Chapter 5

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 shared his Number to Preeti.

After the IPL auction was over, the cricket world was abuzz with excitement over the new teams and fresh player selections. Nitish, who had spent countless hours on Twitter sharing his thoughts and opinions, looked on silently. Unlike many experts who analyzed every pick and trade, Nitish had not chosen any players at all. Instead, his heart and mind were set on finding the best way to improve a team, not on selecting names for the squad.

Later that afternoon, Nitish's phone rang. He glanced at the screen and saw it was Preeti, co-owner of the Punjab Monarchs—a team he had long admired and defended with passion through his tweets. His heart skipped a beat. Earlier, he had received harsh criticism on Twitter, but now, this call could mark the beginning of something completely different.

Nitish quickly answered, "Hello?"

Preeti's soft but firm voice filled his ears. "Hello, Nitish. I hope you are doing well today."

"Yes, Ma'am. I'm good," he replied, trying to steady his excitement as he sat in his small room in Kurnool.

"I've been following your analysis even after the auction," Preeti began. "I noticed you did not pick any players this time, and that struck me as very interesting. You seem to care more about the strategy behind the scenes than simply reacting to every auction pick."

Nitish listened carefully. He had spent many hours on Twitter discussing team performance, match strategies, and the importance of a good game plan. His viewpoint was that a team wasn't just a list of star players—it was an intricate mix of talent, balance, and vision. Today, on this call, it seemed that his deeper understanding of the game had caught the attention of someone who could make a real difference in his life.

"Ma'am, yes," Nitish replied cautiously. "I believe that success does not come just by buying the most expensive players. It is about how the team plays together on the field. And I see that Punjab Monarchs, under the right strategy, can truly shine."

Preeti smiled as she listened. "I couldn't agree more. That's why I called you today. I'd like you to come to our team camp for a few days. We are looking to improve our strategies further, and I believe your ideas could be a great help. We want you to work as an analyst with us."

Nitish sat back in his chair, hardly daring to believe his ears. "You mean I am really being offered a position with the Punjab Monarchs?"

"Yes, Nitish," Preeti continued, her voice warm. "Your passion for cricket and your deep understanding of the game stand out. We are prepared to offer you a salary of 20 lakhs per season, with additional incentives based on performance. We want you to share your vision and help us create strategies that blend the old traditions with modern analysis."

For a long moment, Nitish could only stare. His mind raced back to the long nights he had spent tweeting about match data and the frustration he had felt after losing thousands of followers. All the criticism and bitter remarks that had once made him feel small were now being replaced by the unexpected realization that his ideas had value, that they were worth 20 lakhs a season. His hands trembled as he clutched his phone.

"Thank you, Preeti. This means more to me than I can say," Nitish managed to say, his voice hardly above a whisper with emotion.

Preeti's tone was encouraging. "I know the journey has not been easy for you, Nitish. But believe me when I say that we see something special in you. Your experience and your ideas will help us build a team that plays with both heart and data-driven precision. I want you to come to camp and start working with our analysts, coaches, and even the captain. Your role is vital to the new direction we want to take."

The conversation went on for a few more minutes as Preeti explained the next steps. She told him about the schedule at the camp, what he could expect, and assured him that he would have support every step of the way. When the call finally ended, Nitish sat in silence. His heart pounded with a mix of joy, relief, and disbelief. He had finally received the chance he had always dreamed of—the chance to prove that his love for cricket was not just limited to online debates on Twitter.

After the call, Nitish knew his next step was to break the news to his family. Even though he had been disappointed by many rejections in the past, this opportunity was everything to him. Later that evening, he left his room and headed to the modest living area of his home in Kurnool, his phone still warm from the call.

His parents were sitting in the living room, quietly chatting about the day. His father was reading the newspaper, and his mother was preparing a simple meal. When Nitish entered the room, he took a deep breath. With a mix of excitement and nervousness, he said, "Amma, Nanna, I have something important to tell you."

His mother looked up with gentle eyes, and his father set the newspaper aside. The room fell silent. Nitish could feel his heart beating fast.

