Under the burning afternoon sun of a small town in India, a thin boy named Aarav stood at the edge of a dusty ground, holding a cracked wooden bat.
Every day after school, Aarav rushed to this ground. There were no proper stumps—only two broken bricks. No coach. No nets. Just a few friends and one old tennis ball.
But for Aarav, this ground was not small.
It was his world of cricket.
One day, a local tournament was announced. Big teams were coming from nearby areas. Aarav's friends were scared.
"Hum haar jayenge," one of them whispered.
Aarav smiled and said,
"Jeetna baad me sochenge… pehle poori himmat se khelenge."
Their first match started badly.
Three wickets fell in the first two overs.
The crowd laughed.
The other team looked confident.
Aarav walked in to bat.
The first ball came fast.
He missed.
Second ball.
He almost got out.
He closed his eyes for one second and remembered all those lonely evenings—
practicing shots against a wall,
running between bricks,
dreaming silently.
The next ball came.
Crack!
The ball flew over everyone's head.
Four runs.
Something changed after that.
Aarav didn't play fancy shots.
He played smart.
Singles.
Quick doubles.
Strong defense.
Slowly… the score started moving.
The crowd became quiet.
Last over.
8 runs needed.
Only one wicket left.
Aarav was on strike.
First ball – dot.
Second ball – single.
Now his friend was on strike.
Nervous. Shaking.
Aarav shouted from the other end,
"Ball mat dekh… bas mujh par vishwas kar."
The ball came.
His friend somehow pushed it to Aarav's side.
Run!
Now, last ball.
Two runs to win.
The bowler ran in.
The ball was short.
Aarav pulled it hard.
The ball rolled to the boundary…
but stopped just before the line.
They ran.
One run…
They ran again.
The throw came late.
They won.
For the first time in his life, Aarav felt something bigger than happiness.
He felt belief.
That evening, while walking back home with dusty shoes and tired legs, Aarav looked at the sky and whispered:
"Ek din… main isi game se apni pehchaan banaunga."
And in that small ground with broken bricks and no crowd,
a real cricketer was born. 🏏.