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Lord's, London — Day 3, 2021 World Test Championship Final
The morning began not with applause, but with the low hum of rain tapping on the windowpanes of the Indian dressing room. Outside, Lord's was asleep beneath a quilt of grey — mist curling over the outfield, puddles pooling near the covers, and the great Pavilion reflecting the sky's melancholy.
Inside, silence ruled. Boots were unlaced, gloves hung to dry. The scoreboard, frozen since last evening — India 278/5, Aarav Pathak 91 not out — looked like a promise suspended in time.
Aarav sat by the window, chin resting on his forearm, eyes lost in the dance of raindrops trickling down the glass. The light was pale, and the faint smell of linseed oil from freshly rolled bats lingered in the air.
Virat Kohli walked over, hands folded behind his back, gaze firm yet gentle."Sometimes," he said quietly, "destiny just makes you wait a bit longer."Aarav looked up, meeting the captain's intense eyes.Kohli's lips curved into a grin. "But when it calls… answer loud."
The words sank in like sunlight beneath clouds.
The drizzle turned to a steady shower. Umbrellas bloomed like flowers across the stands. Cameras panned across disappointed faces, but there was something in the air — a strange, almost cinematic stillness. Even the commentators spoke softer, as if guarding the anticipation.
Isa Guha: "You can sense it, can't you? The entire ground's waiting… waiting for that one moment when the rain stops and the story resumes."Dinesh Karthik: "If the sun breaks through, I think we'll see something special from Aarav Pathak. He's on 91 — but more importantly, he's in complete control."
Aarav closed his eyes, picturing that moment — the seam gliding toward him, the bat following instinct, the sound of willow and roar blending into one. He smiled faintly.Rain or shine, he thought, I'll finish what I started.
By lunch, no ball had been bowled. But inside his chest, the storm was already brewing.
It began with a bell.
The iconic five-minute bell at Lord's rang loud and proud, its chime echoing through the damp air. The covers came off. The clouds retreated, reluctant but defeated. A gentle sunlight spilled onto the green — soft, golden, forgiving.
The crowd rose as Aarav and Jadeja walked out. From the balcony, Kohli's eyes followed every step. Behind them, the tricolor waved proudly.
Nasser Hussain, voice alive with reverence:"You can feel it — the weight of a thousand dreams right here. A young man, 91 not out, walking out at Lord's. This is what cricket is all about."
Boult steamed in from the Pavilion End. The ball gleamed like polished glass. Aarav took guard, heartbeat steady — middle stump, two inches across.
The first ball pitched on a length and swung late. Aarav left it, eyes unmoved.Second — back of a length, he rode the bounce, compact.Third — full, swinging — a whip through midwicket. The crowd gasped; the ball sped to the rope.
Gavaskar: "That's 95 now. Every run, every shot, carved with patience and precision."
Next over, Southee tempted him outside off. Aarav leaned forward, weight perfect, balance sublime — cover drive. The ball kissed the turf, split the gap, and rolled across the Lord's slope.
Nasser: "There it is! Ninety-nine not out!"
The crowd was on its feet. Flags waving. Cameras flashing. The noise rose like a tide.
Then Boult ran in again. Full, just outside off. Aarav leaned in — the bat flowing through the line, wrist firm, head still. The ball soared between cover and extra-cover, skimming the grass, touching the rope.
He froze. For half a second, the sound disappeared — replaced by the rush of heartbeat.
Then the world erupted.
Lord's stood as one.The Pavilion balcony thundered.Virat roared, fists clenched.Kohli shouted: "YESSS! YESSSSS! joined by Rohit bhai and Gill"
Aarav moved his bat in direction of Kohli and gave him a simple salute then he did his iconic bow down celebration, then lifting the bat gently. The smile was quiet, humble. His eyes glistened as he looked up — the clouds had parted just enough for a sliver of sun to shine down on him.
Ian Bishop, voice trembling:"A century at Lord's… in a World Test Championship Final. Aarav Pathak — remember the name!"
