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The Pathak family mansion in Regent's Park was a masterpiece of Victorian architecture seamlessly blended with modern, ultra-luxury interiors. Tonight, the massive crystal chandelier in the grand foyer cast a warm, golden glow across the polished Italian marble floors.
Aarav stood in front of the hallway mirror, adjusting the cuffs of his dark navy blue casual shirt. He had paired it with tailored beige trousers—a look that was effortless but sharp.
"How do I look?" Aarav asked, turning to Shradha.
Shradha was standing near the staircase, looking absolutely breathtaking. She had chosen a simple but elegant emerald green silk kurti that brought out the natural glow of her skin, paired with delicate silver jhumkas. She looked like royalty herself.
She walked over to him, her hands gently resting on his chest as she smoothed an invisible wrinkle on his shirt. "You look perfect. As always. Are you sure the food is okay? Should I check the Biryani again?"
Aarav chuckled, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Doctor, you checking the Biryani is exactly how we get a fire alarm. The food is on dum. It's perfect. Just relax. You are shaking."
"I am meeting Virat Kohli and Anushka Sharma as your fiancée," she took a deep breath, her eyes wide with a mix of excitement and terror. "Of course I am shaking! What if I drop a plate? What if Vamika doesn't like me?"
"If you drop a plate, we buy a new one. And as for Vamika..." Aarav kissed her forehead tenderly. "She is a two-year-old dictator. But she loves me, which means she will eventually love you. Just follow my lead."
Just as he said that, the grand double doors echoed with a sharp, melodic chime. Ding-Dong.
Shradha jumped slightly. "They're here!"
"Showtime," Aarav smirked, taking her hand and leading her to the door.
Aarav pulled open the heavy oak doors.
Standing on the porch, illuminated by the warm outdoor sconces, was the Kohli family. Virat looked sharp in a black turtleneck and an overcoat, holding a bottle of premium vintage wine. Anushka stood beside him, effortlessly glamorous in a chic black winter dress and knee-high boots.
But it was the tiny, bundled-up figure standing between them that stole the show. Vamika was wrapped in a puffy pink winter jacket, looking like an adorable, angry little marshmallow because of the London cold.
"Welcome to Casa del Pathak!" Aarav grinned broadly, stepping aside to let them in.
Virat stepped into the foyer, his eyes immediately widening as he took in the sheer scale of the house—the sweeping double staircase, the vaulted ceilings, and the intricate artwork. "Bro," Virat let out a low whistle, handing his coat to the waiting butler. "You said 'house'. You didn't mention it was Buckingham Palace part two. This is incredible, Aarav."
"It has good heating," Aarav deflected humbly. "Come in, come in."
Anushka stepped in next. But before she could even say hello to Aarav, her eyes locked onto Shradha. Anushka's face broke into a massive, delighted smile. She let out a high-pitched squeal of joy that echoed in the quiet foyer.
"Oh my goodness!" Anushka bypassed Aarav completely and walked straight to Shradha. She grabbed both of Shradha's hands, looking her up and down. "You are absolutely beautiful! Aarav, your photography skills do not do her justice! Look at you!"
Shradha's nervousness evaporated instantly under the sheer warmth of Anushka's greeting. A deep blush rushed to her cheeks. "Thank you so much, Anushka bhabhi," Shradha smiled shyly. "You look stunning yourself. Welcome."
"Bhabhi?" Anushka beamed, pulling Shradha into a warm hug. "I love it. We are family now."
Virat walked over, offering a warm smile and a polite, respectful hug to Shradha. "Nice to finally meet you properly, Shradha. Ignore this guy if he talks too much cricket tonight. I promise to keep him in check."
"Thank you, Virat bhaiya," Shradha laughed, feeling entirely at ease. "I might need your help with that."
Down on the floor, however, someone was getting very impatient with the adult pleasantries. Vamika had successfully unzipped her puffy pink jacket. She waddled forward, her dark eyes scanning the giant room until they locked onto her target.
