Cricket wasn't just a game in the dusty lanes of a quiet village in India. It was a language, a dream, a way of life—passed from one child to another like stories told around a fire.
For Aki Surya, it meant everything.
As a child, Aki never needed a reason to play. He played because it made him feel alive. A stick was his bat. A worn-out rubber ball, taken from the school storeroom, was his treasure. Broken bricks became his stumps. He didn't care about proper gear or big grounds. His joy came from the sound of the ball hitting the earth, the laughter of friends, and the freedom he felt when he played.
His movements were natural, almost like a dance—quick, light, and full of fire. His coach once told him with a soft smile,
"Aki, if life ever gives you a real chance, you'll shine like the morning sun on a cricket field."
That line stayed with him. It became part of his dreams, even on the nights he couldn't sleep.
But life had other plans.
By the age of seventeen, everything changed. His father, a poor farmer, fell very sick. Their small income stopped. Bills, medicines, and hunger took over their lives. And slowly, Aki had to let go of cricket.
He walked past the old field every morning. He would look at it for just a moment, as if hoping to see his dreams still lying there in the dust. He could almost hear the laughter and the sound of the bat hitting the ball. But then, he would lower his head, tighten the strap of his heavy tool bag, and keep walking.
Years passed.
Now twenty-nine, Aki sat on the edge of his broken rooftop. The smell of rain mixed with the smell of soil. A rusted water tank stood beside him, and an old TV flickered in the corner.
The IPL was on. Bright stadium lights filled the screen. Players hit big shots. The crowd cheered. Fireworks lit up the night sky.
Aki watched it all quietly.
They were playing the same shots he once did, as a child—in real life, and later only in his dreams.
A small smile came to his lips.
"That could've been me," he whispered. "I should've tried harder…"
But there was no one to hear. Only the wind.
The rain started—soft and cold, like the sky was crying with him. The TV signal went bad. Annoyed, Aki stood up to adjust the satellite dish. The rooftop was wet. His feet slipped a little as he reached out to grab a metal rod.
It was old. And rusted.
Crack—Zzzzzz!
A powerful electric shock ran through him. His body froze. His muscles tightened. His eyes opened wide, filled with pain and fear. He couldn't shout.
Time stopped.
The rain seemed to freeze in the air. Everything became still.
Then—blackness.
Silence.
No air.
No time.
Just cold, eternal nothingness.