For More Future Chapters: -
My Patreon: -
https://www.patreon.com/c/Kynstra
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Please Donate Power Stones and Join My Patreon.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The wheels of the private jet kissed the runway at Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport with a soft sigh, as if even the aircraft knew it was returning someone important to the soil that shaped him. The July sky above Mumbai was streaked with monsoon clouds — grey, heavy, pungent with rain — the kind that always greeted the city with loud affection. As the jet slowed to a crawl, the horizon shimmered with the familiar wet sheen that only Mumbai monsoons could create roads reflecting the sky, houses wearing water like jewelry, and the palm trees swaying like old friends waving hello.
Aarav Pathak inhaled deeply, almost reverently, as he stood at the top of the stairs that unfolded from the aircraft.
As he descended the steps, he spotted the familiar black Range Rover waiting beyond the barricades. His driver, Ramu, stood beside it, umbrella in hand, posture crisp and respectful. But surrounding the barricades was something else — something he knew was inevitable.
The media.
Even with COVID restrictions, even with social distancing norms, even with security pushing them back, the moment they saw him emerge, their voices rose like a monsoon tide.
"Aarav! Aarav! One photo, please!""Sir, sir — statement on series lost against Sri Lanka?""Aarav bhai, over here — look at this camera!"
Flash after flash erupted, muffled slightly by the humidity. Aarav kept his mask on, but his eyes smiled as he walked slowly toward them. He never denied the fans. Never dismissed the ones who had lifted him onto the national stage long before the selectors noticed him.
He lifted a hand, waved, and nodded.
He posed briefly — three photos, a thumbs-up, a quick "Thank you, everyone," — before the security personnel gently pulled him toward his car. He didn't resist. Even the smallest gesture meant something to people who had waited in the rain for him.
"Welcome back, sir," Ramu said, opening the door.
Aarav slid inside, the leather seats embracing him like old memory. The door shut, and silence fell — warm, thick, comforting silence — the kind you could sink into like a soft bed after a long journey.
The car began rolling.
Mumbai sped by outside — buildings rising out of mist, people moving under umbrellas in waves, the monorail gliding in the distance, traffic honking like always. He watched it all, chest swelling with a quiet pride that felt too big for words.
And then it hit him.
Home.After weeks.Home.Where they were.
His fingers tapped lightly on his thigh — a habit he had since childhood, the silent rhythm of an eager heartbeat.
By the time the Range Rover turned into the long, winding driveway that led to the Pathak Mansion, the clouds had thickened, and a soft drizzle began pattering against the windshield.
But it wasn't the rain that made Aarav's heartbeat spike.
It was the car parked right at the entrance.
A sleek, dark blue BMW 3 Series.
Shradha's car.
His breath hitched.His pulse jumped.His chest warmed with something he didn't show on the field — softness.
She's here.
After weeks.After endless video calls.After nights she scolded him for staying up late to practice.After mornings he woke to her sleepy voice saying, "Good morning, Pathak…"
She was here.
He stepped out of the car, trying to look normal, calm, grounded — the way he always did in front of cameras.
Mahesh opened the trunk, and the household staff rushed forward.
"Sir, hum le lete hain."("Sir, we'll take it.")
"Careful with the equipment bag," Aarav said automatically, tone gentle.
He walked across the porch, each step echoing faintly. The front doors were slightly open — unusual. Laughter floated from inside, warm and bright.
He pushed the door further.
The living space opened up before him — high ceilings, soft golden lights, marble floors reflecting the glow. And in the center of it, seated on the grey sectional sofa, were the four people who shaped his world in ways no cricketing award ever could.
Raj Pathak, his father, relaxed with a cup of tea. Calm, observant eyes. A subtle smile.
Priya Pathak, his mother, animated and expressive, hands moving as she spoke.
Shradha Tendulkar.
Her back was to him, her long wavy hair cascading down in familiar brown locks, her bright yellow kurti glowing against the neutral room. Even from behind, her presence filled the entire space with color.
And beside her—
Arjun Tendulkar.
Tall. Athletic. Sharp jawline. Eyes quietly assessing something his mother was saying.
Aarav couldn't resist.
