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THE FINALS: NZ Vs ENG
New Zealand batted first on a pitch that was two-paced. They didn't blast off, but they ground out a highly competitive total. Daryl Mitchell (53) and Kane Williamson (45) navigated the English pace attack of Sam Curran and Chris Jordan to post 152/6.
In reply, England started furiously but lost wickets at regular intervals to Trent Boult and Mitchell Santner. Ben Stokes, the ultimate crisis man, anchored the chase. With 12 needed off the last over bowled by Tim Southee, Stokes dragged England to the brink. On the final ball, needing 2 to win, Stokes hit it to deep mid-wicket. They ran one, but Stokes was run out by a millimeter trying to complete the second.
England finishes on exactly 152/8.THE MATCH IS A TIE.
Ravi Shastri: "Unbelievable! I cannot believe what I have just seen! Ben Stokes gives it everything, he dives, but Martin Guptill's throw is a laser beam! We are tied at the MCG! We are going to a Super Over in the World Cup Final!"
Super Over 1:
England Batting: Jos Buttler & Phil Salt. New Zealand Bowler: Trent Boult.
Ian Smith: "Strap yourselves in. This is why we love this game. Trent Boult, the master of swing, against the pure, unadulterated power of Jos Buttler and Phil Salt."
Ball 1: Boult bowls a searing yorker. Buttler digs it out for 1 run.
Ball 2: Salt clears his front leg and slaps a length ball over extra cover. FOUR.
Ball 3: Salt swings hard. Inside edge onto the pads. They scramble for 1 run.
Ball 4: Buttler on strike. Boult misses his yorker. Buttler ramps it outrageously over fine leg! SIX!
Ball 5: Boult goes wide. Buttler slashes it to deep point. 2 runs.
Ball 6: A perfect yorker to finish. Buttler squeezes it for 2 runs.
England Score: 16/0.Target for NZ: 17 runs.
New Zealand Batting: Glenn Phillips & Jimmy Neesham. England Bowler: Sam Curran.
Nasser Hussain: "17 to win the World Cup. Sam Curran has the ball. He has been the bowler of the tournament for England. Can he defend 16?"
Ball 1: Curran bowls a wide yorker. Phillips slices it to deep point. 2 runs.
Ball 2: Curran goes full. Phillips launches it straight down the ground! SIX!
Ball 3: Slower bouncer. Phillips pulls it to deep square leg. 1 run.
Ball 4: Neesham on strike. Curran nails the yorker. Neesham digs it out to long-on. 2 runs.
Ball 5: Neesham winds up and swats a slower ball over mid-wicket! FOUR!
Equation: 2 needed off 1 ball.
Ball 6: Curran bowls a cutter into the pitch. Neesham swings and misses! But they run the bye! Buttler throws it to Curran, who breaks the stumps. Phillips dives!
Third Umpire Review: Glenn Phillips' bat is grounded just as the bails are removed. He is safe! They get one run! New Zealand Score: 16/0.
Ian Smith (Losing his mind): "THEY HAVE TIED THE SUPER OVER! I DO NOT BELIEVE THIS! THE MCG IS SHAKING! WHAT IS HAPPENING?! IT'S A TIE ON 152, AND IT'S A TIE ON 16!"
Super Over 2:
According to the new ICC rules, a tied Super Over results in another Super Over until a winner is decided. The crowd was hyperventilating. Players were collapsing on their knees, completely drained by the physical and mental exertion.
New Zealand Batting First: They send out Finn Allen and Daryl Mitchell. England goes to Chris Jordan.
Jordan bowls a brilliant over of wide yorkers and slower bouncers. Allen hits one boundary, but the rest is a masterclass in defensive T20 bowling. New Zealand Score: 11/1.Target for England: 12 runs.
England Batting:Liam Livingstone and Harry Brook. New Zealand turns to Lockie Ferguson.
Ball 1 & 2: Livingstone smashes a four, then takes a single. (5 runs)
Ball 3: Brook tries to ramp and misses. (0 runs)
Ball 4: Brook hits a boundary through covers! (4 runs)
Equation: 3 needed off 2 balls.
Ball 5: Ferguson bowls a 150 kmph yorker. Brook is bowled! WICKET!
