For More Future Chapters: -
My Patreon: -
https://www.patreon.com/c/Kynstra
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Please Donate Power Stones and Join My Patreon.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Happy 19th November Anniversary. 😅🙇🙇
Bonus Chapter and System would comeback soon and People saying AI and AI, it is because I am trying something, just wait till chapter 201, the writing style would change and more human Like.
Sorry and Thank You for all Support.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sea breeze was soft that night, slipping through the open curtains of the Tendulkar master bedroom. The faint glow of streetlights touched the cream-colored walls, glinting off framed photographs — moments of cricketing glory, family vacations, birthday candles, and childhood smiles frozen in time.
Anjali Tendulkar lay propped up on her side of the bed, her phone casting a pale light over her face. Beside her, Sachin scrolled absently through a few old match highlights — the hum of commentary a comfortable background noise. They had long learned the quiet art of shared silences.
Anjali swiped through her notifications and smiled faintly. "Google Photos is syncing again," she murmured.
Sachin chuckled softly. "You and your photo hoarding. Every week, same complaint."
She elbowed him lightly. "You don't complain when it's photos of your precious daughters and son."
"Of course not," he said, setting the phone aside. "They're my trophies now. College degrees, achievements… all better than centuries."
Anjali smiled, warmth filling her chest. "Shradha's semester is ending soon. And Sara… final year of her pediatric course. Can you believe it?"
Sachin nodded, pride flickering in his eyes. "Yeah, both of them are making me proud. Even Arjun too. He just needs more exposure — his time will come."
"He's the most hardworking of the three," Anjali said softly.
Sachin smiled. "Yeah, he is. He'll find his place when the time's right."
Anjali leaned back, scrolling again — and paused.
"Hmm?" Sachin asked.
She frowned. "It says, 'Sync completed. New items added.'" She tapped on the notification, opening Google Photos. "See, your daughters are so sweet," she said with a fond smile. "They've recorded something together. Maybe another prank video or vlog."
Sachin turned slightly toward her, curious. "Play it."
The video opened. The screen lit up with two familiar faces — Shradha and Sara, sitting on Shradha's bed, smiling into the camera.
"Arre, look at them," Anjali murmured, her heart softening instantly. "How close they are."
On screen, Shradha laughed, nudging Sara.Sara rolled her eyes playfully. "Fine, fine, I was wrong, you're right."
Sachin chuckled. "See? My daughters — fighters for five minutes, friends forever. Papa ki pari."
Anjali laughed softly. "They're just like you used to be with Vinod. Always arguing, always inseparable."
The video continued. The two sisters smiled, laughing now.
Then came the line that turned the room cold.
Shradha (on video): "Also, I would not tell anyone about your boyfriend, and you would not tell about mine too. Deal?"
Sara (on video): "Yeah! No need to fight over Shubman and Aarav."
Shradha: "Yeah!"
Both of them laughed, hugging, their laughter echoing through the speakers.
And then Shradha reached to stop the video.
The screen froze.
Silence filled the room — heavy, stunned, electric.
Anjali blinked once, twice, as if trying to make sense of what she'd heard. Then she turned slowly to Sachin.
Sachin's expression was unreadable — calm, but his brows furrowed slightly.
Anjali's pulse rose. "Did they just—"
Sachin nodded faintly.
Anjali sat upright, eyes blazing. "Who are these Aarav and Shubman?!"
Sachin spoke gently, "Shubman Gill… Aarav Pathak.... they are cricketer. Both of them plays in national team."
Anjali's eyes widened. "So both of them are dating cricketers?!"
Sachin tried to speak, but Anjali was already on her feet. "Unbelievable! They're barely out of college! And these boys—these famous boys—they're using our daughters to climb higher! For fame, for attention, for money!"
Sachin stood up calmly. "Anjali, bas. Don't jump to conclusions—"
"Don't tell me to calm down, Sachin!" she snapped. "They're our daughters! You know how this world works. These boys charm girls, get headlines, and move on."
"Anjali…" he said softly, stepping closer. "I know Aarav. I've spoken to him before, remember? He use to come to our home, how sweet of boy and you have meet Shubman too. so don't judge to conclusion too soon."
