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Are you guys watching the Ashes? I don't know what's happening—just a two-day match! It ended on Day 2, and once again Travis Head is the main culprit. Head in November, chasing with Marnus… we all know he can do it. we just saw that in 2023. He smashed his hundred in just 69 balls—in a Test match! This is the Ashes, the top level of cricket.
Leaving that aside, Starc—my man—is aging backwards, still hitting 140–145+ at the age of 36. And then there's Archer and Ben Stokes from the other side.And honestly, the broadcasting quality, the commentary, and all the tech they're using this time… it's just on another level.
Should I add a tri series between England, Australia, and India in the book going forward?
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The private jet glided through a gentle sunrise, its silver wings cutting across the golden sky that hovered above Mumbai's endless sprawl. From the cabin windows, the Arabian Sea shimmered like liquid glass. The moment the tires kissed the runway, a quiet sigh escaped Shradha's lips. Two weeks in Russia — laughter, snow, temples, museums — had passed in a blur of emotion and discovery. Now, the warmth of home waited, and with it, a new chapter that made her pulse quicken.
Aarav noticed her fidgeting with the edge of her shawl. "You okay?" he asked softly.
She tried to smile but the nervousness slipped through. "Just fine. A little... terrified."
"Of what?" he chuckled. "My parents? Come on. They already love you. You talked to Mom a dozen times."
"Talking to someone on a video call is one thing, meeting them in real life is another," she murmured. "What if I mess up? What if I spill something at the table? Or call your dad 'uncle' instead of 'dad' as he wanted too?"
Aarav grinned, reaching over to hold her hand. "You're overthinking again. Just be you, Shradha. That's more than enough."
As the jet taxied to the private terminal, the familiar scent of the Mumbai coast hit them — salt, warmth, and something indescribably alive. The doors opened, and the wave of Indian air carried in noise, color, and that particular chaos both of them had missed. Gill and Sara stood ahead, their luggage stacked nearby, looking equally sun-struck and content.
"Back to reality," Gill said, stretching his arms with a laugh. "Man, no more snow, no more quiet streets. I'm going to miss Russia."
Sara teased, "Don't lie. You're just going to miss the free hot chocolate."
They shared laughter that echoed across the tarmac. It felt like a soft farewell to a dream. Two drivers waited by two SUVs. Gill and Sara's ride was a Thar driven by Gill's sister, while a black Range Rover stood gleaming for Aarav and Shradha.
Gill patted Aarav's shoulder. "Go win them over, champ. You've already bowled over the daughter, now time for the parents."
Aarav rolled his eyes as Shradha blushed furiously. "You're impossible."
Sara hugged Shradha, whispering, "You'll be fine. Just smile. Aarav's Moms love you, trust me."
"Best of Luck to you too," Shradha murmured, half laughing, half anxious.
As they drove away, Shradha looked out the window at Mumbai — her city, their city — bustling, imperfect, but full of heart. The sea flashed in the distance. The traffic honked, people hurried, and life thrummed as if it never paused. Yet, her heartbeat was faster than the hum of the road.
The long drive wound through the coastal roads, past wide boulevards and banyan trees dripping with green. The Range Rover's quiet hum made the silence between them softer, not awkward but thoughtful. Aarav's fingers brushed hers again.
"You don't need to rehearse what to say," he said with a grin.
She sighed, catching his gaze. "Easy for you to say. You grew up in that mansion. I've only seen it on the news when your mom hosted charity events."
He squeezed her hand. "They're simple people. Trust me."
The car turned down a shaded lane lined with lamps and palm trees that stretched toward a sprawling estate. The mansion rose like something from a dream — glass walls gleaming in the sunlight, gardens layered with marigolds and hibiscus, a fountain catching the light like liquid gold.
Shradha pressed a hand to her mouth. "Aarav... this isn't a house. This is—this is a kingdom."
He smirked. "So, Mrs. Future Queen, what do you think of your palace?"
She nudged him, cheeks burning. "You really can't help yourself, can you?"
"Not when you blush like that."
