Abhay opened the door to the room and was immediately hit with a wave of nostalgia.
This was the house they had lived in before becoming filthy rich, before security concerns had forced them to move out. Even though the newer house had also been home, it couldn't compare to this one, the place where his childhood memories had been made.
The Khanna family lived in Punjabi Bagh, the South Delhi of West Delhi, an area known for housing the wealthiest families in that part of the city.
He looked around the house, taking in the familiar sights. Seeing so many people at home at once, he quickly realized that winter vacations must be going on. He didn't have a phone to check the exact date, but the absence of his SpongeBob backpack in the room told him he hadn't started school yet.
That meant it was either the end of 2005 or the beginning of 2006.
Either way, he was five years old.
In the living room, his dadi and dadu, Shanti Khanna and Vijay Khanna, sat together, quietly sipping their morning tea.
His father, Sanjay Khanna, the man who had taken his father's hypermart business to greater heights, was busy on a call, speaking into his latest Blackberry mobile, the symbol of status in that era.
Nearby, his mother, Neena Khanna, a schoolteacher, sat grading test papers with quiet focus.
On the other side of the room, his elder brother Rohit Khanna, nine years older than him, was absorbed in his collection of cricket cards. His sister, Ananya Khanna, three years older than Abhay, tried her best to peek at them, but Rohit stubbornly refused to let her.
The moment the door to his room opened, everyone looked up in surprise.
His father even paused mid-call, glanced at the clock, and saw that it was eight in the morning. He raised an eyebrow at Neena, who also looked slightly startled.
In the Khanna family, and even among their close circles, it was common knowledge that the youngest son was a sleep monster. Young as he was, Abhay never woke up before at least eleven in the morning. He slept in the afternoon too, and turned in early at night without fail.
That he was awake at eight was nothing short of shocking.
Still, no one made a big deal out of it.
Shanti, his dadi, put her teacup down and spread her arms wide. "Aaja mera raja beta." (Come, my prince.) she said warmly.
Abhay maintained the act of having just woken up. He rubbed his eyes, yawned dramatically, and walked slowly into her arms. She lifted him onto her lap and swayed him gently.
It felt like heaven.
For a moment, he genuinely wanted to fall asleep right there.
He fought the urge just as his mother spoke, still busy grading papers. "So how did the sleeping tiger wake up so early today?"
Abhay didn't hesitate, "You all were thinking too loudly," he said seriously. "It disturbed my sleep."
Rohit snorted. "You wouldn't wake up even if a dhol was playing next to you, and you're saying you woke up because of our thoughts?"
Abhay simply nodded.
As always, his dadi supported him without question, even though she knew how absurd it sounded.
"Well, he woke up early, so that must be the reason," she said with a smile. "From now on, you all should think lightly, okay?"
Everyone shook their heads, smiling.
They all knew how much the matriarch of the Khanna family adored Abhay. If he claimed he was a god, she would probably agree, set up a thali, and start praying to him. At the same time, she was the one who handled him the most. With most family members busy or out of the house, Abhay spent the majority of his time with his dadi.
It was no surprise that they were close.
Taking the moment, Abhay spoke up. "Dadi, I want a bat and ball. I want to play cricket."
Shanti Khanna nodded without thinking. To her, it was a simple request.
Then Abhay added, "I want to become a cricketer and win the World Cup."
This time, everyone truly stopped.
All eyes turned to him.
They saw something different, something unusual. The youngest of the family, whose face almost never recovered from sleep, had shining eyes. His small face was filled with determination, as if he were a completely different person.
Shanti picked him up and lifted him into the air for a moment, laughing softly. Vijay Khanna, who was sitting beside her, looked at Abhay seriously and asked.
"Are you sure? If you really want to become a cricketer, you'll have to practice hard. And to do that, you can't sleep as much as you do now. Can you do that?"
Abhay nodded firmly. "Yes, Dadu!"
Vijay Khanna broke into a rare smile. "Alright then," he said. "You'd better win that World Cup before I die. I'll drink tea from that cup."
Everyone burst into laughter.
Abhay smiled too.
He knew how easy it had been to make his family accept his career choice. He had done the same once before, and they had accepted it just as easily back then. The reason was simple, the family never expected anything from him beyond happiness. They just wanted him to stay away from bad habits, from cigarettes and the like.
They would much rather he slept all day than went out and became a junkie.
Now that he was showing ambition, wanting to play cricket, wanting to win the World Cup, they were more than happy to support him.
Money was not an issue. The business was stable. His elder brother was already learning the ropes.