But Anjali was fuming now, pacing across the room. "I don't care how talented he is. He's a 21-year-old allrounder surrounded by fame and money. What will he know about commitment? And Gill — even he's barely settled!"
Sachin reached out and held her shoulders. "First, let's talk to them. No shouting. No assumptions. Let's hear them out, okay?"
Anjali hesitated, breathing heavy. "If you think I'll sit quietly—"
"I'm not asking you to sit quietly," Sachin said gently. "I'm asking you to be a mother."
That stopped her.
After a long pause, she nodded stiffly. "Fine. Call them."
Within minutes, there was a soft knock on the door.
Sara entered first, hesitant, followed by Shradha, whose usual confidence had evaporated. Both looked puzzled, nervous.
"Sit," Sachin said quietly.
The air was thick. Anjali stood by the nightstand, arms folded, the phone still in her hand.
Shradha glanced at it, recognition dawning. "Mumma…" she whispered.
"Don't 'Mumma' me," Anjali said, her tone sharp but trembling beneath emotion. "What is this?" She held up the phone.
Sara looked at her sister — both realizing instantly what had happened.
Anjali played the last ten seconds again.
"'I won't tell anyone about your boyfriend, and you won't tell about mine.'"
The silence afterward was louder than any shout.
Sara swallowed hard. "Mumma, that was just—"
"Who are they?" Anjali interrupted. "Who are Aarav and Shubman?"
Shradha spoke softly. "Mumma, you already know Shubman. He's—"
"Gill?" Sachin finished, his tone calm. "Shubman Gill?"
Sara nodded, voice barely audible. "Yes, Papa."
Anjali stared at them in disbelief. "And you?" she turned to Shradha. "Aarav Pathak? The one all over the news? India's hero?"
Shradha nodded silently.
Anjali's voice broke into a mixture of anger and fear. "Kya zarurat thi, haan? Why hide it from us? Why lie?"
Shradha's eyes filled with tears. "We weren't lying, Mumma… just waiting for the right time."
"Right time?" Anjali's tone rose. "When? When the media breaks it before you do? When some reporter writes nonsense about my daughters?"
"Mumma, please…" Sara said softly, stepping forward. "It's not like that. We're serious about them."
Anjali scoffed. "Serious? You're both children!"
"We're not!" Shradha burst out. "We love them."
Anjali froze mid-step, the word love hanging heavy in the room.
"Love?" she repeated quietly, almost to herself. "You love them?"
Shradha nodded, tears now spilling freely. "Yes. Aarav means everything to me, Mumma. I've seen how hard he works, how grounded he is despite everything. He doesn't care about fame or money. He cares about me."
Sara stepped closer. "And Gill—he's kind, humble. He's never used his fame. He treats me with respect. He supports me, Mumma."
Anjali pressed a trembling hand to her forehead. "You both sound like you've rehearsed this…"
Sachin finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. "Anjali."
She turned to him, eyes blazing. "You can't possibly be okay with this!"
Sachin met her gaze steadily. "Do you trust me?"
"Of course I do."
"Then trust them too," he said gently. "They're our daughters. We raised them well. Don't let fear make you forget that."
Anjali's anger flickered. "But the media—"
"We've lived with it our whole lives," Sachin interrupted softly. "We've survived worse. Let's not make our home a place they fear to tell the truth."
His words lingered in the air like prayer.
Sara and Shradha stood there, silent, teary-eyed.
After a long moment, Anjali exhaled shakily, her anger melting into exhaustion. "Why didn't you just tell us earlier?"
Shradha stepped forward. "Because we were scared, Mumma. We thought you'd never understand. That you'd see them as cricketers, not as people."
That broke something in Anjali. She sank down to the edge of the bed, eyes glistening. "You both thought so little of us?"
Sara knelt beside her, taking her hand. "No, Mumma. We thought too highly of you. That's why we were scared."
For a moment, the room went silent — no shouting, no tension, just the sound of breath and heartbeats and the slow realization that the world had changed.
Anjali's eyes softened. She looked at both of them, at the faces she had raised, now grown, radiant, terrified, in love.
"You really love them?" she asked again, her voice quieter.
Both daughters nodded.
Anjali closed her eyes briefly, inhaling deeply, and when she looked up again, her anger had melted into something else — acceptance edged with protectiveness.