"CHA-CHU!"
Her tiny voice pierced the conversation. She didn't walk; she sprinted on her stubby little legs, launching herself directly at Aarav's knees.
Aarav laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that filled the room. He bent down and scooped her up effortlessly, tossing her gently into the air before catching her, eliciting a shriek of pure joy from the toddler.
"There is my favorite Princess!" Aarav beamed, resting her on his hip. "Did you miss me?"
"Aavav Cha-chu!" Vamika grabbed his nose, her face turning instantly serious. She narrowed her eyes. "Choc-wit?"
Virat burst out laughing, hanging his head. "I told you. She didn't forget. For two days in Notting Hill, every time I gave her a piece of fruit, she said, 'No, Aavav give choc-wit.' She is here to collect the tax."
"And the Chachu always pays his debts," Aarav declared proudly.
He walked over to the console table in the hallway, carrying Vamika. He pulled out a small, beautifully wrapped gold box from a drawer. He opened it to reveal a massive, custom-made, artisan chocolate shaped exactly like a cricket bat, decorated with colorful, edible sprinkles.
Vamika's eyes went wide as saucers. She gasped, her little hands reaching out to grab it with both fists.
"Say thank you to Chachu," Anushka prompted gently.
Vamika looked at the giant chocolate, then looked at Aarav. She leaned forward and planted a sloppy, wet kiss directly on his cheek. "Tank yew, Aavav."
"You're welcome, Princess," Aarav smiled, his heart completely melting. "Now, let's go to the living room. I have drinks waiting."
They moved into the grand living room, a sprawling space anchored by a massive marble fireplace where a real fire was crackling, casting a cozy, dancing light over the plush velvet sofas.
Aarav set Vamika down on the thick Persian rug so she could inspect her chocolate bat. He turned to the adults. "Please, make yourselves comfortable."
Shradha, acting the perfect host, sat on the sofa adjacent to Anushka, falling into an easy, animated conversation about London weather and Anushka's new house in Notting Hill.
Vamika, having taken a small, victorious bite of her chocolate, suddenly noticed something was amiss. Her 'Aavav Cha-chu' was not sitting next to her on the floor. He was sitting on the sofa. And more alarmingly, the pretty lady in the green dress (Shradha) was sitting very close to him.
Vamika waddled over, her brow furrowed in deep toddler suspicion. She stopped right in front of Shradha, clutching her chocolate bat like a tiny weapon. She looked at Shradha, then looked at Aarav, her territorial instincts kicking in.
"Aavav mine," Vamika announced clearly, pointing a tiny, chocolate-covered finger at Shradha.
The entire room went silent for a second before Virat and Anushka burst into uncontrollable laughter.
"Oh my god," Virat wheezed, covering his face. "She is marking her territory! Aarav, you have a possessive girlfriend."
Aarav laughed, reaching down to lift Vamika onto his lap, sitting her squarely between himself and Shradha. "Vami, listen to me," Aarav said, using his softest, most conspiratorial voice. "This is Shradha."
Vamika glared at Shradha. "No. Take Aavav away?"
Shradha's heart melted. The sheer innocence and protective love this little girl had for Aarav was beautiful. Shradha didn't back away. She leaned forward, putting on her sweetest, friendliest smile.
"Hi Vamika," Shradha said softly. "I'm not taking Aavav away. I promise. Actually, Aavav brought me here to play with you. Do you like playing?"
Vamika eyed her suspiciously. "Play?"
"Yes," Aarav chimed in. "Vami, you know how you call me Cha-chu?"
Vamika nodded slowly.
"Well," Aarav pointed to Shradha, a mischievous, loving glint in his eye. "She is your Cha-chi."
Shradha's face instantly flushed a brilliant, deep shade of crimson. Her eyes widened, and she playfully smacked Aarav's arm. "Aarav! Stop it!"
