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The stadium had finally emptied, leaving only the confetti drifting across the outfield like colorful snow. The broadcast cameras were packing up, but the most important camera was just coming out.
Aarav Pathak walked to the center of the pitch—the very spot where he had hit the winning six. He placed the heavy golden IPL trophy on the grass. He didn't pose with a flex. He didn't scream.
He simply sat down next to it, cross-legged, leaning back on his hands, looking at the trophy as if it were a friend he had been waiting to meet. He was still wearing his match pads.
Shubman Gill snapped the photo.
Aarav posted it on Instagram immediately. Caption:Home. 💙🏆 #AavaDe
Within 4 minutes, the post hit 1 Million Likes. It shattered records. It wasn't just a picture; it was the definitive image of the IPL 2022. The relaxed, almost casual dominance of the Seth Saheb.
Comments flooded in:
Virat Kohli: "King behavior. 👑"
Ranveer Singh: "Bhai, swag level infinity! 🔥"
Hardik Pandya: "Proud of you, brother."
Janhvi Kapoor: "🙌🙌🙌"
Before leaving the ground, Aarav did one last thing. He called the entire ground staff—the curators, the rollers, the grass cutters. He made them stand in the center, handed the trophy to the Head Curator, and stood in the back row for a group photo. "Without you, no game," Aarav told them. That gesture, captured by a fan from the stands, went even more viral than his own photo.
The team bus ride back to the ITC Narmada was a blur of music and chanting. The trophy had its own seat, strapped in next to Ashish Nehra.
When they reached the hotel, a massive cake shaped like the trophy awaited them in the lobby. Aarav cut it, but instead of eating it, he smeared a handful of icing on Ashish Nehra's face. "For the scooter ride, Coach!" Aarav laughed.
For the next two hours, the trophy became the most traveled object in Ahmedabad.
Abhishek Sharma took selfies with it in the elevator.
Shubman Gill slept next to it on a sofa in the lobby.
Arshdeep Singh and Umran Malik held it together, the fast bowling cartel.
Rinku Singh,smiling properly, kissed the base of the trophy.
Yash Dayal poured a soft drink into it and drank from the cup.
It passed from hand to hand, from the stars to the support staff, to the physios, to the bus driver. It belonged to everyone.
Finally, around 3:30 AM, the party began to wind down. Players drifted to their rooms, exhausted but euphoric.
Aarav reclaimed the trophy. It was sticky with champagne and cake icing, but it glinted beautifully under the hotel corridor lights. He swiped his key card and entered his suite.
The room was dim, lit only by the bedside lamps. And there, waiting for him, was the only prize that mattered more than the gold in his hand.
Shradha was sitting on the Recliner near the window, her legs tucked under her. She looked up as he entered, her face breaking into a soft, sleepy smile.
"Hey, Champion," she whispered.
Aarav closed the door with his foot. He walked over to the desk and gently placed the IPL Trophy down. It made a solid thud. He didn't look at it again.
He turned to her. "Hey," he breathed, the adrenaline finally leaving his system, replaced by a profound need for her warmth.
He walked to the Recliner. Shradha reached out, her hands finding his waist. Aarav sat down on the Recliner, pulling her effortlessly into his lap. She curled into him, resting her head on his chest, her fingers tracing the collar of his jersey.
"You smell like grass and victory," she murmured, wrinkling her nose playfully.
"And cake," Aarav chuckled, wrapping his arms around her delicate frame, holding her tight. "Nehra got me good."
They sat there in the quiet intimacy of the room. On the desk, the trophy shone—the symbol of his professional conquest. In his arms, Shradha lay—the symbol of his personal peace.
"I saw the six," Shradha said softly, looking up at him. "You pointed. You actually pointed."
"I had to," Aarav admitted, resting his chin on her head. "I promised myself. If I get the chance, I finish it my way."
"Dad was impressed," she giggled. "He said you have 'nerves of steel'. I didn't tell him you were nervous about the laundry cart incident this morning."
Aarav laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest. "Let's keep the laundry cart between us."
He tightened his hold on her. "I'm tired, Shradha. Bone tired."
"I know," she whispered, kissing his jaw. "Just sleep. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
"Don't," he mumbled, closing his eyes, burying his face in her hair. "Stay. Forever."
"Forever," she promised.
