The Last Over

The roar of the stadium, the blinding floodlights, the pulsating tension—Srijan had lived for this moment. The final over, one run to win, millions of eyes on him. He tightened his grip on the bat, sweat trickling down his brow.

The bowler sprinted in, the ball hurtling toward him—

Darkness.

When Srijan opened his eyes, he wasn’t in the stadium. He was in a jail cell. His cricket whites were stained—dark red. His fingers twitched, a strange metallic scent in the air. The distant echo of a scream clung to the damp walls.

Had it been a dream?

Or a memory

_____

"Srijan Bhardwaj, you are under arrest for the murder of Soniya Sharma."

Soniya. His ex. The woman he once loved.

He barely heard the rest. The officers dragging him, the flashbulbs of reporters, Khushi’s horrified eyes in the crowd.

They said Soniya’s body had been found in the jungle—her throat slit, blood soaking the fog-drenched ground. They found his fingerprints on the weapon, his car abandoned near the scene.

But he couldn't remember anything after last night.

Had he killed her?

_____

In jail, the nightmares began.

A jungle, thick with fog. The distant growl of an animal. A shadow moving between the trees.

And then—

Crack. Crack. Crack.

The rhythmic sound of a bat hitting a ball.

He saw himself as a boy, ten years old, standing in the cricket nets. His coach, Mr. Kulkarni, watching him closely.

“Srijan,” the coach had once said, his voice a whisper. “You’re special. But there's something inside you… something dark.”

What had he meant?

Pain stabbed through his skull. A memory clawed at the edges of his mind, something long buried.

Something he didn’t want to remember.

_____

Inspector Arjun Rana wasn’t one to believe in ghosts. But this case felt like one.

Soniya had been investigating something—something tied to the cricket academy where Srijan had trained.

Young boys. Talented cricketers. Missing without a trace.

The records were sealed, buried under layers of corruption. But Rana had dug deeper. And what he found sent a chill through his spine.

One name appeared in all the reports.

Srijan Bhardwaj.

______

Srijan knew he had to escape. The trial would be swift. No one would believe him.

The opportunity came in the dead of night—an orchestrated prison transport accident. Chaos. Smoke. And then, the jungle.

The fog wrapped around him like a living thing. He ran blindly, the howls of distant animals filling the air.

Then—he saw it.

The academy.

Abandoned. Forgotten.

But not empty.

_____

The cricket ground was cracked and overgrown, the nets swaying in the cold wind. But Srijan’s legs carried him to the old storage shed, as if by instinct.

He pushed open the rusted door.

The smell hit him first.

Rot.

And then, his eyes adjusted.

Bones.

Small, delicate bones.

Memories exploded in his mind.

He was twelve. The academy had a secret. A game played in the dark. Boys who lost never came back.

And Srijan—he had never lost.

Because he hadn’t just played to win.

He had played to survive.

And when one boy—his only real rival—had defied him… Srijan had swung his bat.

Hard.

Crack.

The boy had crumpled. The sound of his skull shattering still echoed in Srijan’s head.

Coach Kulkarni had cleaned it up. Buried the body. Told him to forget.

But Soniya had found the truth.

And someone—maybe even Srijan himself—had silenced her.

Had he killed her in his sleep?

Or had someone else set him up?

A shuffling sound behind him.

Srijan turned.

And froze.

 

_____

Khushi stood in the doorway. Her eyes were unreadable, her fingers tracing something cold and sharp.

A knife.

The same knife that had slit Soniya’s throat.

Srijan staggered back. “Khushi…?”

She tilted her head. “I was wondering when you’d remember.”

The realization hit him like a truck.

She knew. She had always known.

Because she had been there.

She was part of it.

“You’re just like him,” Khushi whispered. “Like Coach. Like all of them. But you forgot the rules, Srijan. You were supposed to forget.”

She stepped closer, the knife glinting.

“You loved me,” Srijan choked out.

Khushi smiled. “I still do.”

And then—

Crack.

Darkness. 

_____

The newspapers called it The Cricket Killer Case.

The remains of seven missing boys were found beneath the academy.

Soniya Sharma’s murderer was never identified.

Srijan Bhardwaj was found in the jungle, his skull shattered, a cricket bat lying beside him.

Some said he had killed himself in guilt. Others believed he had been silenced.

But on foggy nights, if you listen closely, you can still hear it.

The sound of a bat.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

And a voice whispering from the shadows—

“One last over.”