Eleven Test knocks in, these are the only innings in which he has failed to cross 50. Of the eight times he’s reached a half-century, he’s now made hundreds four times. If you have followed Sri Lanka’s men’s cricket over the last decade, it is fair to have questions. These may include, but are not limited to:

Apologies to almost every other batter that has made a debut since 2010, but these kinds of starts just do not happen for Sri Lanka. Even the best-case scenarios go something like this: they arrive in a thunderstorm of domestic form, make an early impression with a back-against-the-wall fifty, or a century batting in the slipstream of a more experienced player, get a decent run in the side based on potential.

And then, the slide: the average slips from the fifties to the 40s, then probably dives into the 30s. They get dropped from the team by the next set of selectors who have been drawn in by the newer, shinier thing. Our guy goes back to the Sri Lanka A team, or domestic cricket, and if they work hard enough, and a spot opens up, and the gods smile upon their work ethic, they come back to the highest level.

It might be useful to think of the best young Sri Lanka Test batters here as following the insect lifecycle. They emerge from their domestic eggs ravenous as caterpillars, munching endlessly on opposition attacks. Soon, though, they are worked out in internationals and go into a cocoon stage, and becoming utterly vulnerable, a harsh interaction with a coach, or a rough few innings cutting their careers down, like a careless toddler with a stick, or a hungry lizard. The best we can hope for is that they emerge eventually as butterflies.

Dimuth Karunaratne, now Sri Lanka’s most prolific opening batter, went through such a harrowing run of form in 2016 that he was left out for many months. Dinesh Chandimal had such an atrocious run against the bouncer in 2014 that Sanath Jayasuriya – then the chief selector – banished him back to the A team in the middle of a Test series. Kusal Mendis, Lahiru Thirimanne, and then, going back a generation, even the likes of TM Dilshan and Thilan Samaraweera had long stints out of the Test side.

By the evening, nearing his century, Kamindu was a becalmed negotiator of O’Rourke’s rockets, a Jedi master batting away questions from a feisty Padawan. At one point, he played out an O’Rourke maiden without appearing even mildly flustered.

“These things happen. Bowlers bowl good spells. You have to wait for the balls you can hit. Don’t get complacent. Get back on top when the bowler tires. Take as few risks as you can in the meantime.”

This is the kind of batting wisdom that very senior batters like to drop on the new entrants to the side, but which Kamindu, in his seventh Test, seems to know innately. On 21, he was dropped attempting a sweep, but did not appear even mildly unsettled, just as he remained composed after many plays-and-misses on a spicy day-one deck.

He got to a hundred, his first in the city in which he was born, at the ground he has played many matches in for his school, and celebrated by raising his bat by its shoulder, rather than the handle – always a strong look. But there was not the exuberance that often accompanies this kind of milestone.

It clearly meant a lot to him: “This is my hometown, and Richmond College, the school I went to, is here,” Kamindu said. “There was a thought swirling around my head that I had to hit a hundred here.”

But this is about as much self-congratulation as he allows himself, because the answer soon strays deep into good-boy territory. “But to be honest you shouldn’t be happy with just a hundred as a batsman. You need to go further than that. Unfortunately I got out.”

The ball he got out to on 114, by the way, was a monster. Ajaz Patel landed it about 70 cm outside off stump, in one of Tim Southee’s big footmarks, and it pounced at Kamindu to take the shoulder of the bat, the ball popping up to be gobbled up behind the wicketkeeper.

This, in many ways, was the least surprising of his hundreds. It came at a venue he knows well, on the kind of surface he has grown up playing on, making heavy use of the sweep and the reverse which have brought him many runs right through the age-group levels, and in first-class cricket.

What strikes you right now, though, is the streak. He has two hundreds in Sylhet, a century in Manchester, and his first at home now, in Galle. You can, and should, marvel at that technique – supremely organised on defence against pace and spin, but equally capable of manufacturing runs square of the wicket off balls others tend to block or leave.

What needs to be watched right now, and which he has hinted at with his spectacular fielding all around the ground, his ambidextrous bowling which he swears he needs to improve, and the self-aware critiques he delivers with a mic in front of him, is whether, 809 runs into his career, he has that next gear – whether he is a player of extraordinary hunger.