Eternal Storm: Volume 1 – The Awakening

The morning light seeped through the curtains as Aryan sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair. He had barely slept. The dreams had disappeared, leaving behind an odd emptiness, yet his mind was still restless.

As he stretched and got up, his eyes drifted toward his schoolbag, slumped against the chair. That was when it hit him.

Today was PE class.

A sinking feeling settled in his stomach. He had managed to avoid participating for most of the year, and he wanted to keep it that way. The thought of playing sports with his current classmates—who were technically his juniors—made him uneasy. If he messed up, he knew exactly how it would go. They'd laugh, mock him, and remind him of how far he had fallen since repeating the year.

He sighed, rubbing his face. He hadn't always been like this.

A flash of last year's memories surfaced.

Back then, he had played during every PE session—not because he was amazing at it, but because he enjoyed cricket. He wasn't an all-rounder or a star player, but he could hold his own. Fielding, batting, even a bit of spin bowling—he could do it. But now, stepping onto that field again after everything that had changed? He wasn't ready for that.

Yet, as much as he wanted to sit this one out, fate had other plans.

When the time came, Aryan tried to slip away before PE class, but his luck ran out.

"Verma!" The teacher's voice rang across the ground. "No more skipping. You're playing today."

There was no room for argument.

Aryan sighed in defeat as he walked toward the cricket pitch, where the teams were already being picked. He ended up on the bowling side first. That was better, at least—he wouldn't have to bat just yet.

As the match began, Aryan positioned himself near the boundary line.

For a while, the game went on without much involvement from him. The bowlers did their job, some deliveries were good, others were loose, and wickets fell at a steady pace. He watched quietly, observing the game unfold.

Then, the moment came.

The batsman attempted a powerful shot toward deep mid-wicket. The ball soared through the air, heading straight toward Aryan.

Instinct took over. He moved swiftly, his eyes locked onto the ball. In a fluid motion, he positioned himself, reached out, and caught it with precision.

Silence.

Then, his teammates erupted in cheers.

"Nice catch!" one of them shouted.

Aryan blinked, momentarily stunned. He hadn't expected it to come so naturally.

But as the game continued, he realized it wasn't just a fluke. His movements felt sharper, his reflexes quicker. He wasn't suddenly a professional, but something inside him had changed.

Midway through the innings, the captain approached him.

"The pitch is favoring spin," he said. "We need an off-spinner for this over."

Aryan hesitated. "Me?"

"You're the only one who knows how to bowl off-spin," the captain pointed out. "Just one over. Try it."

Aryan took a deep breath and nodded.

He marked his run-up, gripping the ball in his fingers. The batsman at the crease was one of the more aggressive players. If Aryan messed up, he'd be punished for it.

He focused, recalling the technique. As he released the ball, his fingers worked their magic, imparting spin.

The batsman stepped out for a big shot—

The ball turned sharply, beating him completely.

The keeper collected it cleanly and whipped off the bails.

"Stumped!" The umpire raised his finger.

Aryan exhaled. His teammates cheered again, patting him on the back. It was just one wicket, but it felt like a victory.

He finished his over without conceding too many runs, and soon, the innings came to an end. The target was set—92 runs in 10 overs.

Aryan's team began their chase.

But things didn't go as planned. Wickets kept falling, and the required run rate climbed. Before he knew it, they were struggling at 45/5 in six overs.

That was when Aryan's name was called.

He was the sixth wicket.

As he walked onto the pitch, he took a deep breath. He had spent the last year avoiding this, but now he was here.

The bowler ran in, delivering the first ball. Aryan blocked it. The next delivery—another defensive shot.

He was being cautious, testing the waters.

Then, on the third ball, he saw an opportunity. A full-length delivery on leg stump. He leaned forward and nudged it into the gap, taking a single.

That single changed something in him.

Confidence seeped in. The next over, he found his rhythm. He started rotating the strike, playing his shots. A flick to fine leg for two runs, a drive past mid-off for another single.

His teammates watched, surprised. Aryan, who had been avoiding sports for so long, was holding the innings together.

But the required rate kept rising.

In the ninth over, the equation stood at 17 runs needed from 6 balls.

Aryan was on strike.

The bowler sprinted in. A short-pitched ball. Aryan pulled it toward deep square leg—four runs!

13 needed from 5.

The next ball, he drove it past cover—another boundary!

9 from 4.

His teammates started believing. Could he actually pull this off?

The third delivery of the over—Aryan attempted another big shot.

The ball soared high—

But it didn't clear the fielder.

A loud thud echoed as the catch was taken.

Out.

Aryan exhaled, disappointment sinking in.

The remaining batsmen couldn't finish the job. The match ended with them falling short at 88/8.

They had lost.

But Aryan couldn't ignore one thing—he had played better than he ever expected.

After the match, the team gathered near the cafeteria, discussing the game.

Aadhya approached him, crossing her arms. "So, you're a cricket player too, genius?"

Aryan gave a small chuckle. "Not really. I just used to play before."

"Well, that 'not really' almost won the game," she pointed out. "Didn't know you had it in you."

Aryan shrugged. "Neither did I."

She smirked. "Guess you're not just a brainiac, huh?"

Aryan didn't reply immediately. He stared down at his hands, remembering the match, the way his body had responded, the way his instincts had kicked in.

Something was changing.

He just didn't know what yet.

The cafeteria buzzed with chatter, the smell of freshly fried snacks lingering in the air. Aryan sat at a corner table, stirring his drink absentmindedly. His body still felt the exhaustion from the game, but his mind was elsewhere. He had played better than he ever had before. The sharpness of his movements, the way his reflexes had kicked in—it wasn't normal.

Aadhya sat across from him, biting into a samosa. "You're awfully quiet for someone who just turned into a sports star out of nowhere."

Aryan gave her a look. "Sports star? We lost, remember?"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter. Everyone saw how you played. You were actually good." She tilted her head, watching him. "You really haven't played in a year?"

Aryan hesitated. "Not really. Not since... well, everything."

Aadhya nodded, understanding. "Still, you didn't look rusty at all."

Aryan didn't know how to explain it. How could he? Even he didn't understand what had happened.

Before he could respond, a voice called out, "Yo, Aryan!"

He turned to see a few of his teammates walking over. One of them, the team captain, clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Dude, where the hell have you been hiding? If we knew you could play like that, we wouldn't have let you skip PE all this time!"

Aryan forced a small smile. "Just lucky, I guess."

"Luck?" One of them scoffed. "You were the only one actually hitting the ball properly!"

"Yeah, man," another chimed in. "That shot through covers? Smooth."

Aryan shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the attention. "It wasn't enough, though."

The captain shrugged. "Maybe not today. But next time, we win." He grinned. "And next time, you're not sitting out."

Aryan sighed. "Great."

Aadhya smirked. "See? Now you're officially one of the guys."

Aryan rolled his eyes, but he couldn't shake the feeling in his chest.

Something was definitely changing. His mind, his body—everything.

And deep down, he knew this was only the beginning.

END OF CHAPTER 9