Aarav Pathak, the Captain of the Gujarat Titans, the Prince of Cricket, the Seth of Ahmedabad, fell asleep on the Recliner, holding the love of his life, with the trophy watching over them like a silent guardian.
The season was over. The legacy had begun.
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The hotel room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the centralized air conditioning. Aarav was drifting, his exhaustion pulling him under, but the Recliner, while plush, wasn't exactly designed for deep sleep.
Shradha, sensing his slight shift in posture, reached down to the side of the chair. Her fingers found the electronic control panel. Whirrr. The mechanism hummed softly. The footrest rose, and the backrest tilted backwards, transforming the executive chair into a spacious recliner.
Aarav let out a long, contented sigh as his body stretched out. "Mmm... magic."
"Technology," Shradha corrected softly, adjusting her position.
The recliner was wide, but with two people, it was a cozy fit. Shradha didn't mind. She shifted, sliding up slightly so she could rest her head in the crook of his neck, her legs tangling with his. She reached for the plush velvet throw blanket draped over the armrest and pulled it over them, creating a warm, dark cocoon against the cool air of the room.
"Goodnight, Champion," she whispered, her hand resting over his heart, feeling its steady, slow rhythm.
"Goodnight, Doc," Aarav mumbled, his arm tightening around her waist instinctively.
Within minutes, the adrenaline of the IPL Final, the roar of 130,000 people, and the weight of the trophy sitting on the desk faded into the peaceful oblivion of sleep.
08:30 AM.
The blackout curtains had a small gap—a fatal flaw in an otherwise perfect suite. A sharp, relentless beam of Ahmedabad sunlight sliced through the room, hitting Aarav squarely in the face.
He groaned, scrunching his nose. He tried to turn away, but he was pinned. A weight was pressing down on his chest. A warm, soft, breathing weight.
Aarav cracked one eye open, shielding it from the glare. His vision focused. Shradha was sleeping half-on-top of him. Her hair, usually neat, was a chaotic, beautiful mess, sprawled across his face and neck like a dark halo. One of her arms was thrown over his shoulder, and her face was buried in his t-shirt. She was mumbling something unintelligible probably medical jargon or a complaint about the sun as she shifted in her sleep.
Aarav froze, a slow smile spreading across his face.
Usually, he thought, my mornings start with Abhishek jumping on my bed screaming 'Oye Captain!' or Gill throwing a pillow at my head to wake me up or to do training or to even have breakfast.
This... this was infinitely better. There was no shouting. No strategy meetings. No net practice schedules. Just the soft sound of her breathing and the smell of vanilla shampoo mixed with sleep.
"I could get used to this," he mumbled to himself, feeling like a giddy teenager. "Definitely better than waking up to Nehra ji's face."
He knew he couldn't stay on the recliner forever. His back was starting to protest the angle, and the sun was getting aggressive. He looked at the king-sized bed just a few feet away. It looked like a cloud.
Okay, he strategized. Operation Transfer.
He tried to sit up gently, but the recliner's center of gravity shifted. Shradha stirred, making a disgruntled noise. "Hnggg... don't move."
"We need to move to the bed, Shradha," Aarav whispered. "My neck is gone."
She didn't respond, just gripped his t-shirt tighter.
Aarav sighed. He reached down and pressed the button to close the recliner. The chair hissed and slowly returned to the upright position. Shradha slid down slightly into his lap.
"Okay, hold on," Aarav said.
He slipped his arms under her—one under her knees, one supporting her back. He stood up. His legs, stiff from the match and the cramped sleeping position, wobbled for a second. The balance was tricky. He took a step towards the bed. He tripped on the edge of the rug.
"Whoa!"
He didn't drop her. He held her tight. But momentum took over. They fell onto the mattress. It wasn't a graceful movie landing. It was a bounce. Aarav landed on his back, sinking into the soft duvet, and Shradha landed directly on top of him with a soft oof.
The impact woke her up. She pushed herself up on her hands, blinking rapidly, her hair falling over her face. She looked disoriented. "Earthquake?" she asked sleepily.
Aarav laughed, brushing the hair out of her eyes. "No. Just a clumsy Fiancé."
Shradha looked down at him. The confusion cleared, replaced by a warm recognition. She saw his smile the relaxed, unguarded smile that the cameras never caught. She collapsed back onto him, hugging him tightly, burying her face in his neck.