"Today, after the auction, I received a call from Preeti at the Punjab Monarchs. Ma, I have been invited to come to their team camp as an analyst," he announced, his voice trembling but full of hope. "They offered me a salary of 20 lakhs per season, with extra incentives based on performance."

There was a moment of stunned silence. His mother's eyes widened, and his father slowly lowered the newspaper. Then his father began to cry softly—a soft sound that filled the quiet room. It was the first time in many years that Nitish had seen his father cry.

"Beta… you have made us so proud," his father said, his voice breaking. "All these years, we have prayed for your success, and today, my son, you have proven yourself. I always believed in you, even when things seemed difficult."

His mother, with tears glistening in her eyes, gave him a long, warm embrace. "I always knew you had a special talent, Appu," she murmured in Telugu with love and pride. "Our little boy from Kurnool is now a part of a big team. You have turned your passion into something real. We have waited for this moment."

For a long while, the room was filled with emotions. Nitish saw in his father's eyes a mixture of tears, joy, and a deep sense of pride. He had spent so many days feeling lost and misunderstood, unable to find a stable place in the world. But now, there was light at the end of the tunnel. His father's crying was not out of sorrow, but of overwhelming relief and gratitude that his son had finally found success in his own unique way.

As the evening progressed, their home in Kurnool seemed to glow with hope. Nitish's parents discussed the news with friends and neighbors, and slowly word began to spread. It was hard to imagine that the young man who used to spend his days tweeting on his old laptop had now secured his place with a prestigious cricket team. The news filled the modest household with an energy that was both uplifting and transformative.

That night, Nitish sat alone in his room, reflecting on the day's events. He replayed every moment of the Zoom call with Preeti in his head. He remembered how calm and confident she had been, how she had asked, "Shreyas Nair over-priced buy?" and how he had replied confidently, explaining that he admired Shreyas's captaincy skill and that Punjab had never had a proper down batsman. Those words had resonated with Preeti and had led to the job offer.

All the anger and hurt that he had once felt from online critics seemed to vanish in the light of that call. The simple truth was this: his ideas mattered. His unconventional approach, his deep love for cricket, and his relentless pursuit of understanding the game had all led him to this very moment. He had been given a chance to turn his passion into a career, to contribute directly to the team he had defended even in hard times.

Nitish's phone lay on his desk as a constant reminder of where he had come from. It had once been a tool that delivered harsh comments and painful rejections. Now, it had become the gateway to a new beginning. He recalled Preeti's words: "We need you to help us blend tradition with modern strategies." This vision was something that filled him with ambition and hope, something that made him feel that all his struggles had not been in vain.

The following days were busy as Nitish prepared for his first day at the Punjab camp. He gathered his belongings, read through match data, and refreshed his knowledge of strategies. Every minute detail mattered, and he was determined to show them that his analysis could bring a fresh perspective to the team. At the camp, he would be working alongside experienced analysts and coaching staff—a group of people who believed in refining the team's approach while staying true to the spirit of the game.

On the day of his departure from Kurnool, the mood at home was festive. Neighbors dropped by with small gifts and words of encouragement. His mother kissed his forehead several times and reminded him to work hard. His father, still emotional, clasped his hand and said, "Beta, today you start your journey. Remember, we are all behind you. Make us proud."

As Nitish boarded the bus that would take him to a larger city where the camp was held, he looked back at his small home one final time. The fields of Kurnool, the warm faces of his neighbors, and the tearful smiles of his parents would all be with him in spirit. His heart was full of hope and determination. He knew that the road ahead would not always be easy, but now he had the strength and the support of his family to guide him.

At the camp, Nitish met several team members and fellow analysts. They welcomed him warmly and made sure he settled into the busy routine of training sessions, strategy meetings, and data analysis workshops. Every day, he immersed himself in learning—the art of balancing numbers with the unpredictable nature of cricket. He presented his ideas confidently, using simple yet powerful language that reflected his deep understanding of the game. His approach was fresh, and soon he earned the respect of his new colleagues.