Anushka was clapping her hands in silent delight, mouthing the word 'Chachi' to Virat, who was grinning from ear to ear.
Vamika tilted her head, processing this new information. "Cha-chi?"
"Yes," Aarav nodded solemnly. "But Vami... listen carefully. This is a very big secret."
Vamika leaned in, her eyes widening. She loved secrets. "Seek-wit?"
"A massive secret," Aarav whispered, looking around the room as if checking for spies. "You cannot tell anyone that she is your Cha-chi. It is an 'Aavav and Vami' secret. Okay? Just between us."
Vamika looked at Shradha. Then she looked at the giant chocolate bat Aarav had given her. She deduced that anyone associated with the chocolate-giving Cha-chu must be an ally.
Vamika reached out her tiny hand and touched Shradha's knee. "Okay. Cha-chi seek-wit."
Aarav held up his pinky finger. "Pinky promise?"
Vamika, who had recently learned this gesture, enthusiastically hooked her tiny, sticky pinky finger around Aarav's massive one. "Pinky pwomise!"
Then, to everyone's surprise, she unhooked her finger from Aarav's and held it out to Shradha.
Shradha felt a rush of pure emotion. She gently hooked her own pinky finger around the toddler's. "Pinky promise, Vamika."
Vamika gave a satisfied nod, took another bite of her chocolate, and settled back comfortably against Aarav's chest, completely content now that the hierarchy and the alliances were established.
"Well," Virat sighed dramatically, leaning back against the sofa. "I have officially lost my daughter to the Pathak family. It's done. Should I just leave her here?"
"We charge a high babysitting fee, Virat bhaiya," Shradha quipped, surprising herself with her own confidence.
"She fits right in," Anushka laughed, high-fiving Shradha.
"Alright, enough drama," Aarav announced, gently transferring Vamika to the thick rug where she began intensely inspecting the fireplace. "Let's get the evening properly started. Drinks?"
"I'll just have sparkling water, Aarav," Virat said instinctively, his famously strict diet kicking in. "Maybe some lime."
"And I'll take a glass of that wine we brought," Anushka offered.
"Absolutely not," Aarav stood up, walking towards the massive, custom-built bar in the corner of the room. It was stocked with crystal decanters, fresh fruits, herbs, and glowing under warm LED lights. "You are in my house. You do not drink boring water. I am the host, and I happen to be a phenomenal bartender."
Aarav rolled up his sleeves and went to work. He didn't just pour drinks; he crafted them.
For Anushka, he grabbed a crystal coupe glass. He muddled fresh London blackberries with a hint of rosemary, added a splash of premium elderflower tonic, a squeeze of fresh lime, and topped it off with crushed ice and a sprig of torched rosemary that sent a beautiful, smoky, herbal aroma into the room. "A Blackberry Rosemary Spritz for the lady," Aarav presented it with a flourish.
Anushka took a sip, her eyes going wide. "Oh my god. Aarav, this is incredible! It's like a high-end Mayfair cocktail but without the alcohol. This is so refreshing!"
"Told you," Aarav smirked.
Next, he turned his attention to the notoriously difficult King of Fitness. For Virat, Aarav pulled out a tall highball glass. He knew Virat hated refined sugar and artificial syrups. Aarav used a base of chilled, infused kombucha (which he had prepared earlier in the day), mixed with fresh muddled cucumber, a dash of cold-pressed ginger juice, and garnished it with a ribbon of cucumber and fresh mint leaves.
"The 'King's Refresher'," Aarav handed the glass to Virat. "Zero sugar, anti-inflammatory, gut-friendly, and it tastes better than water."
Virat took a cautious sip, expecting the usual bland 'healthy' taste. He stopped. He took another, longer sip. He looked at the glass, then looked at Aarav in genuine shock. "Bro... what is this? This is amazing! It has a kick to it, but it's completely clean. Are you serious? You made this?"