"You dropped me," she accused, her voice muffled by his shirt.
"I technically placed you. With velocity," Aarav corrected, wrapping his arms around her. "Good morning."
She lifted her head, resting her chin on his chest. "Good morning."
She leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. It wasn't hungry or desperate; it was lazy and sweet, tasting of sleep and safety.
"You won the IPL," she whispered against his lips.
"We won the IPL," he corrected. "Now, get off. I need to brush. My mouth tastes like cake."
Shradha rolled off him, stretching like a cat. "Fine. But I'm using the bathroom first."
"Lady privilege," Aarav groaned, sitting up and stretching his sore shoulders.
They moved around the suite with a comfortable domesticity. The hotel, anticipating VIP guests, had stocked the bathroom with premium amenity kits. Shradha found a spare toothbrush and a fresh tube of toothpaste.
They stood side-by-side at the large marble vanity. Aarav, shirtless and wearing his track pants, brushing vigorously. Shradha, wearing his oversized t-shirt, brushing with her eyes half-closed.
It was such a mundane activity. Brushing teeth. But for Aarav, who had spent the last two months in high-pressure, traveling from city to city, constantly under the spotlight, this simple act of standing next to her in front of a mirror felt more grounding than any trophy.
He caught her eye in the mirror. He spat out the foam and rinsed. "You look terrible," he teased, wiping his face with a towel.
Shradha rinsed her mouth and glared at him. "I look like a medical student who traveled across the country to watch a cricket match. You look like a raccoon. Go shave."
Twenty minutes later, they were freshened up. Shradha had tied her hair into a neat bun and washed her face, looking radiant even without makeup. Aarav had showered and changed into a fresh white linen shirt and shorts.
He picked up the room service phone. "Two Cappuccinos. Extra shot in one. And a fruit platter. Thanks."
He put the phone down and walked to the small round table near the window. He pulled out a chair for Shradha.
"Sit," he said. His voice had lost the playful lilt. It was calm, steady. The Captain's voice.
Shradha sensed the shift. She sat down, pulling her legs up onto the chair. "What is it? You sound serious."
Aarav sat opposite her. He clasped his hands on the table, leaning forward. The IPL trophy was still sitting on the desk nearby, gleaming in the morning light, but Aarav wasn't looking at it. He was looking at her.
"We need to talk," Aarav said.
Shradha's heart skipped a beat. "About what?"
"About us," Aarav said. "About the future. And about what happens next."
The coffee hadn't arrived yet, but the air in the room suddenly felt very caffeinated.
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The air in the suite was heavy, charged with an unspoken tension that felt thicker than the Ahmedabad humidity. Aarav sat silently, his fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the tablecloth.
Shradha watched him, her brow furrowed. "Aarav? You said we need to talk. You can't just drop that line and then stare at the wall for five minutes. Is it bad? Are you... are you breaking up with me because I stole your hoodie?"
Aarav cracked a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "No. Just wait for the coffee. I need caffeine to say this properly."
"I don't need coffee, I need answers!" she protested, kicking him gently under the table.
"Patience, Doctor," he murmured.
Ten minutes felt like ten years. Finally, a soft chime at the door announced the arrival of room service. Aarav jumped up, startling Shradha. He walked to the door, opened it just a crack, and took the heavy silver tray from the staff member, murmuring a quick thanks and blocking any view into the room.
He carried the tray back, the aroma of freshly brewed Arabica filling the silence. He poured two cups, adding the extra shot to his own, and placed the fruit platter in the center.
He took a long sip. The bitterness grounded him.
He set the cup down. He looked at her—really looked at her. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, she was wearing his oversized white shirt, and she looked beautiful. And worried.
"Do you remember the night?" Aarav began, his voice low. "When I came to your house at 1 AM?"
Shradha nodded slowly. "The night of the chocolate shakes. How could I forget?"
"That night... seeing you cry," Aarav said, his jaw tightening at the memory. "Seeing how small you felt because the media was linking me with Janhvi... it broke something inside me, Shradha. I hit a century yesterday, I won the IPL, but that image of you crying in your room? That hasn't left me."
Shradha reached across the table, covering his hand with hers. "Aarav, we talked about this. I know it's just PR. I'm okay now."