He grinned, leaned against the doorframe, and said loudly:
"Surprise!"
Every head turned.
But the first to react…were exactly who he knew they would be.
Shradha froze for half a second — just a heartbeat — and then she shot up from the sofa as if spring-loaded.
Priya mirrored her, gasping joyfully.
But Shradha reached him first — two full steps ahead.
She collided into him with a tight, breath-stealing hug, arms wrapping around his torso, face buried against his shoulder.
He exhaled, relief pouring out of him like a long-held breath.
"I missed you," she whispered, voice shaky with emotion.
"I missed you more," he murmured, arms locking around her instinctively.
The warmth of her, the softness, the scent of jasmine mixed with monsoon breeze… He didn't realize how much he needed this until he had it again.
Priya reached them in the next moment, laughing softly.
"Aarav! Beta, finally! Aise bina bataye aa gaye?"("Aarav! My son, finally! You came without telling us?")
Aarav pulled back enough to look at her and smiled sheepishly.
"Surprise dena tha, Mom."("I wanted to give a surprise, Mom.")
But what happened next made his smile widen more.
Priya stood beside them, waiting, hesitating — as if she didn't want to interrupt the two lovebirds.
Aarav shook his head playfully.
"Mom, yeh family hug hai."("Mom, this is a family hug.")
He extended an arm.
Priya's face softened instantly. She leaned in, wrapping her arms around both Aarav and Shradha.
A rare three-way hug.Mother. Son. Future daughter-in-law.
Shradha giggled softly, feeling slightly shy but not pulling away.
Raj chuckled from behind.
Everyone laughed, and Aarav finally let the hug break, though he didn't fully let go of Shradha's hand.
"Dad knew I was coming," he explained. "We had a plan."
Raj raised his cup as if in salute. "Guilty."
Priya playfully hit his shoulder. "Aap sab milkar planning kar rahe the mujhse chupke?"("All of you were planning something behind my back?")
"Team effort, Mom," Aarav said.
Everyone laughed again.
And then Aarav's gaze moved to Arjun.
The room quieted slightly — just a shift, subtle but present.
For the first time since Aarav and Shradha had made their relationship official, this was the moment where the older brother was standing face-to-face with the man who would marry his sister.
Arjun rose to his feet, expression unreadable.
Aarav left Shradha's hand gently and stepped forward.
"Good to see you, Arjun," he said, voice steady, respectful.
Arjun looked at him for a long, assessing second. Not hostile. Not wary. But… measuring.
And then he extended his hand.
"Welcome back, champ."
Aarav took it firmly.
The handshake didn't break for three seconds.
A silent conversation passed between two men who understood responsibility, pressure, and family.
Take care of her.Always.I will.
Only after that invisible agreement settled did both relax.
Arjun smiled. A real one.
"So, how have you been?" Aarav whispered, leaning slightly toward her.
Her cheeks pinkened.
Priya watched them fondly. Raj too. Arjun rolled his eyes with a smirk that only protective brothers had mastered.
The family shifted to the larger living space — a semi-circle of couches, soft yellow lamps, and the faint smell of sandalwood that Priya always kept lit in the evenings.
Aarav sat beside Shradha, their shoulders brushing occasionally. Not deliberately. Just naturally — like two magnets that refused to separate after weeks apart.
Conversation flowed.
Raj: "Your shot selection in Colombo… brilliant. Pure vintage."Arjun: "That six over long-on? Bro, what bat speed was that?"
Shradha nudged Aarav. "Tell them about the moment you almost slipped in the rain."
Aarav groaned. "You had to bring that up?"Shradha: "Haan!" (Yes!)
The room burst into laughter again.
But soon, the conversation shifted — gently, inevitably — toward something deeper.
Arjun leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.
"So… Aarav," he began.
Instantly, Shradha sat straighter. Priya glanced between the two young men. Raj sipped his tea calmly.
Aarav looked at Arjun, expression open.
Here it was.
The first real conversation between a protective brother and the man who would marry his sister.
Arjun's voice was firm but not unkind.
"You and Shradha… you two made a decision that changes your whole lives. I know Dad agrees, and Mom's already dreaming about wedding decorations. But as her brother… it's my job to ask the questions no one else will."