"I have hidden talents, Virat bhaiya," Aarav laughed, walking back to the bar. "Cricket is just my side hustle."
"Shradha," Virat pointed at Aarav. "Never let him leave the kitchen. Lock him in. This is elite."
Shradha giggled, sipping her own classic virgin mojito Aarav had made for her. "I plan to, Bhaiya. He is officially the designated chef and bartender for life."
"Wait, wait," a tiny voice demanded from the floor. Vamika was standing up, looking at the colorful glasses in everyone's hands. "Vami dwink?"
"I would never forget you, Princess," Aarav smiled warmly.
He pulled out a special, spill-proof, brightly colored sippy cup. Inside, he had blended a layered smoothie—the bottom half was fresh, sweet mango puree, and the top half was a creamy, thick strawberry and banana blend. He stuck a tiny, colorful paper umbrella into the top of the cup.
He walked over and handed it to her. "A Tropical Sunset, exclusively for the Chachi's best friend."
Vamika grabbed it with both hands, her eyes lighting up at the little umbrella. She took a loud slurp through the straw. She didn't say a word; she just started doing a happy little toddler dance, stomping her feet in a circle on the rug.
"The food critic has approved," Anushka laughed, raising her glass. "Cheers, Aarav. To a beautiful house, an amazing host, and a wonderful new addition to our crazy cricket family."
"Cheers!" they all echoed, the crystal glasses clinking together musically.
The rest of the evening flowed effortlessly. The initial formality dissolved into the kind of deep, comfortable banter that usually takes years to build.
They moved to the grand dining table, where Aarav served the feast he had prepared. The Dum Biryani, the rich Dal Makhani, and the perfectly soft Naans were a massive hit. Even Virat, who usually avoided heavy carbs at night, asked for a second serving of the Dal, claiming it was a "cheat meal ordained by the gods."
The conversation steered clear of cricket strategies and World Cup heartbreaks. Instead, it focused on life.
Virat shared hilarious stories of their house-hunting adventures in London and the culture shock of dealing with British plumbers. Anushka interrogated Shradha about her medical studies, expressing genuine awe at the grueling schedule she maintained while balancing a relationship with an international athlete.
"I don't know how you do it, Shradha," Anushka said, shaking her head. "When Virat is on tour, my shooting schedules are crazy, but at least we are in the same creative industry. You are literally saving lives while he is out there breaking stumps. The contrast is fascinating."
Shradha smiled, reaching for Aarav's hand under the table. "It works because he makes it easy. He might be the 'Vice-Captain' and the 'Prince' to the world, but when he calls me at 2 AM after a shift, he's just Aarav. He listens to me complain about cell biology without yawning. That's all I need."
Virat raised his glass of cucumber kombucha towards Aarav. "That's maturity, Aarav. Don't ever lose that."
"I won't," Aarav promised, squeezing Shradha's hand.
As dessert—a rich, saffron-infused Shrikhand—was served, the conversation shifted to teasing.
"So, Aarav," Virat leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You have this massive house. You have a beautiful fiancée. You have the cooking skills of a Michelin-star chef. When is the actual wedding? Are you waiting to retire?"
Aarav choked on his water. Shradha went bright red again.
"We haven't decided yet, Bhaiya," Aarav coughed, recovering. "She still has to finish her final clinical rotations. We are not rushing it."
"Good," Anushka nodded approvingly. "Take your time. But when you do... please tell me you aren't doing a massive 5,000-guest circus in Mumbai."
"Never," Shradha said adamantly. "I want something small. Intimate. Maybe a destination."
"Like Italy?" Aarav teased, winking at Virat.
"Hey, Lake Como is elite," Virat defended his wedding venue.
By 11:00 PM, the fire in the hearth had burned down to glowing embers. The food was finished, the drinks were empty, and the warmth in the room was absolute.