Abhay was free to do whatever he wanted. As long as he stayed away from bad habits.
The next few days passed in a blur for Abhay.
His request had been taken very seriously.
Within a short time, he didn't just get a bat, he got a set of bats, each adjusted perfectly for his height and grip. There were three in total.
The first had an MRF sticker on it, widely circulated and instantly recognizable. It was the bat used by the God himself, Sachin Tendulkar. Abhay stared at it for a long time, almost reverently, before carefully placing it aside.
The second was a more serious option, the SS Ton series bat. Balanced, reliable, and practical.
The third was the Kookaburra Kahuna, with the graphite strip. Abhay recognized it immediately. That bat would be banned in a short while due to the additional power it provided.
In the end, he chose to use only the SS bat. It felt right in his hands, and more importantly, it was the best option for him to adjust properly without relying on gimmicks.
Along with the bats came a full set of balls, tennis balls, rubber balls, and even leather ones. That, however, didn't last long. His mother promptly confiscated the heavier balls, leaving him with only the safer options.
Abhay didn't argue.
He didn't really need them yet.
Right now, his priority wasn't batting or bowling, it was building his body's base abilities. Flexibility, balance, coordination. For that, Neena hired a gymnastics teacher, Ms. Garima, who came regularly to help him with stretches and simple exercises that would prepare his body for future training.
The sessions were tiring, sometimes boring, but necessary.
The most fun, however, came from something much simpler.
Catching.
His siblings quickly became his unwilling accomplices. Rohit and Ananya threw balls at him whenever they could, and Abhay chased them around the house with unfiltered enthusiasm.
It was during the very first session that he felt it. The effect of Instinct Calibration.
Rohit threw a high ball, clearly trying to show off to his younger siblings. The ball arced upward, spinning lazily in the air.
Before Abhay consciously thought about it, his body reacted.
He knew where the ball would land.
He adjusted his position instinctively, planted his feet, brought his hands up in a reverse grip, and a second later, the ball dropped cleanly into his palms.
"I caught it!" Abhay giggled, holding the ball up proudly with a wide, toothy grin.
Rohit blinked, then laughed, ruffling Abhay's hair. "You have great talent," he said honestly. "Even I wouldn't have caught that so easily."
From that moment on, chaos followed.
Abhay began demanding throws at all times, except when he was asleep. Balls came flying at him from odd angles and unexpected distances. Some catches he dropped because they were simply too far. Others he chased down, stretching his small body and twisting mid-air in ways that made his family gasp.
A few showpieces didn't survive.
But no one complained.
~
More than a month passed like this. Whether it could even be called training was debatable.
Eventually, Rohit and Ananya returned to school, leaving Abhay with fewer throwers. He solved that problem easily by enlisting the help of the house staff, who were more than happy to toss balls his way under his enthusiastic instructions.
His dadi was always nearby, watching closely to make sure he didn't hurt himself in his excitement.
He did get hurt though, scraped knees, small bruises, the occasional tumble, but none of it bothered him much. His dadi, however, kept track of everything. Every evening, she would tell him how many catches he had dropped and how many times he had hurt himself because he hadn't judged the ball properly.
Strangely, it helped.
It became another way to measure his improvement, one that the system didn't show.
In just a month, his fielding experience increased by 3%.
Abhay knew this was enough for now. Stretching, catching, building coordination. As he grew older, he would increase the intensity. For that, he would need his parents' support, but he wasn't worried.
Just like his last life, that support would come without him asking.
~
One day, while practicing as usual, the cook threw the ball across the living room a little harder than intended.
Abhay's eyes locked onto it.
The distance was greater and the timing tighter.
He knew instantly, if he didn't close the gap, he would miss it.
He sprinted forward, planted one foot on the sofa, and launched himself upward. His right arm stretched out fully as he caught the ball one-handed. Twisting mid-air, he landed safely on another sofa.
Then, he stopped and struck a pose.
Standing tall, arms spread wide, then the right hand raised high, clutching the ball as if it were the catch that had just won India the World Cup.
CLICK.
The sound startled him.
Abhay blinked and turned his head, blushing as he saw his father standing at the doorway, a camera raised and pointed straight at him.
Then his gaze shifted past his father.
His face lit up instantly.
"Mohammad Kaif sir!" he exclaimed excitedly.
~~~~~
{Kaif in this fic would be about 15 years older, I don't think there would be any major affect of this move on Indian cricket at this time.
Kaif wouldn't have that much of a role in the early chapters or even till under-14, he would be in the background till then, once Abhay formally enters the rank of cricket, starting from State Cricket, Kaif's role would increase.}