*July 2014 — India U-19 vs England U-19, 1st Youth ODI, Wankhede Stadium, Mumbai*
The first time Ishaan walked into the Wankhede dressing room wearing an Indian jersey, he didn't smile. He didn't whisper thanks to the gods, or run his fingers along the lockers.
He just stood still.
Like a soldier entering the battlefield he had dreamt of since he could hold a bat.
The navy blue kit clung to him like destiny. Across the chest, it read *India*, and just below the left collarbone, stitched in white, was his name: **Ishaan Verma**.
"New gear, huh?" Rudra Singh grinned, slapping his back.
Ishaan smirked. "Heavy with expectation."
"Better than being invisible."
Rudra, now the leading pacer in the U-19 squad, had grown even leaner, sharper, and louder. The two of them had survived the same trials, suffered the same doubts. Now, they were here.
The big stage.
Coach Muralidharan addressed the team. "England's U-19s are aggressive, skilled, and used to playing on seaming wickets. But here? They're in our backyard. Make them feel it. And Verma—you open. Set the tone."
A pause.
"This isn't a trial anymore. This is your name going into archives. First impressions here are forever."
---
The Wankhede pitch shimmered under the July sun. A slight breeze blew from the Arabian Sea, making the tricolour flutter above the press box.
India won the toss. Batting first.
Ishaan walked out with Karthik Iyer. The crowd, though small, was vocal. School kids waved paper flags. A group of enthusiastic Mumbaikars chanted his name.
"No pressure," Karthik muttered.
Ishaan smiled. "Only history."
The first delivery was from England's left-arm quick, Callum Hart. New ball. Overcast skies. The perfect recipe for movement.
First ball: pitched up, swinging away. Ishaan left it.
Second ball: full and straight. Driven back past the bowler.
Four.
The applause echoed inside him.
He was here.
---
The first ten overs were a test. Ishaan focused on balance. He rotated strike. Left deliveries he would've chased a year ago. Let Karthik play his shots.
By the fifteenth over, he was on 29 off 38 balls. Not flashy. But alive.
Then came the English off-spinner, Tom Farley.
Short ball. Ishaan rocked back and cut.
Four.
Next ball: flighted outside off.
He stepped out and lofted it over extra cover.
Six.
Now the crowd roared.
He was no longer the quiet boy from Shivaji Park.
He was India's opener.
---
At 67, he misread a googly and edged it to slip.
The dismissal didn't hurt.
The standing ovation did more. It reminded him he had *become* someone.
India finished with 251. Rudra took 3 wickets. India won by 42 runs.
The press praised Ishaan's debut.
"Solid. Compact. Made for bigger things."
But Ishaan didn't read the papers. He read his diary.
*Debut: 67. Felt right. But this is just the floor.*
---
The next matches blurred into a rhythm.
Match 2: Ishaan scored 14. Chopped one onto his stumps.
Match 3: 45. Edged to gully just as he looked set.
Match 4: 92\* off 96. Masterclass in pacing a chase.
By the end of the 5-match series, he had 218 runs at an average of 54.5. Second highest in the series. Karthik had 189. Rudra had 10 wickets.
India had swept the series 4-1.
Coach Muralidharan sat them down afterward.
"Now you're not boys playing for a dream. You're men protecting a legacy. Wear the jersey like it bleeds. Because one bad series, and the world forgets."
---
Back home, things were different.
Meera had watched every match on TV. Her phone rang endlessly. Neighbors brought sweets. Coaches sent congratulations.
But her eyes still searched the door every evening.
As if waiting for Rajeev to return and say, \*"Told you he would make it."
Ishaan sat with her one night, holding the old letter.
"He would've been proud," Meera whispered.
Ishaan nodded. "But he'd tell me not to slow down."
---
In August, the U-19 Asia Cup squad was announced.
Ishaan Verma: Vice Captain.
The news spread fast. Calls came from BCCI, interviews were requested, features written. But Ishaan kept quiet.
His world wasn't noise.
It was the pitch, the willow, and the quiet thud of leather meeting bat.
Before flying to Malaysia for the tournament, Ishaan visited Shivaji Park.
The nets were full of kids. Dusty kits. Loud appeals. Laughter.
Coach Kulkarni was there, watching.
He turned and smiled. "Still grounded, I see."
"Where else would I be?" Ishaan replied.
They sat in silence, watching a young boy miss a full-toss and sigh.
Kulkarni said, "That kid is you, five years ago."
Ishaan nodded. "Maybe. But this time, I know where I'm going."
---
That night, Ishaan wrote in his diary:
*The jersey fits now. But it's still growing. Like me. The world's getting bigger, and so is the noise. But I'll stay here—in the middle. Bat in hand. Eyes forward.*
*Because this isn't the peak. This is just the first climb.*