Gavaskar: "That's what dreams look like — soaked in sweat, carved in patience, and crowned in glory."
The applause didn't stop for a full minute. Even the Kiwi players clapped, Latham nodding in acknowledgment. Jadeja grinned, thumping Aarav's glove."For the game," Aarav whispered, looking skyward.
The spell continued — singles, partnerships, whispers between deliveries.
Jadeja flicked Southee for a neat four but fell soon after — LBW, plumb in front.India 299/6.
Ashwin followed, nicking one behind for 14.The ball was reversing now; the rhythm of seam was back.
Still, Aarav stayed. One block, one flick, one leave at a time.The bat, his anchor. The crowd, his pulse.
By the time the shadows began to stretch, the air was cooler again. Floodlights glowed softly against a silver sky. The lead had crossed 150 — solid, not safe.
Boult switched to around the wicket. The ball swung viciously into the right-handers, tails curling at the last moment.
Aarav, now on 102, faced up again. Boult delivered short, chest-high. Aarav shaped for the uppercut — the ball took the edge, spiraled high toward point.
Latham backpedaled, eyes on the white dot — and held it.
The ground fell silent for a heartbeat, then applauded like thunder.
Aarav turned, exhaled, and began his walk back — slow, steady, serene.His bat rested against his thigh, helmet under his arm. The sun caught his profile, and for a moment, the image looked immortal.
Kohli stood waiting by the steps, clapping hard, eyes fierce with pride.
Sangakkara: "This innings wasn't about numbers. It was about control — about courage under clouds. He's left a mark on this match that no scorecard can measure."
Aakash Chopra: "From rain-soaked patience to the roar of a hundred, Aarav Pathak has painted poetry at Lord's."
Shami swung for boundaries — bowled by Boult.Ishant dug in, nicked a couple.Bumrah perished to a yorker — stumps cartwheeling.
India 332 all out.Lead — 169 runs.
As the bails came off, the light dimmed again. The crowd still clapped, unwilling to leave the memory.
Aarav, wrapped in a towel, stood by the balcony railing, eyes on the field. His reflection shimmered faintly in the Pavilion glass — the young man who had just conquered Lord's.
Kohli came beside him, arm over his shoulder.
"You just made Lord's ours for a day," he said, grin spreading across his face.Aarav looked out toward the boundary, the grass glistening under floodlight."Let's make it ours for the Test."
Simon Doull (closing voiceover):"Rain tried to drown the day, but Aarav Pathak's century lifted it into legend."
Sangakkara: "Sometimes, cricket doesn't need fireworks — just courage, patience, and a story worth telling."
The camera panned to the scoreboard glowing in the dusk:
India — 332 all out (Aarav Pathak 102)Lead: 169
In the distance, faint drizzle began again — as if the sky itself applauded.
And amid the murmurs of the departing crowd, one chant rose steady through the evening air:"AARAV! AARAV! AARAV!"
The day had begun with rain, and ended with legend.
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Lord's, London – Day 4, Morning Session (Overs 0.1–30.0)
The first rays of sunlight stretched across Lord's like a promise. The outfield gleamed with a fresh dew sheen, and for the first time since the match began, the sky above the grand old pavilion was a flawless blue.
From the stands came the low, anticipatory hum of ten thousand voices — half hopeful, half fearful — the kind of sound that only Test cricket could summon.
India's players gathered in a huddle at mid-off, a ring of navy and white around their captain. Kohli's eyes were sharp, almost electric, cutting through the morning calm.
"Be ruthless," he said, voice low but firm. "Every ball, every blade of grass — make it count."
Aarav Pathak stood beside Bumrah, listening him with proper enthusiasm. The ball gleamed in his left hand, a fresh Dukes swinging with promise. He pressed his fingers over the seam — feeling its ridges, its bite, its heartbeat.
In the dressing room earlier, Rahane had murmured, "One early wicket… and the gates open."