"Then," she said slowly, "if they're part of your lives, we should know them too."
Sara blinked, uncertain. "What do you mean?"
Anjali looked at Sachin. "We want their numbers."
Sachin smiled faintly, nodding in agreement. "Yes. We'll talk to them ourselves."
Shradha's eyes widened. "You mean…?"
Sachin chuckled. "I mean we're not villains, beta. We just need to know the men who hold our daughters' hearts."
Sara let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. "You're serious?"
Anjali managed a small smile. "Dead serious. Send their numbers. And don't think you're escaping dinner with them soon."
The tension cracked, replaced by laughter and relief. Shradha rushed forward, hugging her mother tightly. "I'm sorry, Mumma," she whispered, voice breaking. "We should've told you."
Anjali hugged her back fiercely. "Bas… next time, tell me before I find out from Google Photos, hmm?"
Even Sachin laughed at that. "That's modern parenting for you."
Sara joined the hug, and soon all four stood together — the Tendulkars, tangled in a moment of tears, laughter, and relief.
Sachin placed a hand on both daughters' heads. "Just promise one thing — no more secrets. If you're happy, we'll be happy."
"Promise," both girls said in unison.
Sachin looked at Anjali, who gave a small nod, her eyes shining but calm. "Fine," she said, "I'll try to behave when they visit."
Shradha grinned. "Aarav's going to panic when he hears that."
"Good," Anjali said, straight-faced. "He should panic."
They all laughed again — a little louder this time, a little freer.
Outside, Mumbai's night rolled on — waves lapping softly against the shore, city lights glimmering like distant stars. Inside, in a quiet bedroom filled with love and legacy, a family had taken its first step into a new chapter — one where truth had replaced fear, and acceptance had stitched itself into the space once filled with silence.
The night that had started with suspicion ended in understanding.
And as Sachin switched off the bedside lamp, he glanced at the paused frame still glowing faintly on Anjali's phone — his daughters laughing, hugging, alive with youth and love.
He smiled softly. "You were right, Anjali."
She looked up. "About what?"
He pointed at the screen. "They are sweet. Just a little too grown up now."
Anjali smiled tiredly and leaned into him. "Yeah," she whispered. "Papa ki pari… bas thodi badi ho gayi hain."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The first rays of Mumbai's golden sun slipped through the tall French windows of the Pathak residence. The mansion's white marble floors reflected soft light, making everything look as if it had been dipped in quiet luxury.
Aarav Pathak — Team India's youngest all-rounder and, according to half the nation, - was sitting at the breakfast table in a casual black T-shirt, lazily poking at his omelet while half-listening to the TV.
The anchors were, as usual, talking about him."...and that six off Southee in the WTC final — perhaps the shot of the decade!" one commentator exclaimed.
Aarav smiled faintly, half-embarrassed. "Even breakfast isn't safe from cricket," he muttered.
Across the table sat his parents — RajatPathak (Forgot name again), his dad and Priya Pathak, a woman whose warmth filled the house even more than wealth ever could.
"Eat properly," Priya said, sliding a bowl of fruit toward him. "You have practice tomorrow."
"Ma, I'll eat," Aarav said, amused. "You worry more about my diet than the BCCI nutritionist."
Raj chuckled behind his newspaper. "That's because the BCCI nutritionist doesn't love you unconditionally."
Priya smiled, pouring him juice. "At least he agrees someone does."
It was one of those ordinary mornings that felt almost sacred — simple conversation, warm food, and the illusion of a normal life for a boy who had been everything but normal for the past year.
Then, Aarav's phone buzzed.
He glanced down. His fork froze mid-air.
Incoming call: "Sachin Tendulkar Sir"
Priya noticed the change instantly. "What happened?"
Aarav looked up, eyes wide. "It's… Sachin Sir."
Raj's brow arched slightly. "Tendulkar?"
"Yeah," Aarav said, quickly standing up. "We trained together a few times during last season. He—he's calling me now. I'll take it."
He stepped aside, pressing the phone to his ear."Hello… Namaste, Sir!"
Sachin's calm, familiar voice came through, as composed as always."Namaste, beta. How are you?"