"I'm not," Aarav said firmly. "I'm not okay with you feeling like a secret. I'm not okay with the world thinking I'm available, or worse, linking me to every actress who attends a match. You deserve better. You deserve to be acknowledged."
He took a deep breath.
"I know the rules," he continued. "I promised your Dad. No public reveal until you finish your MBBS. I respect that. I will never break that word. But... there has to be a middle ground. A way to tell the world that the slot is taken, without putting a target on your back."
Shradha squeezed his hand. "What are you thinking?"
"Instagram," Aarav said. "A post. Today. Now."
Shradha's eyes widened. "A post? Aarav, if you post a photo of me, the internet will find my address in ten minutes. They are FBI agents."
"Not if we do it my way," Aarav leaned forward, his eyes shining with a plan. "We take a photo. You and me. Holding the trophy. But... we hide your face. A sticker, an emoji, a clever angle. Something that shows a woman is there, that shows I am with someone I love, but keeps your identity a mystery."
He paused, gauging her reaction.
"I want to write a caption," he said softly. "Something that tells the media to back off. Something that says, 'I am taken, stop the rumors.' I want to claim you, Shradha. Even if I can't say your name yet, I want the world to know you exist."
Shradha stared at him. Her heart was hammering against her ribs. In the world of celebrity cricket, hiding a relationship was the norm. To want to announce it—even partially—was a risk. It was a declaration.
"You really want to do this?" she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "You just won the IPL. Everyone is looking at you. This will be... huge."
"I don't care about huge," Aarav said simply. "I care about you not crying over fake news. But I won't do it without your consent. If you say no, we wait. But I really, really want to do this."
Shradha felt a lump in her throat. It wasn't sadness; it was overwhelming love. He wasn't just protecting her privacy; he was validating her place in his life.
She smiled, a tear escaping despite her best efforts. She nodded. "Okay," she whispered. "Let's do it. Let's break the internet."
"Wait," Aarav said, pulling out his phone. "Protocol. We need clearance."
He dialed a number on video call. 'Mom ❤️'
Priya Pathak picked up on the first ring. She was clearly in the middle of a celebratory puja at Pathak Villa. "Aarav! Mera baccha! (My child!) We are watching the news! You look so handsome with the trophy!"
"Hi Mom," Aarav smiled. "Listen, I need to ask you something. I want to post a picture with Shradha."
Priya gasped. "With Shradha? On Instagram? Aarav, have you gone mad? Her studies! Sachin will kill you!"
"Not her face, Mom. Hidden face. Just to stop the rumors about other girls. To show I'm committed."
Priya paused. Then, her face broke into a wide, beaming smile. "Finally! I have been telling your father! Why should my daughter-in-law hide like a spy? Do it! In fact, you should have done it yesterday! Who cares about those actresses? Post it! Make it romantic!"
Aarav laughed. "Okay, Mom. Love you."
"Love you! Eat something!"
Call disconnected. "One down," Aarav said. "Now... the Boss."
He scrolled to 'God of Cricket'. Shradha bit her lip. "He's upstairs. Why are you calling him?"
"Because if I go upstairs, Arjun will vlog it. Calling is safer."
He pressed call. Sachin picked up. He looked fresh, probably just finished breakfast. "Good morning, Champion. Recovered?"
"Morning, Dad. Yes. Uh, I have a request."
Aarav explained the plan. The photo. The sticker. The caption to stop the rumors. There was a long silence on the other end. Shradha held her breath.
Then, Sachin spoke. His voice was calm, measured. "The Janhvi rumors bothered her," Sachin stated, not asking.
"Yes, Sir. I mean, Dad. And I don't want that to happen again."
Sachin nodded. "I respect that, Aarav. Protecting your partner is the first duty. As long as her identity is safe, and her privacy for college is maintained... you have my blessing. But be careful with the caption. Don't leave room for speculation. Be clear. 'I am taken. Don't link me with anyone.' That should be the message."
"Understood. Thank you, Dad."
"And Aarav?"
"Yes?"
"Make sure it's a good photo. Anjali will want a framed copy."
Aarav grinned. "Done."
"Okay," Aarav exhaled. "We have the green light. Now we need a photographer. I can't take a selfie; I need the trophy in the frame."
"Sara di?" Shradha suggested.
"No, she'll take forty minutes to set the lighting," Aarav dismissed. "Arjun is a risk. Who knows about us and can keep a secret?"