Shradha groaned. "Arjun, please—"
Aarav placed a hand gently on her knee. "It's alright."
Arjun nodded once.
"Good," he said quietly. "Then I'll be honest."
A brief silence fell — not tense, but weighty.
"You're a public figure, Aarav. One of the biggest rising stars India has, and you are not just a cricketer. That comes with noise. Pressure. Media. Criticism. Tours. Time away. I've seen how this industry treats relationships."
Aarav listened silently.
Arjun continued, softer now:
"I need to know if you're ready to protect her from all that. Truly ready. Because Shradha… she gives her heart completely. She loves with everything she has."
He paused."And if anything ever hurts her, it destroys her."
Shradha whispered, "Bhai…"
Aarav finally spoke — slow, steady, every word like a vow.
"I know what fame is, Arjun, even better than you. I know its cruelty. I know its weight. And I know that one slip can destroy a person's peace."
He inhaled.
"But I also know this — Shradha isn't just a part of my life. She is my anchor. My calm. My reason to come home after every match."
Shradha's eyes shimmered.
Aarav continued, voice dropping to a deep sincerity that filled the room:
"Main usey kabhi dukh nahi doonga."("I will never hurt her.")
"Main uske saath hamesha rahunga."("I will always stand with her.")
"Chahe duniya palat jaye."("Even if the whole world changes.")
Shradha pressed her fingers to her lips, overwhelmed.
Arjun watched him for a long moment.
Then he smiled slowly.
"And that," Arjun said, sitting back, "is the answer I wanted."
Shradha exhaled dramatically. "Finally."
Aarav chuckled. "Pass ho gaya interview?"(Did I pass the interview?)
Arjun smirked. "Narrowly."
The tension melted.
Priya clapped her hands. "Bas! Ab sab milkar dinner karenge."("Enough! Now everyone will have dinner together.")
Raj rose. "I'll open the special bottle. Today calls for celebration."
Shradha intertwined her fingers with Aarav's. "You came home early… just for me, right?"
Aarav leaned closer, whispering so only she heard:
"For you… I'd come home even earlier."
Her cheeks tinted pink again, and she nudged him playfully. "Drama king."
"Only for you," he murmured.
Dinner stretched into laughter, stories, teasing, cricket analysis, family warmth — the kind that filled the mansion like light. Every moment felt like a snapshot that Aarav wished he could frame forever: Shradha stealing fries from his plate, Priya scolding them lovingly, Arjun debating the perfect yorker strategy, Raj giving fatherly advice about managing fame.
Hours slipped by unnoticed.
And at the end, when the rain finally stopped and the night deepened into a comforting hush, Aarav realized something.
Coming home wasn't just returning to a place.
It was returning to his people.
His love.His family.His future.
And in the quiet beating of his heart, he knew—
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The two days at home slipped away like sand through fingers — soft, warm, but impossible to hold for long. After the emotional homecoming, after the teasing, after the laughter, after the warmth of a family who felt stitched together by fate itself, Aarav knew his time was limited. International cricket didn't wait, not even for love.
But those forty-eight hours, he made every second count.
He spent them with Shradha and her family — long conversations, shared meals, walks on the balcony during Mumbai's gentle monsoon, and moments of silence that spoke more than words. Sachin and Anjali welcomed him with quiet grace; they already saw him not as a cricketer, not as a celebrity, but as the man who would stand beside their daughter for life.
And now… after all of it… he had to leave.
The morning of his departure, the sky was washed clean by dawn rain. The roads shimmered like mirrors, the breeze carried a chill that wasn't usual for Mumbai, and the air smelled of wet earth. Aarav drove Shradha home himself, insisting Ramu take the day off.
The Urus rolled into the Tendulkar driveway, and as they stepped out, Shradha caught his wrist gently.
"You sure you packed everything?" she asked, though her voice was softer than usual — the kind of softness that belonged to goodbyes.
Aarav smiled. "Even if I missed something, England has shops."
She pouted, thumping his chest lightly. "I'm trying to be serious."
He tucked a strand of her damp hair behind her ear. "I know."