Equation: 3 needed off 1 ball.
Ball 6:Moeen Ali comes in. Ferguson bowls a heavy length ball. Moeen hits it to deep mid-wicket. They run one. They turn for two. The throw comes in... Moeen dives. He makes it! But they can't get the third!
England Score: 11/1.
Ravi Shastri (Voice completely hoarse): "ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! ARE WE IN A SIMULATION?! IT IS TIED AGAIN! A DOUBLE SUPER OVER TIE! I HAVE NEVER, EVER SEEN ANYTHING LIKE THIS IN THE HISTORY OF CRICKET! MY HEART CANNOT TAKE IT!"
Nasser Hussain: "This is the absolute limit of human endurance! Look at Ben Stokes on the balcony. He looks like he has aged ten years! Look at Kane Williamson, he is just smiling because the absurdity is too much!"
Super Over 3:
Both teams had five minutes to regroup. The air in Melbourne was thick with legendary tension. Fans were literally crying in the stands. This wasn't cricket anymore; it was an endurance test of the soul.
England Batting First:Ben Stokes and Jos Buttler walk out one last time. New Zealand gives the ball to Tim Southee.
Southee, the veteran, uses every ounce of his experience. He bowls cutter after cutter into the two-paced MCG surface. Stokes, exhausted, can only muscle a few twos. Buttler hits one boundary but gets caught on the boundary rope on the fifth ball. England Score: 10/1.Target for NZ: 11 runs.
New Zealand Batting:Jimmy Neesham and Kane Williamson. England throws the ball back to Sam Curran.
Ian Smith: "11 runs. 6 balls. For the World Cup. Sam Curran to Jimmy Neesham. The world holds its breath."
Ball 1: Curran bowls a slow bouncer. Neesham pulls it hard, but straight to deep square leg. 1 run.
Ball 2: Williamson steps out and drives it gorgeously through extra cover! FOUR!
Ball 3: Williamson tries to repeat it, but Curran goes wide. Dot ball.
Ball 4: Williamson pushes it to mid-off and sprints like his life depends on it. 1 run.
Equation: 5 runs needed off 2 balls.
Ball 5: Sam Curran wipes his brow. He looks at the field. He decides to go for the blockhole the yorker on middle stump. Jimmy Neesham is waiting. He clears his front leg. Curran misses his length by an inch. It becomes a half-volley. Neesham doesn't swing wildly. He keeps his shape. He unleashes a colossal, high-elbow golf-swing straight down the ground. The ball leaves the bat with a thunderous crack. It sails high over the bowler's head. It sails over the long-on boundary. It lands in the euphoric Kiwi crowd! SIX!
Ian Smith (Screaming at the top of his lungs, tears in his eyes): "HE'S HIT IT! HE HAS HIT IT OUT OF THE GROUND! IT IS ECSTASY FOR NEW ZEALAND! THE AGONY IS OVER! AFTER THREE SUPER OVERS, AFTER THE MOST INSANE GAME OF CRICKET EVER PLAYED, THE KIWIS ARE CHAMPIONS OF THE WORLD!"
Nasser Hussain: "Absolute heartbreak for England, but you have to bow down to New Zealand! What a game! What a final! Jimmy Neesham, the man who suffered heartbreak in the past, delivers the ultimate blow!"
The New Zealand bench erupted. Trent Boult tackled Neesham to the ground. Kane Williamson threw his helmet away and screamed into the night sky, his usual stoic demeanor finally breaking.
On the other side, Sam Curran sank to his knees, his head in his hands. Jos Buttler walked over, pulling the young bowler into a hug. England had given it everything, matching the Kiwis blow for blow, run for run, for 45.5 overs.
The fireworks exploded over the MCG. Confetti rained down on the pitch. It was the greatest, most exhausting, and most heroic T20 match ever played. New Zealand, the perennial nice guys, had finally reached the mountaintop.
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The massive screen in the private lounge of the team hotel showed Kane Williamson lifting the T20 World Cup trophy amidst a shower of confetti at the MCG. The room, usually filled with loud banter, was subdued.
Gathered around the plush sofas were the remnants of the Indian core group. Virat Kohli sat with his arm around Anushka Sharma. KL Rahul was quietly chatting with Athiya Shetty, while Hardik Pandya and Natasa Stankovic watched the screen with muted expressions.