They looked at each other. "Abhishek," they said in unison.
Aarav dialed Abhishek Sharma. "My Room Now. Emergency." "Bhai, I am eating poha!" "Bring the poha. Just come."
Two minutes later, there was a frantic knock. Aarav opened it to find Abhishek Sharma looking disheveled, holding a plate of half-eaten poha. "What happened? Is Coach back with the scooter?"
Aarav pulled him inside. "No. I need you to take a photo. A very important photo."
Abhishek looked at Aarav, then at Shradha (who waved shyly), then at the IPL trophy. "You dragged me away from breakfast for a photoshoot?"
"Abhi, I'm announcing it," Aarav said seriously. "Not her name. But the relationship. I'm posting it."
Abhishek's jaw dropped. The spoon fell from his hand onto the plate with a clatter. "Official? The 'Prince' is off the market? Oh my god. The heartbreaks. I can hear them shattering already. This is going to be fun."
He put the plate down and rubbed his hands together. "Okay, give me the phone. I am the best photographer in Punjab. Let's make you look like Shah Rukh Khan."
They moved to the balcony. The morning light was soft. Aarav sat on the railing (safely), the golden trophy placed next to him. Shradha stood beside him.
"Okay," Abhishek directed like a movie director. "Shradha, turn around. Back to the camera. Look at the city. Aarav, look at her. No, don't look at the trophy, look at the girl! Yes! That's the 'pyar wala' look."
"Too cheesy," Shradha laughed, turning back. "Let's do something simpler."
"Okay," Aarav said. "Sit on the chair. I'll sit on the armrest."
They tried poses. Pose 1: Holding hands over the trophy. (Rejected: "Looks like a business deal," Abhishek said). Pose 2: Shradha holding the trophy, Aarav looking at her. (Rejected: "Her reflection is visible in the trophy," Aarav noted sharply).
"Okay, this one," Aarav decided.
He sat on the outdoor sofa. Shradha sat next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He wrapped one arm around her. With his other hand, he held the IPL trophy, resting it on his knee. Shradha turned her face into his chest, completely hiding her features, her hair cascading down her back. Her hand rested on his, the one holding the trophy.
"Perfect," Abhishek whispered. "The Trophy and The Queen. Hold it. Don't breathe."
Click. Click. Click.
"Got it," Abhishek announced, checking the gallery. "Bhai, this is fire. The lighting is perfect. You look like a mafia don, and she looks like the mystery lady. It's giving 'Power Couple' vibes."
Aarav took the phone and sat on the bed. Shradha and Abhishek sat on either side of him, peering at the screen.
"Okay," Aarav opened the photo editor. "Safety first."
He selected a sticker—a cute, animated white heart. He placed it carefully over the sliver of Shradha's profile that was visible near his chest. "Is that too big?" Shradha asked. "Better safe than sorry," Aarav muttered.
Then came the hardest part. The Caption.
Aarav stared at the blinking cursor. Winning the trophy was easy. Writing this is hard.
"Write 'My two loves'," Abhishek suggested, stealing a grape from the fruit platter. "Too cliché," Shradha rejected.
"Write 'Taken'," Abhishek tried again. "Too aggressive," Aarav said.
He thought about Sachin's words. Be clear. Don't leave room for speculation. He thought about the media. He thought about the fans calling him 'Seth'.
He started typing.
Caption:"The season gave me a trophy 🏆. Life gave me her ❤️.
To the media and the fans: Thank you for the immense love. But a small request - my heart is booked. No vacancies, no link-ups, no rumors please. Respect our privacy while we celebrate this win. 🧿
#IPL2022 #Champions #MyAnchor #Taken"
He showed it to Shradha. She read it silently. "My Anchor," she whispered. "I love it."
"It's perfect," Abhishek nodded, surprisingly serious for a moment. "Classy. Direct. And 'No Vacancies' is a nice touch. Seth Saheb has spoken."
Aarav took a deep breath. His thumb hovered over the 'Share' button. This was it. Once he pressed this, the speculation would end, but a new kind of storm would begin. He was voluntarily giving up his 'Most Eligible Bachelor' status.
He looked at Shradha. She nodded, a bright, encouraging smile on her face. He looked at Abhishek. "Do it, brother," Abhishek said.
Aarav pressed Post.