Vamika had finally succumbed to her toddler limits. She was fast asleep, curled up peacefully on the plush velvet sofa, her head resting on a cushion, her tiny hands still clutching the half-eaten chocolate bat.
Virat stood up, stretching his arms. "Well, as much as I want to stay and eat the rest of that Biryani, we should head back to Notting Hill. The Princess needs her actual bed."
Anushka stood up, walking over to hug Shradha one last time. "This was wonderful, Shradha. Really. We must do this again. And next time, we host."
"I would love that, Bhabhi," Shradha smiled warmly, feeling a genuine connection with the Bollywood star.
Aarav walked over to the sofa and gently scooped the sleeping Vamika into his arms. She didn't wake up; she just let out a soft sigh and instinctively buried her face into his chest, her little arms wrapping around his neck.
Virat watched them, a soft, incredibly fond smile on his face. "You carry her to the car, Chachu. She's heavier than she looks."
Aarav nodded, carrying her out to the foyer while Shradha and Anushka followed, chatting softly.
The Range Rover was waiting on the driveway, the engine purring quietly in the cold London night. Aarav carefully transferred the sleeping toddler into her luxury car seat, buckling her in with practiced ease. He gently kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, Princess," he whispered.
He stepped back as Virat closed the door.
Virat turned to Aarav, pulling him into a tight, brotherly hug. "Thank you for tonight, Aarav," Virat said, his voice dropping its usual boisterous tone, becoming sincere and quiet. "It's been a crazy few weeks. The World Cup, the travel... we needed this. You have a beautiful home, and Shradha... she is perfect for you."
"Thanks, Virat bhai," Aarav smiled, clapping him on the back. "Drive safe. See you when we get back to the grind."
Anushka waved from the passenger window. "Bye Aarav! Bye Shradha! Remember the pinky promise!"
"Our lips are sealed!" Shradha laughed, waving back.
The Range Rover pulled out of the gates, its red taillights disappearing into the misty London night.
Aarav closed the heavy oak doors, the silence of the massive mansion wrapping around them once again. He let out a long, contented breath and turned to Shradha.
She was leaning against the hallway console, looking at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated love.
"You survived," Aarav smirked, walking towards her. "No dropped plates. No fire alarms."
"I did," she smiled, wrapping her arms around his neck as he pulled her close by the waist. "They are amazing, Aarav. They made me feel so comfortable."
"That's because they saw what I see," Aarav murmured, his face inches from hers.
"What do you see?" she whispered, her breath hitching slightly.
"My secret Chachi," he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
Shradha gasped, slapping his chest lightly. "Aarav Pathak, if you ever call me that again—"
She didn't get to finish her threat. Aarav captured her lips in a deep, passionate kiss, silencing her completely. The warmth of the kiss chased away the London chill, ending a perfect evening exactly the way it was meant to end—together, anchored, and infinitely happy.
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The grey London sky wept a slow, persistent drizzle, matching the heavy atmosphere inside the master bedroom of the Regent's Park mansion. The magical, carefree long weekend had evaporated much too quickly, replaced by the cold, hard reality of their demanding lives.
Aarav stood over his open duffel bag on the luggage rack, methodically folding his hoodies. His movements were slow, almost reluctant. Every zip, every fold felt like a countdown timer ticking away the last few minutes he had with her.
Sitting at the edge of the massive king-sized bed was Shradha. She was drowning in one of Aarav's oversized grey sweatshirts, her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. She was watching him pack in absolute silence. The bubbly, energetic girl who had charmed the Kohlis two nights ago was gone, replaced by a quiet, devastatingly sad version of herself.
Aarav placed his toiletry bag into the side compartment and zipped it shut. The sound echoed loudly in the quiet room. He let out a long, heavy sigh and turned around.
The moment his eyes met hers, his heart shattered. Shradha's large, expressive eyes were brimming with unshed tears. Her lower lip was trembling slightly, and she was biting down on it hard to stop herself from breaking down.