And then there was Aarav Pathak. The Vice-Captain sat slightly slouched in a large armchair, his eyes glued to the TV, but his mind miles away.
Sitting comfortably on his lap, completely oblivious to the melancholy in the room, was two-year-old Vamika. She was armed with a fistful of colorful wax crayons and a large sheet of hotel stationery, happily scribbling away on the coffee table positioned right in front of Aarav.
Aarav let out a long, silent sigh. The pain of the semi-final exit was still raw. He had known the future. He had known that in his original timeline, India was destined to suffer a humiliating 10-wicket defeat at the hands of Jos Buttler and Alex Hales in Adelaide. He had tried so hard to change it. He had walked out when the team was reeling at 66/5, smashed a brilliant 64, pushed the score to 194. He had even bowled with pure fire, taking out Hales and Brook in a single over.
But cricket, he realized bitterly, wasn't a solo sport. You couldn't just overwrite destiny by swinging a bat harder. He had managed to change the manner of the defeat—reducing it from a 10-wicket thrashing to a 7-wicket loss—but the ultimate outcome remained stubbornly the same. India was out.
And the Butterfly Effect was real. His actions had altered the timeline just enough. Because of the grueling semi-final, England had gone into the final exhausted, allowing New Zealand to sneak past them in a historic triple Super Over.
I couldn't save us, Aarav thought, staring blankly at the screen. All that knowledge, all that prep, and I still couldn't change the ending. I failed them.
A heavy wave of sadness washed over him. He slumped deeper into the chair, his jaw clenching.
Vamika, who had been aggressively coloring a purple circle, suddenly stopped. Toddlers possess a supernatural radar for the emotions of their favorite people. She dropped her crayon. She tilted her head back against Aarav's chest and looked up at his face.
She saw his furrowed brow, the sad droop of his mouth, and the distant look in his eyes. Instantly, her chubby little face scrunched up in concern. Her big, expressive eyes studied him for a few seconds.
She turned her body around, sitting sideways on his lap, and reached out with a tiny, slightly sticky hand. She gave the collar of his t-shirt a firm tug.
Aarav blinked, snapping out of his dark thoughts. He looked down. "What is it, Princess?" he asked softly, trying to force a smile.
Vamika didn't buy the fake smile. She patted his cheek with her little palm. "Aavav Cha-chu... happy," she commanded in her sweet, broken toddler voice.
And then, she unleashed it. The brightest, most devastatingly cute, multi-toothed smile she had in her arsenal. Her eyes crinkled into little crescents, and she let out a soft, infectious giggle.
Aarav felt his heart literally melt. The dark clouds of the World Cup exit evaporated in a millisecond.
From the adjacent sofa, a collective, entirely involuntary sound rose from the women in the room. "Awwwww!" Anushka, Natasa, and Athiya cooed in perfect unison, placing their hands over their hearts.
Virat looked over, a fond, proud smile breaking across his face.
Vamika wasn't done, though. She scrambled to pick up the piece of paper she had been working on. She proudly shoved it directly into Aarav's face.
"Vami! Cha-chu! Hppy happy!" she announced, pointing a stubby finger at the chaotic mess of wax colors.
Aarav gently took the paper, holding it at a readable distance. It was a masterpiece of abstract toddler art. But amidst the chaotic purple scribbles and red lines, Aarav could make out two distinct stick figures. One was very tall, drawn with a blue crayon. The other was very small, drawn with a pink crayon.
The tall blue stick figure and the small pink stick figure were holding hands. And on the 'face' of the tall blue figure, Vamika had drawn a wildly disproportionate, massive, curving red line.
A way-too-big smile.
Aarav understood it instantly. She had sensed his bad mood and had literally drawn a smile for him to fix it.
"Is this me and you?" Aarav asked, his voice thick with emotion, pointing at the figures.
Vamika nodded enthusiastically, her pigtails bouncing. "Yesss! Aavav big smile!"
Aarav couldn't hold it in anymore. A genuine, booming laugh escaped his chest. He threw the paper onto the table and wrapped his large hands around Vamika's waist.
"Oh, you want a smile? I'll show you a smile!" Aarav declared, his energy completely renewed.