'Sharing...''Posted.'
Aarav threw the phone onto the bed as if it were a hot coal. "Done," he exhaled, falling back onto the pillows.
"Now," Abhishek grabbed the fruit platter. "We wait for the internet to crash. I give it thirty seconds before Virat bhai comments."
Shradha laughed, leaning her head on Aarav's shoulder. The secret was out—halfway, at least. And in that hotel room, amidst coffee cups and a golden trophy, Aarav felt lighter than he had in months.
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Aarav had expected a reaction. He was, after all, the captain of the IPL winning team, only son of richest man of Asia and one of the most popular faces in the country. But he hadn't anticipated a digital tsunami.
Within ten seconds of hitting 'Post', the likes counter froze. The Instagram servers struggled to process the sheer volume of traffic hitting the profile of @aaravpathak.
By the time Aarav refreshed the page one minute later: Likes: 250,000+ Comments: 15,000+
It wasn't just a post; it was a cultural event. The "Most Eligible Bachelor" of Indian cricket had just put up a "Sold Out" sign.
The comments section was a chaotic mix of heartbreak, celebration, and detective work.
The Teammates & Cricketers:
@virat.kohli: "Chupa Rustom! 😉 Finally! Bless you both."
@rohitsharma45: "About time! Waiting for the treat. 🥘"
@hardikpandya93: "Bhabhi ji ko pranaam! 🙏 (Greetings to sister-in-law!)"
@shubmangill: "I confirm I am NOT the person in the photo. 😂 Congrats Skipper!"
@abhisheksharma: "📸 Picture Credit: Me. Styling: Me. Emotional Support: Me. Please follow @abhisheksharma for more masterpieces. 😎"
Reply by Aarav: "Payment is pending due to poor lighting."
@ranveersingh: "AAG LAGA DI! 🔥 Power Couple vibes! Who is the mystery queen?!"
@janhvikapoor: "So happy for you! Finally the rumors can stop! ❤️🧿"
This comment alone got 50k likes as fans realized the Janhvi-Aarav chapter was officially closed.
@aarav_my_life: "Deleting my fanpage. Crying in the corner. 😭😭💔"
@cricket_girl_07: "Who is she?? Why is there a sticker?? Move the sticker!! 😡🔪"
@gujarat_titans_fan: "Seth Saheb got his Sethani! Trophy bhi laye, Bhabhi bhi laye! (Brought the trophy and the sister-in-law!) Double win!"
@meme_lord: "Girls: Heartbreak. Boys: New National Bhabhi unlocked. 🔓😂"
@single_club: "Bro won the IPL and the girl in the same 24 hours. God has favorites."
While some cried, others went to work. Twitter (X) turned into a forensic laboratory. Users were zooming in on the pixelated edges of the photo, trying to decode the identity of the girl hiding behind the white heart emoji.
Trend #1: #WhoIsShe
@Sherlock_Cricket: "Analysis of the photo: 1. She has long dark hair. 2. She is wearing Aarav's t-shirt (Comfort level: High). 3. Her hand size suggests she is petite. 4. No nail polish (simple girl?)."
@FanTheory: "Notice the watch on her wrist? That looks like a vintage piece. Who wears vintage? Old money families?"
The theories ranged from plausible to insane. Some said it was a childhood friend. Some said it was a secret Bollywood debutante. One conspiracy theorist claimed it was actually Rinku Singh in a wig (which went viral for obvious reasons).
The 24-hour news cycle, which was supposed to be analyzing the cricket match, instantly pivoted to the "Mystery Girl."
Aaj Tak Breaking News:Ticker: "AARAV PATHAK KA DIL BOLD! KAUN HAI WO? (Aarav Pathak's Heart Bowled! Who is she?)" Anchor: "The Prince of Cricket has announced his queen! But the face is hidden! Is this a masterstroke to protect privacy? Sources say the couple is in Ahmedabad!"
India TV: "Astrologers predict: The mystery girl brings good luck! Since she entered his life, he won the IPL! She is his Lady Luck!"
Inside Aarav's Room
Aarav, Shradha, and Abhishek were watching the chaos unfold on Aarav's iPad.
"They are calling me 'Lady Luck'," Shradha giggled, scrolling through Twitter. "And 'National Bhabhi'. That makes me feel old."