"I'm good, Sir," Aarav said politely, a small smile forming despite his nerves. "How are you?"
"I'm fine," Sachin said evenly. Then, after a pause that carried weight, "Aarav, I got to know something — and I want to have a serious talk."
Aarav's stomach dropped. "Sir… what happened?"
Sachin's tone stayed calm but firm. "Are you dating my daughter?"
Aarav froze. The omelet in his mouth went the wrong way, and he coughed violently. Priya rushed to his side, rubbing his back and handing him water. "Aarav! Kya hua beta (what happened)?"
He gulped water, still choking.
Sachin's voice came through, patient but unmistakably serious. "Tell me truthfully, Aarav."
Aarav wiped his mouth, exhaled slowly, and closed his eyes. There was no point lying. "Yes, Sir," he said softly. "I am."
There was a pause. Then Sachin spoke again, his tone firm but not angry. "I want to meet your family. Bring them to my house for dinner tonight at seven. We'll talk — properly."
Aarav tried to protest. "Sir, but—"
Sachin's voice cut him off gently. "No buts, beta. Just bring them home."
The call ended.
For a moment, Aarav stood there, staring at his phone, heart hammering like a batsman before a debut ball.
Priya frowned. "What happened? You look like you saw a ghost."
Raj folded his newspaper, calm but curious. "What did he say?"
Aarav placed his phone down slowly. "I think… I have to tell you both something. I was planning to soon, but—" he sighed, "I guess I don't have a choice now."
Priya's eyes widened. "What is it, Aarav?"
He took a deep breath, then said it in one go —"I'm dating Shradha Tendulkar, Sachin Sir's youngest daughter. We've been together for eight months now. I'm serious about her. This isn't just a young fling or a distraction — I love her. She's the one."
The words hung in the air like the moment before a catch.
Raj and Priya looked at each other — an entire conversation passing silently between them.
Then, to Aarav's utter shock, his mother broke into a smile.
Priya stood up, came to his side, and cupped his face. "Why didn't you tell us earlier, you silly boy?"
Aarav blinked. "Wait, what?"
She hugged him tightly. "You've already found the future Pathak bahu (daughter-in-law)? That too such a sweet girl?"
He laughed nervously. "So… you're not angry?"
Raj smiled. "No, son. You've always been mature beyond your years. If you say she's right for you, we trust you. But yes," he added, mock-sternly, "I'm disappointed you didn't tell us."
Aarav stood, laughing with relief, and hugged both his parents. "Thank you, Dad. Thank you, Mom. But we have dinner at Tendulkar house tonight. Seven sharp. They want to talk."
Raj smirked. "Well, time to meet the God of Cricket as in-laws, huh?"
Priya chuckled. "Get ready. Let's go impress your future sasurji."
They all laughed — the Pathaks, a family of grace and confidence — ready to walk into an evening that could change everything.
Shubman Gill's Morning — Mumbai Apartment
While the Pathaks handled the revelation with composure, chaos was brewing across town in a high-rise apartment where the Gills had been staying temporarily during the pandemic.
The aroma of aloo parathas filled the air. The TV blared Punjabi Hits 2000s, and Lakhwinder Singh Gill, a solid man in his fifties with a booming voice, was buttering his paratha with dedication.
"Shaheen!" he shouted. "Get your brother down! Food is getting cold!"
Shaheen Gill, twenty-three, Student and Gill's greatest tormentor, yelled back, "He's on call again! Maybe with that girl!"
Kirat Gill, the mother, turned instantly. "What girl?" she demanded, eyes narrowing. "Shaheen! What girl?"
Before she could continue, Shubman Gill walked in — tall, athletic, hair slightly messy, holding his buzzing phone.
He looked pale. The screen showed: "Sachin Tendulkar."
"Maa," he said quietly, "I'll be right back. It's an important call."
Lakhwinder raised a brow. "Tendulkar? The Sachin Tendulkar?"
Gill nodded nervously and stepped onto the balcony, heart thudding.
"Hello, Sir," he said quickly.
Sachin's calm tone came through. "Hello, Shubman. I hope I'm not disturbing?"
"N-no, Sir. Not at all."
"Good. I just found out something important."
Gill swallowed. "Sir?"
