Zaid stepped into the house, his heartbeat heavy.
His mother sat on the floor, sorting through some old clothes. The second she saw his face, she knew.
She didn't even need to ask.
Her hands trembled as she wiped them on her sari. "They… they didn't give you more time?"
Zaid couldn't lie.
He shook his head. "It's over, Ammi."
Silence.
His mother exhaled slowly, staring at the floor.
Then, to his horror, she started crying.
Zaid's chest tightened. He had seen her upset before—angry, stressed, tired.
But this?
He had never seen her break down.
She covered her face, her shoulders shaking. "I failed you."
Zaid's stomach twisted.
"Ammi, no," he said quickly. "You did everything you could. It's not your fault."
She didn't respond.
Zaid felt helpless.
She had fought so hard for him to stay in school. Begged the principal. Borrowed money from neighbors. Worked extra hours.
And now… it was all gone.
She had pinned all her hopes on his education—on him getting a stable job.
But now, the future she had imagined for him had collapsed.
Zaid wanted to fix it.
To tell her that everything would be okay.
But how?
He had no answers.
Only a burning resolve.
He knelt beside her, his voice firm.
"Ammi… I will fix this."
She looked at him, eyes full of doubt and pain.
He gritted his teeth.
He didn't have a school anymore.
But he still had a dream.
And he would make it real.
No matter what it took.
The next morning, Zaid left home early.
He had no school to go to. No plan.
But he knew one thing—if he wanted to play cricket, he needed money.
And for money, he needed work.
He wandered through the busy streets, watching shopkeepers set up their stalls, laborers loading sacks onto trucks, boys his age running errands for a few rupees.
What can I do?
His stomach growled. He had left without eating—there wasn't enough food at home.
Zaid clenched his fists.
He had no time to feel sorry for himself.
He spotted a tea stall overflowing with customers. The owner, an old man with a gruff face, was yelling at a worker.
"Useless boy! You spill one more cup, and you're fired!"
The worker mumbled an apology, but Zaid saw his chance.
He stepped forward. "Uncle, do you need help?"
The man eyed him. "You know how to make tea?"
Zaid shook his head. "But I can serve."
The owner grunted. "Work till sundown. Fifty rupees. Take it or leave it."
Fifty rupees.
It wasn't much—but it was a start.
Zaid nodded. "I'll do it."
And just like that, his hustle began.
Zaid grabbed a tray and rushed into the crowd.
"Chai, bhaiya?" he asked, carefully placing steaming cups on the tables.
The shop was chaotic. Orders were yelled, coins were tossed, and the hot fumes of boiling tea made the air stifling.
But Zaid didn't stop.
He ran between tables, dodged spilling cups, and kept moving.
His feet ached. His hands burned from the heat. Sweat dripped down his back.
But he gritted his teeth and pushed through.
[ System Notification ]
[ Endurance +1 ]
Zaid nearly laughed.
So even this counted?
Fine. If working like this made him stronger, then he would embrace it.
By sundown, his muscles screamed, but he stood in front of the owner, panting.
The old man tossed a crumpled fifty-rupee note onto the counter. "Come back tomorrow."
Zaid grabbed the money.
Fifty rupees. A small step.
But in his mind—it was the beginning of something bigger.
Zaid stared at the fifty-rupee note in his hand.
It wasn't much.
But it was his first earning.
His first step towards buying his own cricket gear.
That night, he lay on the thin mattress in his tiny home, staring at the ceiling.
How much do I need?
A proper cricket bat? At least 600-700 rupees.
A decent ball? 150 rupees.
And that was just the basics.
Zaid clenched his fists.
If he worked every day at the tea stall, he could save up. But that would take weeks.
Too slow.
He needed another way.
Something faster.
Something that could get him on the field now.
His mind raced through ideas.
Then—a crazy thought hit him.
He didn't need a brand-new bat.
He just needed a bat.
And there was one place he could find one.
A place where rich boys forgot what they left behind.
The city's biggest cricket ground.