Now, out in the sun, Aarav was ready to knock.
Bumrah began from the Pavilion End, his rhythmic run-up slicing through the quiet. The ball landed with a hard thud, a hint of seam movement. Latham, as he always did, offered a watchful leave.
Second ball — tighter line. Forward defense. Soft hands.
The sound of leather against the bat echoed through Lord's — crisp, controlled.
Nasser Hussain (commentary box): "A perfect English morning, a perfect contest in the making. India lead by 169, but what a test this will be — Latham and Conway against one of the world's best new-ball pairs."
Aarav took the ball from the umpire at the other end. He looked up at the sight screen, the pale light washing over him. The slope of Lord's rolled gently before him, almost deceptive.
First delivery — full, angling in, kissing the grass. Latham watched it go by, head still.Second — straighter, shaping away late. Latham's bat followed briefly, then withdrew.
Behind the stumps, Rishabh Pant clapped loudly."Good line, Pathak! Keep him there!"
By the third over, the rhythm had set in. Two bowlers, one goal, a battle of patience.
Bumrah's short ball zipped into Conway's ribs — defended sharply. Aarav's outswinger whistled past the edge — Kohli at first slip leapt in excitement, shouting,"One mistake! That's all it takes!"
But Latham and Conway were monks in white. Calm. Silent. Resolute.
Atherton: "India's discipline has been immaculate, but this pitch… it's flattening out. It's pure attrition now — the long game."
After ten overs, New Zealand had reached 20 without loss. The runs barely mattered — it was the quiet between them that told the story.
The air grew warmer, sunlight glinting off helmets. The pitch, once lively, now began to behave — obedient, dull.
Conway began to unfurl his wrists. A gentle flick through midwicket brought him four. The crowd applauded politely — a sound like rain on leaves.
Latham followed suit, leaning into a square drive that bisected point and cover.
Kohli's jaw tightened. "Bring the leg gully in! Give me a silly mid-off!"
Shami replaced Bumrah. His first ball was full, swinging in — Conway blocked. Second ball, shorter, angled across — Conway stood tall, punched it past cover.
Nasser: "That's classic Conway. Compact, crisp. He's found his rhythm now."
At the other end, Aarav continued relentlessly. The shine on the ball had dulled, but his intensity hadn't.
He wiped sweat from his forehead, took a long breath, and whispered under it — "One edge. Just one."
The 16th over — Aarav to Latham. Length ball, shaping away, beating the outside edge by inches. The crowd gasped as Pant collected cleanly. Aarav turned mid-pitch, staring at the line the ball had taken.
Gavaskar: "Oh, that's so close! This young man… he's got the rhythm, he's got the seam. It's just a matter of time."
Next delivery — full again, Latham drives, but mistimes. Kohli dives at cover, nearly plucking it out of thin air.
Pant shouted, "That's it! He's not sure! One ball, bhai, one ball!"
Aarav smiled faintly. He could feel the pulse of the match — slow, heavy, deliberate.
Conway, on the other hand, was blossoming. A soft push through cover brought him his fifth boundary. The left-hander's bat looked like a brushstroke — effortless, fluid.
By the 20th over, the scoreboard read New Zealand 56/0.
The session was tightening like a drum — every run carved from concentration.
The Indian bowlers rotated. Ishant's height created awkward bounce, Shami's seam teased the air, Jadeja's slow left-armers gave momentary relief. But the wickets refused to come.
Every over was an act of will. Kohli clapped after every dot ball, muttering encouragement in Hindi. The slips stayed low, tense, waiting for the nick that never came.
Aarav returned for one last spell before lunch. His boots left small marks on the turf as he ran in — the slope helping him shape it away again.
First ball — to Latham. Good length. Beaten. Aarav's head dropped, but only for a second.
Second ball — closer to the off stump. Defended stoutly.Third — full, angling in. Latham flicked it neatly for two, moving to 45.
The crowd cheered — a low, admiring sound, but mixed with a few Indian chants rising from the Grand Stand:"IN-DI-A! IN-DI-A!"