Sachin paused, then said bluntly, "Are you dating my elder daughter?"
Gill's jaw dropped. "Uh—what—sir—I mean…"
"Truthfully, Shubman," Sachin said, gentle but firm.
Gill sighed, cornered. "Yes, Sir. I am."
Sachin's reply was calm. "Good. Then I'd like to meet your family as well. Tonight. Dinner. Seven p.m. Don't be late."
"Sir, my parents—"
"They're in Mumbai, right?" Sachin said knowingly. "Then bring them."
And just like that, the call ended.
Gill stood frozen for a moment, the weight of reality settling on his shoulders.
He turned — and saw three faces staring at him through the balcony door: his father, mother, and sister, all waiting.
Lakhwinder crossed his arms. "Oye, puttar (son), why is the God of Cricket calling you?"
Gill sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Because he found out… about me and Sara."
Kirat blinked. "Sara who?"
Gill closed his eyes. "Sara Tendulkar."
For a second, complete silence.
Then —
Lakhwinder's butter knife clattered onto the plate. "Tendulkar di kuri?! (Tendulkar's daughter?!)"
Shaheen burst out laughing. "Bhaaji, you've outdone yourself!"
Kirat's jaw dropped. "Oh my god. Shubman! And you didn't tell us? You're dating Sachin Tendulkar's daughter?"
"Yes, and he call the family to meet them today at dinner at 7" Gill echoed weakly.
"What do we even wear to meet that family?!"
"Maa, please—"
"Don't you 'Maa' me!" she said, half angry, half thrilled.
"Yes!" Kirat continued dramatically. "If Sachin ji calls, we go! Even if I have to wear my wedding suit again!"
Shaheen giggled. "We'll look like we're attending your engagement, Bhaaji."
Lakhwinder finally spoke, his voice booming through the dining room. "Oye, shant ho jao sab (everyone calm down)! Let me understand this — you're dating his daughter, hiding it from us, and now he's called for dinner?"
"Yes," Gill said meekly.
Lakhwinder leaned back, rubbing his temples. "Hai Rabba (Oh God), this boy will give me a heart attack."
Kirat sighed dramatically. "At least he didn't date a Bollywood actress."
Shaheen laughed again. "Give him time, Maa."
Gill groaned. "Please! Can we not make this worse?"
Lakhwinder pointed a butter knife at him. "You should have told us, puttar. I may be a farmer, but even farmers like to know where their crops are growing!"
"Maa, Papa," Gill said sincerely now, "I'm sorry. But I love her. I really do. She's not just anyone. She understands me. And yes, it's serious. We're both clear about it."
Kirat softened a little, her maternal side peeking through. "You love her?"
Gill nodded. "Yes, Maa. Truly."
Lakhwinder sighed and finally smiled. "Then what's the problem? We'll go. But don't embarrass us, haan? And for God's sake, wear a proper shirt. No ripped jeans!"
"Maa, please control yourself tonight," Shaheen teased.
Kirat glared. "You control yourself first."
Gill buried his face in his hands, laughing and groaning at once. "This is going to be chaos."
Lakhwinder patted his son's shoulder. "Oye, whatever happens, we'll stand with you. Even if Sachin ji bowls a bouncer at me, I'll catch it!"
Gill laughed, finally relaxing. "Thanks, Papa."
"Good," Lakhwinder said proudly. "Now go get ready. We'll show them what a real Punjabi family looks like."
Kirat smiled proudly, hands on her hips. "Haan, Tendulkar ji will remember us!"
Gill muttered under his breath, "That's what I'm afraid of…"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
ok here it is, tell me is it rushed or not feel real? Going to fast? Tell me in Comments....
Just Anything.. Comment, and I want to add more feel to there relationship, so few of the upcoming chapter would be about there relationship , so who don't like romance could skip next 2-3 chapters too....
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's Note: - 3400+ Words
For More Future Chapters: -
My Patreon: -
https://www.patreon.com/c/Kynstra
thank you very much for all the support and donate power stones!!
DO Comment, anything just comment and Donate Power stone!!
If you're enjoying the story, don't forget to leave a ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ rating! Your feedback means so much. And feel free to comment on where you think the story should go next—I'd love to hear your thoughts on the future direction!