The morning paper arrived late, tossed onto the tea stall by a sleepy vendor. Nikhil's father unfolded it slowly, his fingers trembling slightly from the lingering weakness. He scanned the front page, then the sports section—and froze.
There it was.
"Chandpur's Wonder Boy: Nikhil Srivastam Stars in District Victory"
A half-page article, complete with a grainy photo of Nikhil mid-drive, Veer slicing through the air like a sword. The headline was bold. The words were glowing. But the truth was more complicated.
Nikhil arrived minutes later, fresh from his morning run. His father held up the paper. "You're famous."
Nikhil took it, read the article. It praised his composure, his finishing ability, his quiet leadership. It called him "the future of UP cricket." It mentioned Chandpur, the tea stall, even Shera.
He folded the paper carefully. "It's just one match."
His father smiled. "It's more than that. It's a beginning."
Later that day, Nikhil arrived at the academy to find a crowd of younger boys waiting near the nets. One of them ran up. "Are you Nikhil bhaiya? The one from the paper?"
Nikhil nodded.
"Can you sign my bat?"
He hesitated, then scribbled his name on the handle. The boy grinned and ran off.
Coach Devraj watched from a distance. "Fame is a visitor," he said. "Treat it like a guest. Not a god."
Nikhil nodded. "I'm not chasing headlines."
"Good," Devraj replied. "Because headlines fade. Scorecards don't."
That afternoon, the district team gathered for a strategy session. Their next match was against Western Warriors, a team stacked with state-level talent. The media buzz had made the fixture high-profile. Reporters were expected. Cameras too.
Coach Rameshwar addressed the team. "Ignore the noise. Play your game. And remember—every eye on you is a distraction unless you make it a mirror."
Viraj leaned over to Nikhil. "You're the story now. Pressure's on."
"I've always played under pressure," Nikhil replied.
The match was scheduled for Saturday. In the days leading up, Nikhil trained harder than ever—extra nets, solo drills, mental visualization. But the attention kept growing.
A local sports channel requested an interview. Nikhil declined.
A journalist emailed Coach Devraj asking for Nikhil's backstory. Devraj forwarded it to Nikhil.
He read the questions:
"How did you overcome poverty to reach district level?""What does your bat 'Veer' symbolize?""Do you dream of playing for India?"
He closed the email. He wasn't ready to be a symbol. He was still becoming a player.
That evening, he sat with his father, watching the sunset over Chandpur's rooftops.
"They want your story," his father said.
"They want a headline," Nikhil replied.
His father nodded. "Then give them truth. Not drama."
Nikhil opened his notebook and wrote:
"Lesson: Fame is a shadow. Fix: Stay in the light. Goal: Let performance speak. Reminder: I play for purpose, not applause."
On Saturday, the match began under floodlights. The crowd was larger than usual. Reporters lined the boundary. Cameras clicked every time Nikhil moved.
He batted at number four. The Warriors' bowlers were sharp, disciplined. The pitch was slow. The fielders chirped.
First ball: dot.
Second ball: single.
Third ball: short. Nikhil pulled—four.
He built his innings quietly, rotating strike, guiding the chase. No big shots. No drama. Just control.
He finished with 38 off 33 balls, anchoring the middle overs and helping the team win by five wickets.
After the match, a reporter approached him. "Can we get a quote?"
Nikhil paused, then said, "I'm just getting started."