Atherton: "You can feel the tension. Every dot, every defensive shot, it's like two chess masters locked in a silent duel."
Pant crouched behind the stumps, energy undiminished. "Yahi pe hai wicket, yahi pe!" — "The wicket's right here!"
Aarav stood at the top of his mark again, ball in hand. He could feel its texture now — worn, rough, unpredictable.
He ran in, the sound of his spikes crisp against the turf.Full, outside off. Latham played and missed again.
Aarav dropped to one knee, staring at the pitch, the sunlight glaring off the white sightscreen. He clenched his fist, whispering,"Stay in it. You're cracking the wall. They just don't know it yet."
Kohli jogged over, patted his shoulder. "Beautiful, yaar. This is how Tests are won — inch by inch."
When the umpire called lunch, the scoreboard showed:
New Zealand 92/0 (30 overs)Latham 45, Conway 43**Trail by 77 runs.
Latham and Conway walked off, helmets under arms, exchanging quiet nods. Two men, unbeaten, unshaken. The crowd rose to applaud — not out of excitement, but respect.
Kohli led his team off, chin high but jaw tight. Behind him, Bumrah and Shami chatted about reverse swing. Aarav lingered for a moment at the boundary, eyes fixed on the pitch.
The sunlight glinted off the seam in his palm — a faint crimson reflection.
He closed his fist around it and whispered, almost to himself,"This story isn't done yet."
The screen cut to the scoreboard:
New Zealand 92/0 (30.0 ov)Latham 45 (92) | Conway 43 (88) | Trail by 77**
Gavaskar's closing line:"This, my friends, is the beauty of Test cricket — the patience of the hunter, the calm of the prey, and the promise that by day's end… one of them will blink."
Fade to lunch. The sunlight softens. The sound of clapping lingers like distant thunder.
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Day 4 – Session 2
The clock at Lord's ticked past one-thirty.The murmur of ten thousand voices rose and fell in waves — some anxious, some awed, all aware that this was no ordinary afternoon. India led by 77 runs, yet New Zealand stood firm at 92 without loss. The match, like a coiled spring, waited for release.
"Welcome back to Lord's," said Isa Guha in the commentary box. "We've had lunch, we've had sunshine, and we've got a contest brimming with tension. Latham 45*, Conway 43*, both solid — and India, you sense, are itching for a breakthrough."
Down on the turf, Virat Kohli gathered his players into a tight huddle. His voice was low but fierce, eyes burning with challenge. Beside him, Aarav Pathak flexed his fingers around the cherry, the seam catching sunlight like a scarlet thread of destiny.
Kohli: "One wicket. That's all it takes to shift everything. Stay in the fight."
Aarav nodded. In the corner of his vision, the scoreboard glowed: NZ 92/0 (30 ov).
Bumrah resumed from the Pavilion End, the crowd humming with anticipation. His run-up echoed through the silence between deliveries. Thud. Thud. Thud. The first ball kissed the deck and hissed past Latham's edge — just a murmur of movement, a hint of promise.
Nasser Hussain: "Ah, that's beautiful! Straight out of the lunch break, seam upright, teasing Latham — this is what Test cricket's all about!"
Latham smiled beneath his helmet, brushed his pad, and tapped the pitch again. Patience was his armor; Conway, at the other end, his twin in defiance. Singles nudged here and there, murmurs of applause rippled from the Kiwi enclave in the Mound Stand.
Aarav at second slip crouched, eyes predatory. Every sound was amplified — the soft click of Conway's forward press, Pant's muffled gloves, the distant chant from the Indian supporters: "Jeetega Bhai Jeetega India Jeetega!"
By the 35th over, the partnership had grown beyond numbers; it was an act of defiance against India's fire.
Mohammed Shami replaced Aarav for a burst. He angled the ball across Conway, but the left-hander met each one with silken timing — a square drive past point, then a flick through mid-wicket that drew gasps.