Aarav abandoned the suitcase instantly. He crossed the room in two long strides, dropping to his knees right between her legs. He reached out, his large, warm hands gently cupping her face.
"Hey," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't do that. Don't hold it in."
That was all it took. The dam broke. A sob ripped from Shradha's throat, and she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder. The tears she had been fighting all morning soaked instantly into the fabric of his t-shirt.
"I don't want you to go," she cried, her fingers digging desperately into the muscles of his upper back. "It went by so fast, Aarav. It feels like you just got here yesterday."
Aarav wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, burying his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of vanilla and rain that he would have to live without for the next few months. He closed his eyes, fighting the burning sensation in his own.
"I know, my love. I know," he murmured, rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles. "I don't want to leave either. Leaving you is the hardest thing I have to do."
She pulled back just enough to look at him, her face flushed, her eyelashes wet and clumped together. "Four months, Aarav," she whispered, the reality of the timeline crushing her. "Maybe five. With the upcoming Bangladesh tour, the home series, and my final clinical rotations... I won't be able to come to India, and you won't have a gap to come here. It's too long."
Aarav reached up, his thumbs gently wiping the hot tears from her cheeks. He hated seeing her cry. It tore at the very fabric of his soul.
"It's a blink, Shradha," he lied softly, trying to be the strong one, even though the thought of a five-month separation made his own chest tight. "You're going to be so busy saving lives and studying for your finals that you won't even notice the time passing. And I have to get back to the grind."
"I will notice every single day," she sniffled, leaning her forehead against his. "The apartment is going to feel so empty without you cooking up a storm and making a mess."
"I promise, the moment your rotation ends, I will fly you back to Mumbai myself. Private jet, front row seat, whatever you want," Aarav promised, kissing her forehead, then her nose, and finally lingering near her lips. "We will get through this. We always do."
Shradha let out a shaky breath, nodding slowly against his face. She brought her hands down to rest flat against his chest, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.
"You have a lot of cricket coming up," she said softly, trying to compose herself. "You need to focus. You have to put the World Cup behind you. You promised me."
"I am," Aarav nodded. "I'm resetting. The break with you... it healed a lot of it, Doc. You fixed me up."
"Good," she whispered, a tiny, watery smile finally breaking through. She slid her hands up to cup his jaw. Her gaze turned incredibly intense, filled with all the love, pride, and longing she possessed.
"Good luck, my Champion," she murmured.
She leaned in and captured his lips. It wasn't a sweet, chaste goodbye peck. It was a deep, passionate, desperate kiss that communicated everything words couldn't. It was a kiss meant to last them for the next one hundred and fifty days. Aarav responded with equal fervor, his hands sliding into her hair, holding her flush against him, branding the memory of her taste and warmth into his mind.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathless. Aarav rested his forehead against hers one last time. "I love you, Dr. Tendulkar. More than anything."
"I love you too, Captain. Call me the second you land."
The drive to Farnborough Airport was quiet. They held hands in the back of the Bentley, fingers intertwined so tightly their knuckles were white. When the time came to part at the private terminal, Aarav gave her one last, bone-crushing hug, kissed her head, and forced himself to turn around and board the plane.
If he looked back, he knew he wouldn't leave.
The Bombardier Global 7500 took off smoothly, piercing through the grey London clouds and breaking into the clear blue stratosphere above.
Aarav sat in the luxurious leather recliner of the main cabin, entirely alone. The silence of the private jet was deafening. Just three days ago, this cabin had been filled with the laughter of Virat, Anushka, and little Vamika. Now, it was just him and his thoughts.
He looked out the window at the endless expanse of clouds. The emotional high of the London trip was fading, and the reality of his professional life was seeping back in.
The image of the Adelaide Oval—the scoreboard reading England's victory, the shattered faces of his teammates, his own reflection in the dressing room mirror with tears in his eyes—flashed in his mind. The media had been kind to him personally for his heroic knock and fiery bowling, but the collective failure of the team still felt like a physical weight on his shoulders.