"It's a term of endearment," Abhishek mumbled, his mouth full of grapes. "Look at my comment! 20,000 likes! I am an influencer now."
Aarav shook his head, smiling. "Virat bhai called me a 'Chupa Rustom'. I'm never going to hear the end of this in the Indian dressing room and especially from Anushka Bhabhi."
"At least no one has guessed it's me yet," Shradha noted with relief. "They are busy analyzing my wrist watch."
"Good," Aarav said, taking the iPad away and locking the screen. "Let them guess. Let them boil. The world knows you exist, but only I get to know who you are."
He looked at Abhishek. "Okay, Influencer. Get out. We have a flight to catch later."
Abhishek saluted. "Aye aye, Captain. Pleasure doing business with you."
As the door closed, Aarav turned to Shradha. The social media storm was raging outside, millions of people discussing their relationship. But in the quiet of the room, it felt surprisingly peaceful.
"Regrets?" he asked.
Shradha looked at the phone, buzzing continuously with notifications, and then at him. "None," she smiled. "Let them talk. I have the trophy winner."
Aarav pulled her close. "And I have the trophy."
The Breaking News would continue for weeks. But for now, the headline in Aarav's life was simple: Happy.
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The room had just settled into a comfortable silence. The social media storm was raging outside—millions of notifications silently stacking up on Aarav's locked phone—but inside, there was just the hum of the AC and the soft clink of coffee cups.
Suddenly, Aarav's phone didn't just buzz; it erupted. A personalized ringtone—something energetic and slightly terrifying—pierced the calm.
Aarav looked at the screen. His eyes widened. Caller ID:Anushka Bhabhi 🎬
He gulped. "Oh no."
Shradha looked up from her coffee, alarmed. "Who is it? Nehra sir again?"
"Worse," Aarav whispered, hitting the 'Accept Video Call' button but hesitating to lift the phone. "It's the High Command. It's Anushka Bhabhi. And she looks... active."
He propped the phone up against the fruit bowl. The screen filled with the face of Anushka Sharma, looking radiant but menacingly narrowed-eyed. In the background, Virat Kohli was sitting on a sofa, eating an apple, looking like he was settling in for a show.
"Aarav Pathak!" Anushka's voice boomed through the speaker before the video even stabilized. "Pick up the phone properly! Don't hide behind the fruit bowl! I know you are there!"
"Namaste Bhabhi," Aarav said meekly, waving. "How are you?"
"Don't you 'Namaste' me, mister!" Anushka pointed a finger at the camera. "I have been trying to set you up for two years! Two years! Every time I asked, 'Aarav, should I introduce you to this actress?' or 'Aarav, my friend's cousin is single,' what did you say?"
She paused for dramatic effect.
"You said," she mimicked a deep, serious voice, "'No Bhabhi, I only love cricket. The pitch is my girlfriend. The bat is my wife.' CRICKET MY FOOT!"
Virat, in the background, choked on his apple, laughing. "She has a point. You did say that."
"You stay out of this, Virat!" Anushka snapped without looking back, her focus entirely on Aarav. "So, Mr. 'I-am-Single-and-Focused', who is the 'Anchor'? Who is the 'No Vacancy'? You posted a photo with a heart sticker! A sticker! Are we in 5th standard?"
Aarav rubbed the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. "Bhabhi, it's complicated. Privacy..."
"Privacy my foot," Anushka scoffed, though a smile was breaking through her stern facade. "You are the Captain of the IPL Champions. You don't get privacy; you get paparazzi. Now, where is she? Is she in the room? Don't lie to me. Your hair is messy, and there are two coffee cups on the table."
Aarav sighed, defeated. You couldn't win against Anushka Sharma. He looked at Shradha, who was sitting just out of the frame, looking terrified. She had grown up around cricketers, but Bollywood superstars were a different territory.
"Come here," Aarav whispered, extending his hand. "She won't bite. Much."
Shradha took a deep breath, smoothed her hair, and slid into the frame next to him. She offered a small, shy wave. "Hello, Anushka ma'am. Hello, Virat sir."
Silence. On the screen, Anushka's jaw dropped slightly. Her "scolding mode" evaporated instantly. Her eyes softened.
"Oh my god," Anushka breathed. "She is... she is adorable! Look at her, Virat! She's so cute! And she's wearing his giant t-shirt! That is so romantic!"