He lifted her high up into the air above his head. "Attention, passengers! Vamika Airways is ready for takeoff!" Aarav announced loudly.
"Vrrrroooooom! Swoooooosh!" He began swooping her around in the air, making exaggerated airplane noises, banking left and right. Vamika shrieked with absolute delight, kicking her legs and throwing her arms out like wings.
"Ahhhhh! Flyyyy!" she giggled, the sound echoing through the quiet lounge.
Aarav brought her down quickly, blowing a loud raspberry against her tummy, launching her into a fit of uncontrollable, breathless giggles.
"Tickle attack! Tickle attack on the pilot!" Aarav laughed, tickling her sides while she squirmed and squealed.
Anushka leaned her head on Virat's shoulder, watching the two of them. "He was looking so depressed a minute ago. She fixed him in ten seconds."
Virat chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. "I told you, she has him wrapped around her little finger. Trophies come and go, but being 'Aavav Cha-chu' is a lifetime contract."
Hardik grinned, nudging KL Rahul. "Looks like the Vice-Captain found his true calling. Babysitter-in-Chief."
Aarav finally settled back into the chair, a breathless, giggling Vamika resting happily against his chest. He planted a kiss on the top of her head.
He looked at the TV screen one last time. The World Cup was gone. The timeline had been stubborn. But as he looked around the room—at his friends, at the family that cricket had given him, and at the little girl drawing smiles for him—he realized something profound.
You can't control every outcome in life. But as long as you have your people to come back to, you never really lose.
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The morning after the incredible New Zealand victory at the MCG, the BCCI sent out a press release that officially closed the chapter on the T20 World Cup and opened the next.
India Tour of New Zealand (White-Ball Series) With the grueling schedule of the past six months taking a toll, the selection committee hit the "Refresh" button. The senior core—Rohit Sharma, Virat Kohli, KL Rahul, Jasprit Bumrah, and Vice-Captain Aarav Pathak—were officially granted a comprehensive rest period to recover from the physical and mental fatigue of the Australian campaign.
In their absence, the reins of the T20I squad were handed to Hardik Pandya. It was a fresh, vibrant squad featuring the likes of Shubman Gill, Ishan Kishan, Deepak Hooda, Washington Sundar, and Umran Malik.
The "Young Guns" were heading across the Tasman Sea to face the newly crowned World Champions. The seniors, meanwhile, were heading home.
Aarav sat on the floor of his hotel suite in Adelaide, surrounded by the chaotic aftermath of a month-long tour. Jerseys, training gear, spikes, and protein tubs were scattered across the carpet. He was methodically folding his 'India Blue' kit into his large duffel bag.
The silence in the room was deafening. The adrenaline that had sustained him for the last thirty days had completely evaporated, leaving him feeling hollowed out.
His iPad, propped up against a stack of books on the coffee table, chimed with an incoming FaceTime call.
Caller ID: Mom ❤️
Aarav swiped to answer, letting out a tired but genuine smile. "Hi, Mom."
Priya Pathak filled the screen. She was sitting in the sunlit conservatory of Pathak Villa, a cup of morning tea in her hand, looking elegant in a simple silk suit. "Hello, my champion," she smiled warmly, though her eyes immediately scanned his face for signs of exhaustion. "Are you packing?"
"Trying to," Aarav sighed, holding up a tangled mess of charging cables. "I think my bags somehow multiplied during this trip. I don't remember bringing this much stuff."
Priya chuckled, taking a sip of her tea. "That's because you throw everything in without folding. So, when is the flight? When are you coming back to me? Ramakaant has already finalized a five-course welcome meal."
"I should land tomorrow or the day after, Mom," Aarav replied, tossing the cables into a side pouch. "It depends on the layovers and when the BCCI finalizes the commercial ticketing for the rested players. But definitely within the next two days."
"Good," Priya nodded, setting her cup down. "We need to do a proper nazar (warding off evil eye) ritual when you get back. You've been under too much stress."
Aarav smiled, zipping up one of the compartments. He leaned back against the edge of the bed, looking at the screen.
"Oh, by the way," Priya said casually, adjusting her shawl. "You know Shradha reached London safely, right?"