As the car rolled to a stop before the grand entrance, Shradha caught sight of two figures waiting on the steps — Mr. Raj Pathak, tall and dignified in a crisp kurta, and Mrs. Priya Pathak, radiant in an elegant saree that shimmered like sunlight. Their presence carried warmth and command in equal measure.
"Ready?" Aarav asked softly.
"Define ready," she whispered back.
The driver opened the doors. Aarav stepped out first, then circled around to offer his hand to Shradha. Her heart thudded as she stepped onto the polished stone driveway. The scent of jasmine floated in the air. She bent to touch their feet beside Aarav, and immediately Priya bent down to embrace her.
"Welcome home, beta," Priya said. "We've been waiting for you."
Shradha's eyes widened slightly at the warmth of those words. "Thank you, aunty—uh, Mom."
Priya laughed, her voice light and genuine. "You learn fast. Come, come, let's get you inside."
Aarav grinned. "Wait, what about me? No one's excited to see me?"
Raj chuckled. "We've seen you for twenty-one years, son. We've been waiting to meet her."
Aarav groaned dramatically. "Betrayed in my own home."
The laughter that followed eased Shradha's nerves. For the first time that morning, she felt her shoulders relax.
The mansion's interior gleamed in warm beige and gold, an orchestra of luxury and taste. Crystal chandeliers glowed softly. Paintings by modern Indian artists lined the corridors. In one corner, a grand piano caught the afternoon light.
Shradha's gaze lingered on a series of framed photographs — Aarav as a child, grinning in cricket whites, holding trophies, and a teenage version of him with his parents. It was like stepping through his past, every image radiating pride and love.
"Come, sit," Priya urged, leading her to a velvet sofa in the living area. "Tell me everything. How was the trip? Did Aarav behave, or was he too busy being a celebrity?"
Shradha smiled, nervous laughter spilling out. "He was... perfect, mostly. Except for the time he tried to impress everyone with his Russian."
Priya leaned in, eyes twinkling. "Now you must tell us."
Shradha giggled. "He accidentally ordered soup made of beetroot and vinegar. He called it 'gourmet.'"
Raj laughed, Priya joined in, and Aarav threw his hands up in mock defeat. "Traitors, the lot of you."
When the laughter settled, Priya reached across the table and placed her hand gently on Shradha's. "You speak with such warmth, beta. It's lovely to hear your stories. You've made this house lively again."
The words sank deep into Shradha's chest. "Thank you, Mom. It's... surreal, being here."
Raj added, "You've brought balance to him. He's always been driven, focused, sometimes too much. But lately, he smiles more. You did that."
Aarav looked away, embarrassed. "Can we please stop complimenting her before dinner?"
Priya rose after a while, smiling. "You both must be exhausted. Go freshen up, beta. I've had your room prepared next to Aarav's."
Shradha blinked. "My room?"
"Yes," Raj said. "You'll stay as long as you wish. This is your home now."
Priya guided her down the hall to a room softly glowing in afternoon light. The décor was modern but inviting — ivory linens, a vase of fresh lilies, sheer curtains dancing in the sea breeze. "If you need anything, just ask," Priya said warmly. "And don't worry — Aarav's father might look serious, but he's the softest of us all."
Shradha laughed, her nervousness now replaced by wonder. "Thank you. Really."
When Priya left, Shradha sat on the edge of the bed, letting the moment sink in. She looked around the elegant room — every detail thoughtful, every corner echoing the quiet love of a home that had just expanded to include her.
A knock came. Aarav peeked in, hair slightly messy, smile boyish. "So... how's it going, Mrs. Pathak-to-be?"
"Stop calling me that!" she said, though her cheeks betrayed her.
He sat beside her, fingers brushing hers. "See? You already belong here."
She smiled, eyes glimmering. "It feels unreal."
"Get used to it," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "This is the beginning of our long life."
Dinner was a warm, elegant affair — candlelight flickering across the table, silverware gleaming, the aroma of fresh rotis and paneer filling the air. Raj led the conversation, asking about her studies, her favorite music, her thoughts on the future. Shradha answered with honesty and charm, her laughter natural, her warmth infectious. Priya, sitting beside her, was glowing with pride as if Shradha were already her daughter.