They walked to the door. Sachin opened it before they knocked.
"Good morning, beta," he said.
"Good morning… Dad," Aarav said.
And Sachin smiled — that warm, indescribable smile.
Inside, Anjali hugged him. "Eat properly there. And carry your supplements. England is cold."
"Yes, Mom," he answered, and she beamed.
Aarav didn't realize it, but every time he called them Mom and Dad, Shradha's eyes softened like melting ghee.
After a few minutes of chatting — small talk about weather, upcoming series, jet lag, match pressure — the moment finally came.
Shradha walked out to drop him to the car.
A drizzle began again, thin and silver.
She looked up at him.
"Five-match Test series," she whispered. "England conditions. Anderson and Broad waiting. Media talking nonsense. Crowd being crowd. You ready?"
Aarav held her face gently. "For them? Always."
"And for me?"
He leaned down and kissed her forehead slowly, the rain hanging in the air around them like a curtain.
"For you," he said, "always."
She hugged him with the tightness of someone who hated letting go.
He stepped back, slowly.
"Go break them," she whispered. "Aur unhe dikha do… tum Aarav Pathak ho."("Show them who you are… you're Aarav Pathak.")
He nodded once.
And then he left.
Arrival -- London, England
The flight to England was long, quiet, peaceful — but the moment the airplane began descending, the London skyline emerged through the grey clouds like a painting. The city stretched out beneath him — rows of old brick buildings, glass offices reflecting the pale sun, double-decker buses dying the streets red, and the Thames carving through it all like a silver serpent.
Cold mist stuck to the windows as the plane landed.
As soon as he stepped outside, the English chill cut through his jacket — sharp, crisp, unforgiving.
He breathed it in.
England.The real test.The land where legends are made and reputations are shredded.
A black Mercedes arranged by BCCI waited for him. The driver nodded respectfully and began the journey toward the team hotel.
Rain streaked the windows. Cars hummed down wet roads. London went about its day with the stoic calm only old cities had.
Aarav reached for the newspaper placed on the seat beside him.
The headline stretched across the front page:
"INDIA'S GOLDEN BOY ARRIVES — BUT CAN HE SURVIVE ANDERSON'S SWING?"
Below it was a picture of him — stepping out on the ground.
- "He's scored everywhere."- "He troubled Australia."- "He dominated New Zealand and even Sri Lanka."- "But England is a different beast at home."- "And he will know it soon."
Aarav felt the smallest curl of a smirk.
They wanted to provoke him.They wanted to rattle him.They wanted to turn his arrival into pressure.
He folded the newspaper neatly.
"Let them talk," he murmured. "Ground pe milte hain."("We'll meet on the ground.")
The BCCI-assigned hotel towered above the street — sleek glass, rotating doors, guards in navy suits checking IDs. Inside, the lobby glowed with amber lighting, marble floors, and polished wooden walls.
Aarav stepped in and instantly felt eyes on him.
Not from strangers.
From family.
"PATHAAAK!"
He barely had time to react before Rishabh Pant barreled into him like a hyperactive tornado.
"Bhai! Finally!" Pant shouted.
Behind him came Jadeja, arms folded, smirking. "You made the newspapers more than the PM, bro."
KL Rahul walked over with his relaxed swagger. "Look who decided to join us."
Rohit Sharma strolled in, grinning. "Aaja, aaja… captain ka vadha beta aa gaya."("Come, come… the captain's beloved son has arrived.")
Virat Kohli leaned against the pillar, sipping black coffee, eyes warm. "Good to see you, champ."
Shami, Siraj, Bumrah, Ashwin — they all called out, whistled, waved.
It was friendship. It was family. It was India.
Aarav grinned, lifted a hand in greeting. "I'm here, I'm here… give me space."
Pant wrapped an arm over his shoulder. "Abey chhup! We waited for you, idiot."
"You mean you waited for my batting," Aarav teased.
Pant gasped. "Tumse kisne batting seekhi, haan?"("Who taught you how to bat, huh?")
"Definitely not you."
A roar of laughter exploded through the lobby.
Aarav took his key card from the front desk.
"I'll freshen up," he said. "Ten minutes."