Aarav's hands stilled on the zipper. The mention of her name sent a familiar ache through his chest. "Yeah, I know," he said, his voice dropping slightly. "I talked to her when she landed. She's back at her college."
Shradha had to leave for the UK just before the semi-final. The final leg of her MBBS degree required a grueling six-month clinical rotation at a prestigious London hospital. It was a massive step for her career, but a painful separation for them.
"Six months is a long time," Aarav murmured, mostly to himself, looking down at his hands. He tried to mask the heavy drop in his mood, forcing a tight smile back onto his face. "But it's her final stretch. She's going to be an amazing doctor."
Priya Pathak stopped talking. She leaned closer to the screen of her phone, her sharp, maternal eyes piercing through the digital connection. She looked at her son at the slump of his broad shoulders, the subtle downward curve of his lips, the sudden lack of light in his eyes.
"Aarav," she said softly.
"Yeah, Mom?" he looked up, expecting another instruction about his laundry.
"You should go," she said simply.
Aarav blinked, confused. "Haa... go where?"
Priya raised an eyebrow, putting on her stern 'Mother' face. "Don't try to act cool and oblivious in front of me, young man. I know exactly what that face means. I know you miss her dearly. Don't come to Mumbai. Go meet her in London."
Aarav was stunned. He sat up straight. "But... Mom, you've been preparing for me to come home for weeks! You just said Ramakaant Kaka made a menu. You were waiting for me!"
Priya's expression softened into something incredibly tender and deeply empathetic. She sighed, looking out at the Mumbai rain for a second before turning back to him.
"Aarav, beta... do you know how sad and empty I get when your dad comes home late from the office, or when he goes away for long business meetings in Europe?" she asked gently. "I am surrounded by luxury, by staff, by friends... but the house feels completely silent until he walks through that door."
She reached out, her fingers brushing the screen of her phone as if trying to touch his cheek.
"I know how you feel right now," she whispered. "And I know how Shradha feels landing in a cold, rainy city all by herself, stepping into a high-pressure hospital without you there to make her smile. It's hard. I want you home, yes. But you need to be with her right now. Don't try to hide your heart from me, Aarav."
Aarav stared at the iPad. A lump formed in his throat, tight and overwhelming. The armor of the 'Vice-Captain' and the 'Prince of Cricket' completely fell away, leaving just a 21-year-old boy who was utterly amazed by his mother.
A slow, emotional smile spread across his face. He shook his head in disbelief. "How do you always do that?" Aarav asked, his voice thick with emotion. "How do you always understand me, Mom? I mean... I didn't even complain. I didn't even say anything, and you just... knew."
Priya laughed, a beautiful, ringing sound full of maternal pride. "Well, I am your Mom, Aarav," she said, her eyes crinkling. "When you were a toddler, you used to just blabber nonsense syllables, and even then, I knew exactly when you were hungry, when you were sleepy, and when you were sad. You think a few miles and a cricket uniform can hide your feelings from me now?"
Aarav wiped a rogue tear that had managed to escape his eye, laughing softly. The weight on his chest lifted, replaced by an immense wave of gratitude.
"You're the best, Mom. You know that, right?"
"I am aware," she said haughtily, flipping her dupatta over her shoulder. "Now, stop wasting time packing for Mumbai. Pack for the cold. London is freezing this time of year."
Aarav grinned, his energy completely restored. "Okay. I'll go to London day after tomorrow." He paused, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. "But Mom... commercial flights to London from Australia are a nightmare right now. Long layovers."
Priya sighed, knowing exactly where this was going. "Private Palne?"
"Please send the private jet," Aarav beamed cheekily. "I would go in that! It's an emergency mission for love!"
Priya rolled her eyes, but she was smiling widely. "Spoiled brat. Fine. I will tell your father to arrange the flight plan for the Bombardier. But you owe me two weeks in Mumbai when you both get back."
"Deal," Aarav promised. "I love you, Mom. Thank you."
"I love you too, my boy. Have a safe flight. And give Shradha my love."
The call disconnected. Aarav jumped up from the floor. The post-World Cup blues were entirely gone. He wasn't going back to the quiet mansion in Mumbai. He was going to a rainy city thousands of miles away, to the girl who anchored his world.