At one point, Priya leaned over and whispered, "I see why he chose you. You make him more human, more grounded. Thank you for that."
Shradha's eyes softened. "He makes me stronger too, Mom."
Aarav watched them, heart full. For once, words escaped him.
Later, on the balcony under the stars, the city shimmered below. Shradha stood beside Aarav, the breeze tugging gently at her hair.
"I was so scared this morning," she said quietly. "Now, it just feels... right."
He wrapped an arm around her waist. "You passed with flying colors."
She chuckled. "Best result I've ever gotten."
He looked into her eyes, voice low and tender. "You're home now."
The sound of laughter drifted from inside, mingling with the night air. For Shradha, it wasn't just a visit anymore — it was the beginning of belonging, of family, of love taking root in its truest form.
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The monsoon clouds hung low over Mumbai when Aarav drove Shradha home that morning. The roads shimmered with rain, the sky smelled of damp earth and sea salt. Beside him, Shradha sat quietly, her hand resting against the windowpane. It had been a long week of emotions — laughter, family warmth, new beginnings. The Pathak Mansion now felt like a promise waiting to bloom, but today was goodbye, if only for a few days.
When the car stopped outside the Tendulkar residence, Shradha turned toward him. "You sure you don't want to come in?" she asked softly.
Aarav shook his head. "Not today. You need to rest. And... I need to make a call."
She smiled faintly. "The cricket call?"
He laughed. "You know me too well."
Shradha reached over, fingers brushing his cheek. "Just promise me one thing. Whatever match it is, whatever field you step on... play like you always do. For love, not for noise."
He caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. "Always."
She lingered for a moment longer before stepping out, her dupatta fluttering as she turned one last time to wave. The gates closed slowly behind her, and the city seemed to quiet for a heartbeat. Aarav sat there for a moment, staring ahead, feeling the weight of everything — love, responsibility, and the hum of destiny calling again.
Back home, Aarav walked into his study, sunlight cutting through the blinds in pale strips. His phone was already ringing with messages — board updates, sponsorship notifications, reminders of upcoming schedules. But he scrolled straight to one contact: Ravi Shastri.
He then hit the call button.
"Arre, Aarav!" came Ravi's booming voice. "I thought you were taking a break! Enjoying post-champions life, haan?"
Aarav smiled faintly. "About that, sir... I was hoping for something else."
"Oh?"
"I want to play the T20I series against Sri Lanka."
A long pause followed. "You? Asking back in already? I thought we agreed you'd rest till world cup. You've been non-stop since the WTC win."
"I know," Aarav said, pacing near the window. "But, sir, I need to get back out there. Sitting out feels wrong. I want to contribute. Let me play, please."
Ravi chuckled. "You young guns, man. Never stop running. Alright, let me talk to the selectors. But don't come crying if your body starts protesting."
"It won't," Aarav said with quiet conviction.
"You sure about this?"
"Completely, sir."
"Fine. You're in. Pack your kit and prepare for humid Colombo. You'll bat at number three."
Aarav grinned, gratitude flooding through him. "Thank you, sir."
"Earn it again, champ. And remember — you're not the future anymore. You're the now."
The call ended, but Ravi's words echoed in his head long after. Aarav closed his eyes, exhaled, and whispered to himself, "Let's begin again."
July 25 — Colombo
The air at R. Premadasa Stadium was thick, humid, and heavy with the smell of rain-soaked grass. Palm trees swayed in the distance as floodlights towered above like silent sentinels. The stands were empty, a remnant of pandemic-era matches — no roars, no chants, just the pure, echoing pulse of leather and willow.
Aarav stood near the boundary, tying his wrist tape tighter. The tricolor emblem on his jersey gleamed faintly under the sun. Around him, teammates loosened up — Dhawan joking with Prithvi Shaw, Hardik shadow-batting, Surya adjusting his gloves. It was the familiar rhythm of calm before chaos.
"Feels good to be back, doesn't it?" Dhawan's voice came from behind, cheerful as ever.
Aarav smiled. "Feels right."
Dhawan clapped him on the back. "You'll bat at three. Let's start this tour strong."
