Mumbai, January 2014 — Harris Shield Finals, Wankhede Stadium
The sun broke over the Arabian Sea like a quiet promise. Mumbai was awake early, as if it knew today was meant to be written in gold.
Wankhede, once just a dream whispered in Ishaan's diary pages, now stood tall before him—not as a monument, but as a battlefield. The Harris Shield final had returned to the legendary ground, and so had Ishaan Verma.
He stood in the players' tunnel, the synthetic grass under his spikes, helmet tucked under his arm. From the other end of the corridor, the noise of drums and conch shells filtered in—Shivaji Tigers fans had arrived in numbers.
Eight years had passed since that first trial at Shivaji Park.
He was no longer the scrawny boy with a borrowed bat. He was now Ishaan Verma—the leading run-scorer in Mumbai's school cricket circuit, with five centuries in six games, a strike rate of 87, and a composure that unnerved even the most talented bowlers.
But this wasn't just about records. Today was personal.
His team, Shivaji Tigers, was playing against St. Dominic's Academy—a well-funded private school known as a conveyor belt for future India stars. And among their ranks was the ghost of a rivalry that had never really died.
Riyan Singh.
Leg-spinner. Former U-14 rival. Now captain of St. Dominic's.
He hadn't forgotten their last meeting. Neither had Ishaan.
The toss was lost. Dominic's chose to bat.
Ishaan, captaining the Tigers for the first time in a final, gathered his boys in a tight huddle.
"They'll play their game. We'll play ours. Tight lines, sharp minds, no extras. Let them earn every run."
Riyan opened the innings—unexpected.
And from the first ball, it was clear why.
He wasn't just here to bowl today. He wanted to dominate the game.
But Ishaan had done his homework. He opened with a left-arm spinner to cramp Riyan early. The first over went for a maiden. By the tenth, Riyan was 18 off 35.
Frustrated, he tried to loft over mid-off.
Ishaan, standing at extra cover, sprinted and dived forward.
The ball stuck.
Riyan was gone.
The crowd erupted.
For a moment, as Ishaan sat on the turf, the memory of that dismissal back in Azad Maidan flashed in his mind. The broken stumps. The smirk.
Not today.
By the 40th over, Dominic's was bowled out for 214.
A challenging score. Not impossible. But finals had a way of making targets heavier than they seemed.
Chasing 215, Shivaji Tigers lost an early wicket.
Then another.
And then a third.
The scoreboard read 33/3.
Ishaan stood in the shade of the dressing room balcony, pads strapped, gloves on, but calm.
Coach Kulkarni sat beside him.
"You waited eight years for this," he said, sipping tea. "Play it like you did when no one watched you."
Ishaan nodded and stepped onto the field.
The stadium felt bigger. Not because of the seats or the size—but because now, thousands of eyes were waiting for a miracle. Not from a team. From him.
He started slow. Left deliveries. Let the bowler sweat. Ran hard singles.
His partner at the other end, young Arjun Naik, looked nervous. Ishaan walked over between overs.
"Watch my tempo. Just stay with me."
Together, they stitched a partnership. 20 runs. Then 30. Then 50.
Arjun grew confident.
Ishaan began accelerating.
Riyan was brought on in the 23rd over.
The crowd buzzed. A reunion. A rivalry. And this time, no quarter would be given.
First ball: leg-break. Dot.
Second ball: faster one. Ishaan defended.
Third: the googly.
Ishaan picked it early, stepped out, and lofted it over long-on.
Six.
Riyan didn't flinch. Just walked back.
But in that moment, the pendulum had swung.
Ishaan batted like a man in control of gravity.
Cover drives, late cuts, sweeps with ballet-footed precision.
In the 40th over, he reached 98.
Riyan tossed one up.
Ishaan reverse-swept it to the boundary.
A hundred.
His bat raised. No fist pump. Just a look upward.
His mother stood in the gallery, tears in her eyes.
Meera had worn Rajeev's old watch on her wrist today, over her sari.
She mouthed, "He saw it."
Ishaan smiled. The kind of smile that wasn't about relief or pride—it was about remembering who he played for.
Shivaji Tigers won with 4 overs to spare.
At the post-match ceremony, Ishaan was handed the 'Best Player of the Tournament' award.
He held the mic, awkward at first.
"I don't know how many people will remember a school final ten years from now. But I will. Because I shared this field with boys who played for dreams, not sponsors. And because someone I love once said… play the game, but love life more."
The stadium applauded.
Somewhere in the stands, Emma Watson's face flashed briefly on a fan's poster, photoshopped with Ishaan's. He chuckled.
Even Rudra, now playing U-19s in Ranchi, sent a text later: "Typical you. Win, but make us cry too."
But the real reward came days later.
The Mumbai U-19 squad list was published.
Ishaan Verma — Opener.
It was his official step into First-Class cricket. Into Ranji dreams. Into the world he had chased since the first time his bat made a sound louder than his doubts.
Coach Kulkarni sat him down.
"Everything changes now."
"I know."
"No more tennis balls. No parking lot nets. No sympathy. Just competition. Just men trying to knock your head off."
"I'm ready."
Kulkarni nodded. Then, softer: "Don't lose him."
"Who?"
"That boy with the notebook. The one who played shadow cricket in the mirror. Don't let him go."
Ishaan went home that night and dug through his drawer.
Found the old diary.
The cover was torn, pages yellowed.
But there it was. The first entry.
They didn't see me. One day, they won't be able to look away.
He turned to the last page. Wrote:
Now they see me. But I see further.
First Class. First Steps. Not the end. Just the next stage of the beginning.
Bandra, Mumbai — A Week Later
The Mumbai U-19s had their first nets at MIG Cricket Club.
Ishaan walked in wearing his new training kit. His name was printed on the back. "Verma." In bold.
Other players whispered.
"That's the Harris guy."
"Century in the final."
"He's in the probables for India U-19 now."
But Ishaan wasn't listening.
He was watching.
The speed. The bounce. The discipline.
This was a different world.
The bowlers here weren't his friends from Shivaji Tigers. They weren't afraid to hit the body. They weren't impressed by school records.
In the nets, he faced 30 balls. Scored off six.
Beaten on ten.
Hit on the gloves twice.
Coach Bhagat, head of Mumbai U-19s, didn't say much. Just called him later.
"You're talented. But here, talent's not rare. What you do next decides if you stay."
That night, Ishaan didn't sleep.
He sat with his diary. Thought of his father.
Then thought of the noise.
The competition.
The critics.
He wrote:
The silence between bat and ball is shrinking. That's how I know the level is rising. So must I.
Late February — U-19 Practice Match vs Karnataka
Ishaan opened. On a green top pitch. Facing state-level pacers.
He scored 6 in the first innings. Gone to an inswinger.
In the second innings, he didn't attack.
He defended.
Survived.
Left deliveries that begged to be driven.
Gritted to 42 off 118 balls.
It wasn't flashy. But it was respected.
The coach said, "Now that's a First-Class innings."
Three weeks later, a call came.
He was one of five players shortlisted for the India U-19 Probables Camp in Bengaluru.
The door had opened again.
Not by a knock.
But by relentless pushing.