He started aggressively throwing his thick winter hoodies into his suitcase. London was calling.
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Aarav walked out of his suite, his thumb flying across his phone screen. He pulled up the chat with the BCCI Logistics Manager.
Aarav:Hi. Cancel my commercial ticket to Mumbai with the rest of the rested squad. I won't be flying back to India.
Manager:Noted, Aarav. Where are you heading? Do you need us to arrange alternative travel?Aarav:London. And no, thank you. Travel is already sorted. See you before the Bangladesh tour.
He slipped the phone into his pocket. The heaviness of the semi-final loss was still there, a dull ache in the background, but the prospect of seeing Shradha brought a fresh wave of energy to his steps.
He took the elevator down to the main lobby to grab a proper coffee before heading to the gym for a light recovery session.
The private VIP lounge adjoining the main lobby was occupied by familiar faces. It was the core family group of the Indian team, enjoying a quiet morning before the long flights home.
Virat Kohli was lounging on a sofa, looking at something on his iPad while Anushka Sharma rested her head on his shoulder. On the opposite couch, KL Rahul and Athiya Shetty were quietly chatting. A few feet away, Rohit Sharma was sipping an espresso while his wife, Ritika, scrolled through her phone.
But the real action was happening on the plush carpet in the center of the room. Four-year-old Samaira and two-year-old Vamika were deeply engrossed in a highly complicated game that seemed to involve stacking soft hotel coasters and immediately knocking them down.
As the automatic glass doors slid open and Aarav stepped into the lounge, the game halted immediately.
Samaira looked up first. Her eyes widened. "Cha-chu!" she squealed, scrambling to her feet.
Vamika, a split second behind, dropped her coaster. "Aavav Cha-chu!"
The two little girls abandoned their architectural masterpiece and sprinted toward him. Samaira, being older and faster, reached him first, wrapping her arms around his knees. Aarav laughed, his heart instantly melting. He leaned down, aggressively ruffling Samaira's hair until she giggled. "How is my favorite duo doing today?"
Before Samaira could answer, a tiny missile crashed into his other leg. Vamika raised her arms imperiously. "Up!"
Aarav gladly obliged, scooping Vamika up and resting her on his hip, while keeping his other hand playfully resting on Samaira's head. He walked over to the group.
"Morning, everyone," Aarav smiled, taking a seat on a vacant armchair, adjusting Vamika on his lap.
"Morning, Aarav," Rohit said, raising his espresso cup. "You look suspiciously happy for a guy whose team just got knocked out."
"Just focusing on the next chapter, Bhaiya," Aarav replied diplomatically.
"So, Aarav," Virat said, putting his iPad down. "I heard from the manager that you canceled your flight to Mumbai. Where are you running off to? Don't tell me you're going straight to New Zealand to play."
"No, no," Aarav shook his head, dodging a tiny hand as Vamika tried to grab his nose. "I'm heading to London."
Anushka perked up instantly. "London? Really? Wait, is Shradha there?"
Aarav smiled warmly. "Yeah. She's doing a six-month clinical rotation at a hospital there. I haven't seen her in properly since Long. Figured this forced rest period is the perfect time."
"Oh, that's wonderful!" Anushka beamed. "Actually, that works out perfectly. We are heading to London too!"
Aarav looked surprised. "You are? I thought you guys were going back to Mumbai."
"We bought a new house in Notting Hill recently," Virat explained, looking quite proud of the fact. "We haven't had a chance to properly set it up or spend time there. Since I'm rested for some upcoming games, we decided to take a family vacation to London for a few weeks to get the house ready."
"That's amazing, Virat bhai. Notting Hill is beautiful."
"Right?" Virat grinned. "Listen, since we are all going to the same place, why don't you come with us? We've booked our tickets on the Emirates flight tomorrow night. First-class, smooth layover in Dubai. I can ask the manager to get you a seat on the same flight. It'll be fun."
Aarav chuckled softly, bouncing Vamika on his knee. "Actually, Bhaiya... you guys should come with me."
Virat frowned, looking confused. "What's the difference? Emirates is flying us all. We just merge the bookings."
Aarav scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking a bit sheepish. "Well, the difference is... I'm not taking a commercial flight."