The toss took place at 6:30 PM. Cameras clicked, commentators spoke in crisp voices. Sri Lanka's skipper, Dasun Shanaka, called correctly and chose to field.
"Looks like we're batting first," Dhawan said as the team gathered. "Stick to basics. Let's enjoy ourselves."
Aarav nodded, gaze fixed on the pitch. Dry, flat, but the humidity could make the ball grip. "It'll be slow later," he murmured, half to himself.
"Trust your instincts, champ," Hardik said, tossing him a ball playfully. "You've got this."
The first over. Dushmantha Chameera with the new ball. Prithvi Shaw at the crease, tapping his bat nervously. Dhawan at the non-striker's end.
The bowler began his run-up, smooth and rhythmic. The seam glinted under the lights. First ball — pitched up, late outswing, perfect line.
Shaw reached for it.
A sharp nick.
A flash of gloves.
The sound — faint, crisp.
Caught behind.
"GONE!" the umpire's finger went up, and Chameera roared. Dhawan sighed. Shaw stared at his bat in disbelief, walking back slowly.
0/1.
Aarav adjusted his gloves, exhaled deeply, and stepped onto the field.
The vast emptiness of the stands amplified every footstep. His spikes crunched against the turf. He glanced up at the giant screen flashing his name: Aarav Pathak — Right-hand Bat, All-Rounder.
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Aarav walked out to bat, India 0/1 once again after a nervy start. His steps were unhurried, his eyes calm but alive with the quiet fire that had come to define him. His helmet gleamed under the floodlights as the camera zoomed in. "Aarav Pathak — Right-hand bat, 21 years old, all-rounder, one of India's brightest," flashed across the scoreboard.
In the commentary box, Aakash Chopra leaned closer to the mic. "Here comes Aarav Pathak — the golden boy of Indian cricket. Back into the T20I setup after a long time of test seasons, and what a moment to return."
Gautam Gambhir added in his cool tone, "He has a point to prove, Aakash. We've seen what he can do in Tests, we've seen the composure, but tonight, he'll need to bring the fireworks that he has but was in out of touch from T20Is."
The camera panned to the bowler: Dushmantha Chameera, steaming in, the ball gleaming in his right hand. The first ball of the over. The first ball Aarav would face since his comeback.
A short stride, a fraction of a second of stillness — and then, crack!
A good-length delivery that reared up, and Aarav rocked back, pulling it over deep square leg.
The white ball disappeared into the Colombo sky.
SIX!
The sound was pure, clean, authoritative.
Aakash's voice lifted. "Oh my word! That's a statement! First ball back in T20Is and Aarav sends it into orbit! That's what confidence looks like."
Tannay Tiwari laughed, his tone bright. "Talk about making an entrance! You can rest him, but you can't rest that hunger!"
Gambhir nodded. "He's not just timing the ball — he's announcing himself."
The replay rolled — the swivel of the hips, the seamless extension of the arms, the perfect follow-through. Every muscle in Aarav's body had worked in sync with intent. The kind of shot that spoke not just of skill, but clarity.
The big screen flashed his stats.
T20I Career so far: (This would be his stats....)
Matches: 12
Runs: 550
Wickets: 38
Centuries: 1
Fifties: 7
Average: 68.75
Aakash whistled softly. "Look at that average! That's Bradman-like for T20s! And mind you, this guy also bowls."
Tannay added with excitement, "And look at this — highest career batting average in T20 internationals, minimum ten innings! That's no fluke, gentlemen."
Gambhir, ever the analyst, said, "He combines match temperament with power. Rare breed."
Chameera turned at the top of his mark again. Second ball. He ran in harder, eyes locked. This one fuller, on middle and off.
Aarav moved across, opened his stance, and inside-outed it over extra cover —
SIX AGAIN!
The sound of the bat echoed around the empty stands. The ball soared, tracing a perfect arc before vanishing into the far seats.
Aakash's laughter burst through the mic. "Back-to-back sixes! Oh, this boy has come to play!"
Gambhir smiled, shaking his head. "Beautiful balance. Look at his front foot — no wild swing, just pure timing. He's playing like he's never been away."