He ordered a black coffee, opened his iPad, and began reviewing the upcoming schedule. He had to bury the ghost of Adelaide. He was the Vice-Captain. He had to be the foundation when the team regrouped.
Ten hours later, the pilot's voice came over the intercom. "Mr. Pathak, we are beginning our descent into Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport. The local time in Mumbai is 9:45 PM. The weather is a warm 28 degrees Celsius."
Aarav closed the iPad. He was home.
The black Range Rover glided through the bustling, humid streets of Mumbai. The contrast from London was jarring. The neon lights, the honking traffic, the smell of sea salt and street food—it was a sensory overload, but a comforting one.
As the massive wrought-iron gates of Pathak Villa in swung open, Aarav felt the familiar knot of tension in his neck begin to loosen.
The car pulled up to the grand porch. The massive wooden double doors of the mansion were already wide open.
Standing on the top step, bathed in the warm, golden light of the foyer chandelier, was his mother, Priya Pathak. She was wearing a simple, elegant silk kurta, but her eyes were searching the darkness of the driveway with frantic maternal anticipation.
Behind her stood his father, Rajat Pathak, hands deep in his trouser pockets, looking incredibly proud and remarkably relieved.
Aarav barely waited for the car to come to a complete stop before he pushed the door open and stepped out.
"Aarav!" Priya gasped.
She didn't wait for him to climb the steps. She practically ran down them, throwing her arms around her son. Aarav, a towering 6'2" international athlete, completely folded into his mother's embrace, burying his face in her shoulder.
"Maa," he breathed out, closing his eyes.
Priya held him fiercely, her hands rubbing his back, feeling the tension knotted in his muscles. "Mera baccha (My child)," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. She pulled back slightly, cupping his face in both her hands, her sharp eyes scanning every inch of his features.
She saw the fatigue. She saw the lingering shadows of the World Cup heartbreak under his eyes.
"You look so tired," she murmured, kissing his forehead. "You've lost weight. Your eyes look heavy."
"I'm fine, Mom. Just jet lag," Aarav smiled, though it was a weary one.
Rajat walked down the steps, a warm, reassuring smile on his face. He didn't offer a handshake; he pulled his son into a strong, solid bear hug. It was the kind of hug that transferred strength.
"Welcome home, son," Rajat said, clapping him firmly on the back. "We missed you."
"Missed you too, Dad," Aarav replied, feeling grounded for the first time since the semi-final.
"Come inside," Priya commanded, linking her arm through his and dragging him towards the doors. "Ramakaant has prepared a feast. You are not sleeping until you eat a proper home-cooked meal."
The Pathak dining room was a sprawling, opulent space, but tonight, it felt intimate. The long mahogany table was set for three. The smell of rich, aromatic Indian spices filled the air, completely wiping away the memory of bland hotel food.
There was Dal Bukhara simmered for twenty-four hours, fresh, hot Garlic Naan, a spicy Chicken, and a platter of fresh kebabs.
Aarav sat across from his parents. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he took the first bite of the mutton. He closed his eyes, letting out a soft groan of appreciation. "God, I missed Ramakaant Kaka's cooking," Aarav mumbled.
Priya rested her chin on her hand, completely ignoring her own plate to simply watch her son eat. "Did you meet Shradha in London?" Priya asked softly. "Did you surprise her?"
Aarav's face instantly softened at the mention of her name. A genuine smile broke through his exhaustion. "I did, Mom. Sneaked into her apartment and cooked her a full Indian dinner. She thought I was in Mumbai."
Rajat chuckled, taking a sip of his wine. "You have your mother's flair for the dramatic, Aarav. I'm glad you went. The press here was getting ridiculous with those Bollywood rumors. Your mother was one step away from buying a news channel just to shut them up."