"Five!" Kohli ordered.
Pant added, "Bring your wallet. You're paying for dinner."
"Not happening."
"You're rich."
"You also have money..."
Pant paused. "Haan… valid point."("Yes… valid point.")
They gathered in the private dining hall — long wooden tables, warm light, plates steaming with pasta, grilled chicken, and salad. The air smelled of pepper, olive oil, and fresh bread.
The Indian team ate like a family in a reunion.
Rahane asked about Colombo.Bumrah cracked dry jokes.Jadeja talked about horses.Pant argued with the chef for extra dessert.Kohli lectured someone about gluten.Rohit laughed at everyone.
Aarav absorbed it all — the warmth, the banter, the brotherhood.
These were the men he'd fight alongside.Bleed alongside.Win alongside.
After dinner, players drifted away to their rooms — some sleepy, some scrolling Reels, some calling their families. Aarav expected to sleep too, but Shubman Gil knocked on his door just as he changed into a hoodie.
"Champion," Gil said with a grin, stepping inside.
Aarav raised a brow. "You look dramatic."
"I am dramatic. I'm dating Sara Tendulkar."
"And I'm dating her sister."
"Exactly," Gil said proudly. "Hum dono jeet gaye, mere bhai."("We both won, my brother.")
Aarav laughed. "True."
They sat on the couch near the window. Rainwater streaked down the glass. London's night glowed with streetlights and the hum of late-night traffic.
Gil leaned back, expression softening. "Crazy, isn't it?"
"What?"
"Life. We started as teammates… then best friends… and now… brothers-in-law."
Aarav smiled. "Life scripts its own stories."
Gil nodded, looking out at the wet streets. "You know… sometimes I feel people underestimate me."
Aarav's eyes sharpened. "Who?"
"Everyone," Gil said quietly. "When I don't score big, people call me inconsistent. When I do score, they call me lucky. And now… with this England series… I don't even know if I'll make Playing XI."
He swallowed.
"This is my chance, Aarav. England. The place where Indian openers are tested like no other. I want to prove I belong. I want to show the world I'm not an extra player… I'm Shubman Gill."
Aarav placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Listen," he said. "You don't need to prove anything."
Gil turned. "Easy for you to say. You're the rising superstar. Media is calling you India's golden boy. The next King. The Prince. England is scared of you."
Aarav looked him dead in the eye.
"And I'm telling you — your time is coming. Tum Shubman Gill ho… koi extra nahi."("You are Shubman Gill… not an extra player.")
Gil's throat tightened.
"You have talent. Temperament. Class. Agar chance mila na… you'll destroy them."("If you get a chance… you'll destroy them.")
Aarav leaned back.
"And besides…"
"What?"
"You're going to be my brother-in-law."
Gil burst into laughter.
Aarav continued, "Brothers-in-law don't disappoint."
Gil laughed harder. "Idiot."
"And one more thing," Aarav said, voice softening. "Jab tak main hu… kisi ko tujhe underestimate karne nahi dunga."("As long as I'm here… I won't let anyone underestimate you.")
Gil looked down, smiling. "You know… you talk like a hero."
"I am the hero," Aarav shrugged.
"You're not wrong."
They both laughed.
Outside, the rain slowed to a drizzle. Inside, the warmth of friendship filled the room — unspoken, unbreakable.
When Gill finally left, Aarav stood alone at the window.
The city lay spread before him — ancient, cold, regal.
Somewhere in this city, James Anderson and Stuart Broad were sharpening their skills, preparing their strategies, waiting to exploit every inch of English swing.
Somewhere in the stadium, the pitch was drying under covers — green, damp, unpredictable.
Somewhere in the newspapers, journalists were preparing another headline to mock him.
Somewhere a billion people back home would watch.
Somewhere Shradha would sit in the Tendulkar living room, her hands clasped tightly, her heart beating with his.
Aarav's reflection stared back at him in the glass - calm, focused, eyes burning with a quiet fire.
"Let's begin," he whispered.
Outside, thunder cracked softly above Nottingham - like the sky answering him.
Tomorrow, the real battle would begin.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's Note: - 3600+ 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!