Virat leaned in, squinting. "Wait... isn't that...?"
"Hi Shradha," Anushka beamed, ignoring her husband. "You are beautiful! How did this idiot manage to find you? Did he kidnap you? Blink twice if you need help."
Shradha giggled, the tension melting away. "No, no kidnapping. He just drove a lot at night."
"Aarav!" Anushka turned her gaze back to him. "You hit the jackpot. She looks like a doll. And you hid her? From me? I am your Bhabhi! I am supposed to know these things first!"
"I couldn't risk it," Aarav grinned. "You would have posted a story with a 'winking face' emoji and blown my cover months ago."
"True," she admitted shamelessly. "But still! I am so happy for you guys. Finally, someone to handle this stubborn mule. Shradha, if he ever annoys you—which he will, he is a cricketer—you call me. I have his childhood photos that he finds very embarrassing. I will leak them."
"Noted," Shradha laughed.
"So," Anushka leaned back, looking satisfied. "When do we get to meet the girlfriend properly? Dinner in Mumbai?"
Aarav's expression shifted. He reached out and took Shradha's hand, interlacing their fingers on the table, visible to the camera.
"Actually, Bhabhi," Aarav said softly. "She's not my girlfriend."
Anushka froze. "What? You just posted..."
"She's my Fiancée," Aarav corrected, a proud smile playing on his lips. "We've engaged (not ceremony, just fixed the wedding in talks, like rich people normally does) for a while. My family knows. Her family knows. We just... kept it quiet for her studies."
"Fiancée?!" Anushka shrieked, clapping her hands. "VIRAT! Did you hear that? They are engaged! Oh my god, Aarav! You didn't just find someone; you locked the deal! This is amazing!"
Virat, who had been studying Shradha's face with intense concentration, finally spoke up. "Engaged... family knows..." Virat muttered. Then, his eyes widened. The realization hit him like a bouncer.
"Wait a minute," Virat said, pointing at the screen. "Aarav. At the team dinner time, call of Sachin Tendulkar as Dad."
Aarav froze. "Uh..."
Aarav closed his eyes. Busted.
"It was Sachin Tendulkar," Virat announced triumphantly. "I was so confused! I thought, 'Why is Aarav saving Paaji's number as Dad? Is he that obsessed?'"
Virat looked at Shradha, then at Aarav. "But now... Shradha... Tendulkar. Shradha Tendulkar."
Virat slapped his thigh, laughing loudly. "You sly fox! You are literally Sachin Paaji's son-in-law! That's why you saved it as Dad! Oh, this is brilliant! Does Rohit know? He's going to lose it!"
Shradha blushed a deep crimson. "He calls him Dad now. It took a while."
"Does he touch his feet?" Anushka asked, fascinated.
"Every time," Shradha confirmed. "And Shubman touches Mom's feet."
"Shubman?" Anushka raised an eyebrow. "Is he involved in this Tendulkar takeover too?"
"That's a story for another day, Bhabhi," Aarav interrupted quickly, trying to save his opener from the inquisition.
Anushka wiped a happy tear. "Well, this is the best news. Better than the IPL trophy, honestly. Shradha, welcome to the madness. You are marrying a cricketer, which means you are signing up for stress, travel, and mood swings when they get out on 99. But... they are good boys. Mostly."
"He's the best," Shradha smiled, looking at Aarav.
"Okay, get out of here," Anushka waved. "Go celebrate."
"Done," Aarav nodded. "Bye Bhabhi. Bye Virat bhai."
"Bye Cheeku 2.0!" Virat laughed. "And congrats on the engagement. That's a bigger century than the one yesterday."
The call cut. Aarav let out a long breath. "Well. That went better than expected. She didn't yell as much."
"She's lovely," Shradha beamed. "And Virat sir figured it out! 'Dad'?"
"I saved it that way to manifest it," Aarav winked. "Law of Attraction."
He pulled her close again. "So... Fiancée. Does it sound weird when I say it to other people?"
"No," Shradha whispered, kissing his cheek. "It sounds perfect."
The phone buzzed again. Caller ID:Rohit Sharma (Hitman) 🏏
Aarav stared at it. "Virat told him. Definitely told him."
He silenced the phone and tossed it onto the sofa. "Let's drink the coffee before it gets cold," he said. "The captain can wait. My Fiancée cannot."
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