In the dugout, Dhawan grinned, clapping. "Bas yahi toh chahiye tha! (That's exactly what we needed!)"
Surya leaned forward, muttering, "Vintage Aarav, man."
Aarav adjusted his gloves, exhaled once, and looked around. Every blade of grass felt alive, every sound sharper. He was in that rare space — the zone — where instincts replaced thought.
Over after over, the rhythm of the innings unfolded like a symphony of destruction.
Chamika Karunaratne came in from the other end, hoping to slow things down. But the pressure only built further. A short one outside off — Aarav slapped it through point. Four. Next ball, he shuffled across and ramped one over the keeper's head. Another four.
Tannay's voice was breathless. "That's cheeky! He's pulling out the whole repertoire tonight!"
Gambhir added, "That's what confidence looks like — when you can play the pull, the drive, and the ramp within three balls."
By the fifth over, Aarav had already raced to 37 off 16. Dhawan, steady at the other end, kept feeding him strike. The two left-right combination confused the bowlers; Sri Lanka's captain Dasun Shanaka wore the expression of a man running out of answers.
The 6th over. Hasaranga into the attack. Field spread out now — long-on, long-off, deep midwicket, and deep cover all pushed back. The spinner tossed one up outside off, hoping to tease him.
Aarav stepped out.
And sent it sailing.
The ball climbed high, impossibly high, before crashing into the advertising boards behind long-off.
SIX.
Aakash Chopra's voice broke into a laugh. "That's one way to welcome spin! Aarav Pathak is batting like a man possessed!"
Gambhir's tone was admiring but serious. "That's calculated aggression. He's reading the bowler, not just reacting."
The next delivery — a quicker one. Aarav read it early, rocked back, and whipped it over midwicket.
Another six.
The camera caught Hasaranga's weary smile. He knew he'd been outplayed.
At the end of the powerplay, India were 72/1.
Aarav 50(21)* — his eighth T20I half-century.
*Dhawan 22(14)**.
In the commentary box, excitement built to fever pitch.
Aakash: "Twenty-one balls for a fifty! This is unreal!"
Tannay: "And it's not just hitting — it's clean, it's classy, it's controlled!"
Gambhir: "What separates Aarav from the rest is his adaptability. He doesn't slog; he constructs destruction."
As the innings progressed, Aarav showed no mercy. Akila Dananjaya tried looping one — driven back past him for four. Chameera returned in the 12th over — greeted with a flick over fine leg for six. Even Wanindu Hasaranga, Sri Lanka's best, couldn't contain him.
The bat flowed like poetry. The sound of contact was music.
In the Indian dugout, coaches exchanged knowing smiles. Ravi Shastri, watching from the analyst's box, whispered to himself, "He's special. Very, very special."
By the time Aarav reached 68 off 32 balls, the stadium felt alive again, even without a crowd. Each boundary echoed through living rooms back home. Twitter exploded with hashtags: #PrincePathak #AaravUnleashed #INDvsSL.
The 16th over — Hasaranga again. The leggie flighted one temptingly outside off. Aarav, in full flow, stepped out and went for it — too early this time. The ball spun a fraction more, catching the toe end.
It flew high.
Bhanuka Perera camped under it at long-off.
Caught!
For a moment, silence.
Then applause. Every teammate on the balcony stood, clapping. Dhawan raised his bat in salute. Aarav looked skyward for a second, then walked off with calm dignity.
Aakash's tone softened. "Well, it had to end, but what an innings. 68 off 32 — that's a masterclass."
Tannay added, "Every shot was an event. Every run, a statement."
Gambhir summed it up perfectly. "He's the kind of player who doesn't just bat — he shifts the energy of the game."
India finished on 212/6 after 20 overs. The dressing room buzzed with high-fives and grins. Dhawan patted Aarav's back. "You made it look easy, kid."
Aarav smiled, breath still heavy. "Never easy, skip. Just focused."
"Focused is an understatement," Hardik quipped. "You were hitting like it's PlayStation cricket."
Aarav laughed, shaking his head. "Sometimes, you just see it before it comes."
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