The lounge went quiet for a second. KL Rahul raised an eyebrow. Rohit stopped mid-sip.
"Day after tomorrow," Aarav explained casually, "I'm flying out on my family's private jet. Mom is sending the Bombardier Global 7500. It's currently in Singapore, but it will land here in Adelaide by tomorrow evening. It's a direct flight to London. No layovers. You guys are more than welcome to join. There's plenty of room."
Silence hung in the air, save for Vamika happily babbling a nonsensical song on Aarav's lap.
Virat stared at Aarav. He blinked twice. He looked at the 22-year-old boy sitting there in a plain white t-shirt and grey sweatpants, getting his hair pulled by a toddler.
"You know," Virat finally said, his voice flat, pointing a finger at Aarav. "Sometimes I genuinely forget. I see you eating normal dal chawal with us in the dressing room, carrying the drinks during practice, taking scoldings from Dravid Sir... I completely forget that you are literally from the richest family in the country."
Aarav burst out laughing, hiding his face behind Vamika's shoulder.
"A Bombardier Global 7500," KL Rahul muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Bro, that plane has a master bedroom and a full-size shower. I watched a YouTube documentary on it."
"And your Mom is just 'sending' it?" Rohit added, looking thoroughly amused. "Like it's an Uber?"
"It's an emergency mission for love," Aarav defended himself playfully. "Her words, not mine."
Virat crossed his arms, maintaining his faux-serious expression. "You just casually offer a multi-million dollar private jet ride like you're offering to share a cab to the stadium."
Anushka burst into laughter, hitting Virat's arm. She turned to Aarav with a wide, practical smile. "Ignore his bruised ego, Aarav. If it really isn't a problem for you and your family, we would absolutely love to come with you. Flying commercial with Vamika for 20 hours is exhausting. A direct private jet? Yes, please."
"It's no problem at all, Bhabhi," Aarav smiled. "The plane seats 14 comfortably. It's just me right now. It would be great to have company. Plus, Vami and I have a lot of playing to do."
The gloom of the World Cup exit finally lifted, replaced by the warmth of genuine friendship and hilarious banter.
"It's settled then," Aarav grinned, standing up and handing Vamika back to Virat. "London it is. Prepare for takeoff, bhaiya."
"Yeah, yeah, Pathak," Virat muttered, taking his daughter. But he was smiling too. "Next time we go out for dinner, you are definitely paying the bill."
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The morning after the impromptu 'Lobby Premier League' and the decision to travel together, a sleek black Toyota Granvia pulled up outside the team hotel in Adelaide. The heavily tinted windows and plush interior were a stark contrast to the standard team buses they had been riding for the past month.
Aarav, dressed comfortably in a grey matching sweatsuit and a backward cap, stood by the open trunk, helping load the luggage. When you travel with Virat Kohli, Anushka Sharma, and a toddler, the baggage limit becomes a myth.
"Is that all of it?" Aarav asked, pushing a massive Dior suitcase that definitely belonged to Anushka.
"I think so," Virat chuckled, emerging from the hotel doors holding Vamika, while Anushka trailed behind with her coffee. "Let's go before the press realizes we are still in the city."
They piled into the Granvia, the luxurious captain seats swallowing them up in comfort.
As they approached Adelaide Airport, Aarav tapped the driver's shoulder. "Take the west service road, please. To the private aviation terminal."
Virat, who was looking out the window expecting the usual VIP entrance of the main terminal, frowned. "Where are we going? The VIP gate is on the other side."
"We aren't doing the normal VIP, Virat bhai," Aarav smiled, leaning back. "We are doing private."
The Granvia bypassed the sprawling main airport entirely, turning down a quiet, heavily guarded road. It pulled up to a small, ultra-modern building that looked more like a luxury boutique hotel lobby than an airport terminal—the FBO (Fixed Base Operator).
There were no check-in counters. No baggage drop lines. Not even a security queue. A polite staff member in a sharp suit greeted them at the door, taking their bags directly from the car. He collected their passports with a polite bow and offered them freshly pressed juices.
Five minutes later, he returned, handing the passports back. "Your luggage has been loaded, Mr. Pathak. All checks are complete. The shuttle is ready to take you to the aircraft."
Virat exchanged a look with Anushka. "Five minutes? The commercial VIP line takes at least forty-five."
