The next delivery was a yorker—fast and straight.
Zaid picked it up early. His bat came down just in time, digging the ball out with sharp precision. It rolled toward mid-on, slow but controlled.
"Run!"
His partner hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Zaid had already taken off.
His heart pounded as he sprinted, the fielder charging in.
The ball was in his hands now. The throw came—fast, direct.
Zaid dived.
Dust exploded around him.
His bat skidded across the crease, just as the bails lit up.
For a second, there was silence.
Then—
"Safe!"
Zaid exhaled, pushing himself up, dusting off his shirt.
The bowler shook his head in frustration.
"You're quick, I'll give you that."
Zaid smirked. You haven't seen anything yet.
Zaid stood tall, his confidence growing with every passing moment. The fielders were no longer laughing or making sly comments—they were watching him carefully now.
The bowler scowled, adjusting his grip on the ball. He wasn't about to let Zaid settle in so easily.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
He sprinted in, his arm whipping over—a back-of-the-length delivery, aimed at Zaid's body.
Zaid reacted instinctively. He stepped back, shifting his weight, and swiveled into a pull shot.
Crack!
The ball soared over square leg. The fielder sprinted toward the boundary, but it was hopeless.
Four runs.
The fielders groaned. The bowler clenched his jaw.
Zaid didn't celebrate. He wasn't here for just one good shot—he was here to dominate.
The next ball came—this time, full and wide outside off.
Zaid leaned in and drove through the covers.
The ball raced across the outfield.
The crowd gasped.
Another four.
The bowler ran a hand through his hair, frustration visible on his face. The fielding captain called for a quick meeting.
Zaid smirked to himself. They knew now—he wasn't just some kid filling in.
He was here to stay.
The energy on the field had shifted. Zaid could feel it.
The bowler, now visibly irritated, changed his approach. The field was adjusted, with an extra fielder placed on the off-side.
Zaid took his stance, his grip firm on the bat.
The next ball was a slower delivery, disguised well.
Zaid watched it closely. Patience.
At the last moment, he stepped forward and lofted it over mid-off.
The ball hung in the air for a second—then dropped just inside the boundary.
Another four.
The fielding captain cursed under his breath. The bowler kicked the dirt in frustration.
The pressure was now on them.
The next ball came—fuller, angling into his pads.
Zaid flicked it effortlessly.
The ball raced past square leg.
He took off running.
One run. Two runs.
He wanted a third, but his partner hesitated. Zaid pulled back.
As he dusted his hands, he noticed something—the fielders were quiet now.
No more taunts. No more jeers.
They weren't underestimating him anymore.
Good.
Because he was just getting started.
Zaid stood at the non-striker's end, wiping sweat off his brow. His heart was steady now, his confidence unshaken. The initial nerves were gone—he was in control.
His partner faced the next delivery, a sharp in-swinger that rattled into his pads. A loud appeal erupted from the fielders, but the umpire shook his head.
Zaid exhaled. Focus. Stay sharp.
The next ball was a dot.
And then—his turn again.
The bowler adjusted his run-up, his frustration evident. He sprinted in, sending down a fast, back-of-a-length delivery.
Zaid anticipated it.
He stepped back and upper-cut it over third man.
The fielders turned, eyes following the ball.
It cleared the ropes.
Six.
A murmur spread through the crowd.
The bowler clenched his fists.
Zaid didn't gloat—he simply adjusted his gloves and prepared for the next ball.
This was his game now.
Zaid adjusted his grip, rolling his shoulders as he faced the bowler once more. The intensity on the field had shifted—no longer were they mocking him, no longer was he just another kid trying to prove himself.
Now, they knew he was a threat.
The bowler, clearly rattled, took his time at the top of his run-up. He exhaled sharply before charging in again.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The ball hurtled toward Zaid, short and angling into his body—a bouncer meant to intimidate.
But Zaid was ready.
He rocked back and hooked it with a perfect motion.
The ball soared over fine leg.
The fielder sprinted, but he had no chance.
Six.
The small crowd let out a cheer.
Zaid held his stance for a moment longer, his bat still high. He wanted them to know—this wasn't luck.
The bowler slammed the ball into the ground, his frustration boiling over.
Zaid smiled to himself.
This was only the beginning.