.

Unable to bear the sting of public disdain and the feeling of utter rejection, Nitish's thoughts turned dark. In the solitude of his small room, the quiet that had once given him space to think now echoed with self-doubt. Cricket, his lifelong passion and one time an escape, had turned against him. The hurtful messages, the loss of followers, and his inability to prove his point finally became too heavy a burden.

For a long moment, Nitish sat in silence, staring blankly at the screen. The words of his critics, the cold statistics showing the plummeting numbers, and the echo of his own harsh messages collided in his mind. He felt as though the digital world had rejected him completely. In his heart, he believed that cricket, the one thing he'd always trusted, had also let him down.

Overwhelmed with despair, Nitish made a decision in that moment—a decision that he later would regret. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to convince himself that if he could simply shut down his breathing, if he could stop feeling the pain, then maybe the hurt would vanish. In the bleak hours of that afternoon, in the small space that had once been his reign of ideas and dreams, he attempted to not breathe, a desperate hope that he might escape the overwhelming sadness by ending his life.

But as moments passed, the intense fear of what he was about to do made him pause. Nitish was, in many ways, too afraid to cross that line. The thought of truly ending everything terrified him more than the barrage of insults and hurtful tweets. Instead, he lay down on his cot, his eyes heavy with sorrow and his heart aching with the weight of failure. He cried softly, letting his tears soak into the creases of the pillow as sleep crept over him despite the turmoil raging inside.

Hours later, the first light of early evening filtered through the window of his small room. Nitish awoke with a dull headache and a heavy heart, still reeling from the emotional torment of the past day. He reached for his phone to check if there had been any change, dreading what new notifications might reveal. His eyes scanned through his timeline and direct messages, and then something unexpected caught his attention.

Among countless unread DMs, one message stood out—it was from someone titled simply "Preeti." Nitish's pulse quickened as he hesitated for a moment before opening the message. It read:

  "Hi Nitish, I've been following your tweets. I know you're going through a tough time, and I see a real passion in the way you talk about cricket. Have you ever thought about using that talent in a professional setting? I have a proposition for you. Let's talk about a job opportunity at the Punjab Monarchs. Please DM me back as soon as you're able. – Preeti"

For a long minute, Nitish stared at the screen. The message was simple—a job offer. It carried the promise of change, a way to channel his passion and his talents into something that might finally make him feel valuable again. Slowly, a spark of hope flickered in his mind. His tears, dry from hours of weeping, attempted to wash away the residue of rage and despair that had built up inside him.

He felt embarrassed and guilty about the state he had reached. The thought of ending his life because of a digital storm, because of a few harsh words on Twitter and the loss of a following, made him shudder. He was just a scared young man who had gotten lost in the world of hashtags and opinions. Cricket had once been his joy, and now, even in the depths of his pain, it was calling him back.

Nitish took a deep breath as he typed a reply:

  "Hello Preeti, thank you for reaching out. I… I didn't expect this. I'm really sorry if my tweets have come off the wrong way. I'm going through a tough time. I'd like to know more. Please let me know when you're free to talk."

After sending the message, he closed his eyes. In that quiet moment, the endless cycle of critics and negatives, the series of harsh tweets and the plummeting follower count, began to blur into the background. The cold silence of his room was interrupted by the warmth of a future possibility—a chance to rebuild his life, not through self-destruction, but by taking a step toward something better.

Nitish's thoughts drifted between the chaotic noise of the digital world and the soft, comforting hum of real life creeping back in. He remembered the early days of his cricket dreams in Kurnool, the pure joy of playing matches under the open sky and the simple happiness of sharing those moments with friends. Despite the heavy sorrow and the dark urges that had nearly overtaken him, there lay a small voice inside that urged him to try once more, to find a way out of the spiral of self-doubt and regret.

Slowly, he opened his eyes again, noticing that his follower count had indeed fallen dramatically. The numbers on his profile, which once served as a measure of his influence, now taunted him with their emptiness. But the DM from Preeti was a lifeline—a ray of light cutting through the overwhelming darkness.

For the first time in a long while, Nitish began to see that perhaps not everything was lost. He knew he had made mistakes, had let his passion turn into obsession, and had paid a heavy price for his unyielding opinion. But now, with the invitation offered by Preeti, a chance for redemption presented itself.

There, in that modest room in Kurnool, filled with scattered cricket paraphernalia and the constant hum of his old laptop, Nitish realized he could turn things around. He wiped the last remnants of tears from his cheeks, inhaling deeply as he steeled himself to face the day anew. The latest message, simple yet full of promise, reminded him that even when the digital world seemed to crush his spirit, real opportunities could still emerge.

That evening, while the memories of the harsh digital battle still lingered, Nitish sat down and began to draft a new tweet—a final farewell to the old version of himself. He wrote slowly and deliberately, making sure every word carried the weight of his renewed resolve:

  "Sometimes, the highest fall brings us closer to the light. Today, I face my failures, and I promise to rise again. To those who criticized me, I thank you—your honesty has set me free. #NewBeginnings"

He pressed send. Then, instead of scrolling through his timeline and comparing numbers, he took a deep breath and looked at his phone with fresh eyes. The DM from Preeti remained open, waiting for his next message. It was as if the universe had decided to give him one more chance—a chance to rebuild, to learn from past mistakes, and to use his love for cricket in a way that could finally earn him respect and a future.

In that quiet moment of decision, Nitish recognized that true strength was not in the number of followers or in the fleeting approval of online critics. True strength lay in the courage to admit that one needed help—to accept that even when everything seems lost, a caring hand might still offer a way out. His heart, heavy with pain but lighter with hope, began to beat with the possibility of redemption.

As the chapter of that bitter day closed, Nitish decided that he would not let the darkness win. He knew that his journey would be long and possibly painful, but with the promise hidden inside Preeti's message, there was a chance that he could create a future where cricket delivered joy rather than despair.

In the soft glow of his phone screen, he typed one last response:

"Thank you, Preeti. I need that chance. Let's talk soon."

And with that final message sent, Nitish slowly closed his eyes, determined to face a new morning with a broken heart that still believed in a brighter future.