"Welcome to Pathak Airlines," Virat grinned, adjusting Vamika in his arms.
They walked out the back doors and onto a private tarmac shuttle, which drove them a short distance across the pristine concrete.
And there it was. The Bombardier Global 7500. Sleek, massive, and gleaming under the Australian sun, with a subtle golden 'P' embossed near the tail.
"Wow," Anushka breathed, looking at the sheer size of the jet. "Okay, Aarav. Your mom wasn't kidding. This is insane."
Stepping inside the aircraft was an experience in itself. The cabin was divided into four distinct living spaces. There was a club suite for lounging, a conference area where dinner was already being set up by a private flight attendant, an entertainment suite with a massive flat-screen TV, and a private master bedroom at the back.
As the jet smoothly took off, leaving the disappointment of the World Cup behind, the atmosphere inside transformed into a massive family living room.
Aarav had barely unbuckled his seatbelt when he felt a tug on his sweatpants. Vamika was standing there, holding a small, soft cricket ball.
"Aavav Cha-chu! Pway!"
"Oh, you want to play?" Aarav beamed, picking her up and tossing her gently into the air. "Let's go to the entertainment room. Papa is boring anyway."
"Hey!" Virat protested from the plush leather recliner, though he was already pulling out a book. "Keep her away from the TV screens, please!"
For the next four hours of the flight, Aarav was entirely at the mercy of the toddler. He sat cross-legged on the thick, cream-colored carpet of the entertainment suite. Vamika was busy treating him like a human jungle gym. He made funny faces that had her shrieking with laughter, and they played a chaotic, highly modified version of fetch with the soft ball.
"He's going to be a great dad," Anushka whispered to Virat as they watched the duo from the dining area, sipping mimosas.
"He really is," Virat smiled softly. "He has so much patience. It's hard to believe that's the same guy who bowls 150 kmph and glares at opposition captains."
As the flight cruised at 45,000 feet over the Indian Ocean, Vamika finally tired herself out and fell asleep in the master bedroom. The adults gathered in the lounge area.
Aarav sat near the large, panoramic window, watching the clouds drift by. He pulled out his phone and connected to the plane's high-speed Wi-Fi.
He opened his chat with Shradha.
Aarav:Hey. How are the hospital rounds going?
Shradha:Exhausting. 🩺 I have a 12-hour shift today. Just grabbed a coffee. Are you guys boarding the flight to Mumbai soon?
Aarav smirked. She had absolutely no idea. He had told her the BCCI logistics team was flying him back to India with the rest of the squad.
Aarav:Yeah, sitting in the lounge right now. Missing you.
Shradha:Miss you more. Have a safe flight. Call me when you land in Mumbai! ❤️
Aarav:Will do. Focus on the patients, Dr. Tendulkar.
He locked the phone and slipped it into his pocket, a giddy excitement bubbling in his chest. She thought he was heading 10,000 miles in the opposite direction. The look on her face when he showed up at her London apartment was going to be priceless.
"Smiling at your phone?" Virat teased, walking over and taking the seat opposite him. "Texting the fiancée?"
"Yeah," Aarav admitted, looking out at the endless blue sky. "She thinks I'm going to Mumbai."
Virat raised an eyebrow. "A surprise? That's risky, man. What if she's busy?"
"I have her schedule," Aarav said confidently. "She finishes her shift at 8 PM London time. I'll be waiting at her door with dinner. It's been way too long."
"Ah, young love," Virat sighed dramatically, reaching for a snack. "Just remember, London is cold right now. Buy a jacket before you freeze outside her door waiting to surprise her."
Fourteen hours later, the Bombardier began its descent, breaking through the thick, grey clouds typical of an English autumn. Below them, the sprawling, historic city of London came into view. The River Thames snaked through the metropolis, and the London Eye glittered in the twilight.
The jet touched down smoothly at Farnborough Airport, a private hub outside the city.
Aarav unbuckled his seatbelt, the exhaustion of the flight instantly replaced by a surge of adrenaline. The World Cup was behind him. The pressure was gone. Right now, all he cared about was navigating the London traffic and pulling off the perfect surprise.
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Jaa Ne
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Author's Note: - 6100+ Words
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