Zaid sat on the bench, his body sore from the intense session. But his mind? Sharpened like a blade.
Coach Arif tossed him a bottle of water. "You're improving. But don't let it get to your head."
Zaid nodded, taking deep gulps.
Nearby, the senior players were discussing an upcoming district-level selection match.
"Only a few spots open."
"Competition's tough this year."
"You think Zaid has a chance?"
Zaid's grip tightened around the bottle. He didn't just want a chance. He wanted that spot.
Coach Arif noticed. "You want in?"
Zaid met his gaze. "Yes."
Arif smirked. "Then earn it. Tomorrow morning, we start at 5 AM. No excuses."
Zaid exhaled. The grind never stopped.
And neither would he.
The world was still dark when Zaid arrived at the academy. 5 AM. No excuses.
His muscles ached from yesterday's session, but he pushed the pain aside. This was what separated the weak from the strong.
Coach Arif was already waiting. "Good. You're on time."
Zaid stretched, glancing around. No one else was here.
Arif tossed him a ball. "Today, we train alone. No distractions. Just you, me, and hard work."
Zaid swallowed. This was serious.
First drill: Sprinting with weights.
Arif strapped resistance bands around Zaid's waist. "Fast bowlers need strong legs. Give me ten sprints."
Zaid dug his heels into the dirt. One. Two. Three.
By the fifth, his thighs burned. By the tenth, his lungs screamed.
But he didn't stop.
Next drill: Accuracy.
Arif set up a single stump. "Hit it five times in a row."
Zaid wiped sweat from his eyes, took a deep breath, and bowled.
First ball – missed by inches.
Second ball – clipped the stump but didn't knock it over.
Third ball – direct hit.
Arif nodded. "Good. But can you do it under pressure?"
He raised his stopwatch. "You have 30 seconds to hit it twice more."
Zaid's heart pounded. This was it.
He took a deep breath, ran in, and released the ball.
Zaid's fingers gripped the ball tighter as he ran in. Thirty seconds. Two direct hits. No mistakes.
He took a deep breath, focused on the single stump, and let the ball fly.
Fourth ball – just wide!
The stump wobbled but didn't fall.
Zaid clenched his jaw. One chance left.
Coach Arif checked the stopwatch. "Fifteen seconds."
Zaid shut out everything—the burning in his legs, the sweat trickling down his back. Just him, the ball, and the stump.
He sprinted in, his body moving on instinct.
Fifth ball – dead straight.
CRACK!
The stump flew off the ground.
Zaid exhaled, fists clenching. He did it.
Coach Arif smirked. "Not bad. But remember—one good ball won't get you into the team. You need consistency."
Zaid nodded, chest still rising and falling. He understood.
And he wasn't stopping until he mastered it.
Zaid leaned against the net, breathing heavily. The session was brutal, but he wasn't done yet.
Coach Arif crossed his arms. "You've got accuracy. Now, let's test endurance."
Zaid wiped sweat from his face. "What's next?"
Arif pointed at the pitch. "Ten overs. No breaks. Full intensity."
Zaid's eyes widened. Sixty deliveries at match pace?
But he didn't complain. He just nodded.
He marked his run-up, inhaled deeply, and started.
First over – smooth. The ball carried well, his pace sharp.
Third over – sweat dripped into his eyes. His breathing was heavier.
Fifth over – legs burning. His action started to falter.
Coach Arif shouted. "Fix your follow-through! Stay balanced!"
Zaid gritted his teeth. No excuses. Keep going.
By the eighth over, his body screamed for rest. But he pushed forward.
Ninth over—his speed dropped, but his accuracy remained.
Tenth over—the last ball. He gave it everything.
The ball zipped in, hit the off-stump, and sent it flying.
Zaid dropped to his knees, exhausted. He had survived.
Coach Arif smiled. "That's the difference between good and great."
Zaid exhaled. He wasn't there yet. But he was getting closer.
Zaid sat on the bench, gulping down water. His entire body ached, but deep inside, he felt something else—progress.
Coach Arif checked his phone. Then, he turned to Zaid. "You might want to hear this."
Zaid frowned. "What is it?"
Arif handed him the phone. A call from the district selection committee.
Zaid's heartbeat quickened. This was it.
He put the phone to his ear. "Hello?"
A deep voice responded. "Zaid Khan? We've been watching your progress. You're in contention for the district team trials."
Zaid's fingers tightened around the phone. "I—I made it?"
The voice on the other end chuckled. "Not yet. Show up, perform, and then we'll decide."
Zaid exhaled sharply. A chance. A real chance.
As the call ended, Coach Arif clapped him on the shoulder. "This is where it gets serious. No mistakes now."
Zaid nodded, his eyes burning with determination. He wasn't just here to try. He was here to win.