Dinesh Karthik on air: "That's Devon Conway — controlled wrists, perfect balance. He's playing as though he's known these conditions his whole life!"
India's field spread slightly; the intensity did not. Kohli prowled at slip, hands on hips, whispering under his breath. Aarav felt the tension coil tighter. Every maiden over ended with applause — from both sets of fans — the theatre of pressure palpable.
When Ashwin entered, flighting the ball into the footmarks, Conway skipped down to loft him over mid-off — just short of the rope. The crowd gasped, then applauded. Kohli slammed his palms together in frustration, shouting, "Stay on him, Ash!"
The scoreboard read NZ 128/0.
Simon Doull observed from the box: "What India are doing now is classic Kohli — choke them, frustrate them, and let the cracks appear."
But Latham and Conway, unblinking, kept adding ones and twos. The partnership crossed 150. Lord's buzzed with the hum of respect.
Bumrah returned for his next spell.
The first over back, Bumrah nearly had Latham — an inside edge whistled past leg stump. Pant dived, Kohli roared, the crowd rose — but it was just a heartbeat away.
Gavaskar, measured as ever: "Fine margins. Bumrah knows he's close. Keep doing this for ten more deliveries, and one will hold its line."
Aarav fielded at gully now, knees bent, heart thrumming. Every delivery felt cinematic: Bumrah's rhythmic run, the thud of leather, the gasp of the stands.
At the other end, Ishant's bounce discomfited Conway, yet the left-hander dug in, nudging into gaps. NZ 162/0.
The atmosphere thickened. Shadows lengthened across the turf. Kohli brought the field in — three slips, a gully, a short mid-wicket.
Aarav crouched lower, whispering to himself, "Come on, Jassi bhaiya."
Bumrah ran in, seam upright, every stride a thunderclap. The ball pitched on off, straightened just enough.
Crack.
Latham's bat followed the angle — late, too late. The stump cartwheeled.
For a second, time stopped. Then came the explosion.
Kohli's roar shattered the air. Bumrah leapt, fists clenched. Aarav pounded his fist into his palm, shouting, "YESSSSSS!" The tricolor flags erupted across the stands.
Nasser Hussain, voice trembling: "Oh, that's sensational! The perfect delivery — full, seaming in, then straightening to kiss the top of off! Tom Latham's marathon ends on 82 — a dismissal straight out of a bowler's dream!"
Dinesh Karthik: "And look at that Indian team! They've waited all day, and now they've got the breakthrough they needed. Kohli's energy is electric!"
Latham walked back slowly, bat tucked under arm, greeted by standing applause — 82 from 167 balls of pure discipline. Bumrah accepted Kohli's bear hug; Aarav clapped him on the shoulder. "Told you it would talk."
The scoreboard now: NZ 166/1.
The new man — Kane Williamson — adjusted his gloves, serene as a monk amidst chaos. His calmness itself felt like defiance.
Bumrah charged again; Williamson dead-batted with soft hands. Aarav at slip felt the faint kiss of air as the ball passed by.
Michael Atherton: "This is a fascinating passage — Kohli's fire against Williamson's stillness. It's thunder versus stone."
Conway, now on 87, took over the scoring. A flick through square, a late cut off Jadeja — elegance wrapped in patience. Aarav chased one to the rope, throwing it in, panting. The noise of Lord's swelled and subsided like an ocean.
Ashwin drifted one in, Williamson leaned forward, bat straight, a picture of composure.
Ian Bishop: "New Zealand aren't panicking. That's the beauty of this team. They absorb, they endure."
By the 60th over, the score read NZ 188/1. Conway 94*, Williamson 8*. The players walked off for tea to a standing ovation — one for resistance, one for resilience.
188/1. NZ lead by -19.
End of Day 4 – Session 2New Zealand 188/1 (60 ov)Conway 95 (167), Williamson 8 (22)**Fall of Wicket: Latham b Bumrah 82 (166/1)
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