"I was considering it!" Priya huffed indignantly. "My son is a World Cup Vice-Captain, not a reality TV star. But seeing your smile... I know the London trip was exactly what you needed."
The conversation flowed easily for a while, touching upon business, Mumbai traffic, and family gossip. But the elephant in the room the massive, painful elephant had yet to be addressed.
As Ramakaant cleared the main plates and brought out bowls of chilled Rasmalai, a quiet, heavy silence settled over the table.
Rajat set his wine glass down. He looked at his son, his expression shifting from a jovial father to a serious, empathetic mentor.
"We watched the semi-final, Aarav," Rajat said quietly.
Aarav stopped eating. He looked down at his bowl, the sweet suddenly losing its taste. His jaw tightened.
"Every single ball," Priya added, her voice dropping to a gentle, heartbreaking whisper. "We saw you after the match, beta. When the camera zoomed in on the dressing room balcony."
Aarav swallowed hard. He remembered that moment. He had been sitting on the balcony steps, a towel covering half his face, completely shattered. The tears of frustration and helplessness had betrayed him on global television. He had tried so hard to drag the team over the line, scoring that explosive 64 off 29 balls and taking those three impossible wickets, but the collective failure had drowned his individual brilliance.
"It hurt, Dad," Aarav confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, his vulnerability entirely exposed in the safety of his home. "We were so prepared. We had the momentum. But when those wickets fell... and they started hitting... I felt completely helpless. I gave everything I had."
Priya stood up from her chair, walked around the table, and pulled a chair right next to him. She wrapped her arm around his broad shoulders, pulling his head down to rest against her.
"We know you did, my brave boy," Priya whispered, stroking his hair. "The whole world knows you did. You played like a lion out there. When the team was collapsing at 66 for 5, you didn't give up. You stood up."
"But it wasn't enough," Aarav argued softly, staring blankly ahead. "Cricket is a team game. If I score 60 and take wickets, but we still lose by 7 wickets... it means I failed as a Vice-Captain to rally them."
"Stop right there," Rajat said firmly, leaning across the table, his eyes locked onto Aarav's. "Do not carry the weight of eleven men on your shoulders alone, Aarav. You are twenty-two years old. You played a knock of absolute maturity and took the ball when the senior bowlers were bleeding runs."
Rajat pointed a finger at him, his voice filled with overwhelming pride.
"I have built an empire in the business world, Aarav," his father continued. "And I can tell you this true character is not forged in victory. Anyone can smile and lift a trophy. Character is forged in the absolute darkest, most humiliating defeats. The way you walked up to Jos Buttler and shook his hand, the way you didn't blame anyone in the press conference... that made me prouder than any century you have ever scored."
Aarav looked up at his father. The sincerity in Rajat's eyes was absolute.
"Your father is right," Priya kissed his temple. "We cried with you that day, Aarav. Seeing your tears broke my heart. But the next morning, I read the papers. I didn't see failure. I saw an entire nation acknowledging that you gave your blood and sweat for the badge. You were the lone warrior."
Aarav felt a heavy, suffocating knot in his chest finally begin to untangle. The guilt and the pain of the World Cup exit, which he had masked with smiles in London, finally cracked. He let out a shaky, emotional breath, leaning into his mother's embrace.
"It's okay to be sad, Aarav," Rajat said softly. "Mourn the loss. But don't let it define you. Use it. The ODI World Cup is just a few months away. Let this pain be your fuel."
"I will," Aarav nodded, wiping a rogue tear that had managed to escape his eye. He looked at his parents, feeling an overwhelming wave of gratitude. He was a global icon, a billionaire heir, a cricketing prince. But in this room, he was just a son who needed to know he hadn't disappointed the people who mattered most.
"Thank you," Aarav whispered, his voice cracking slightly. "Both of you."
"Always," Priya smiled, squeezing his shoulder. "Now, finish your Rasmalai before it gets warm. You need to sleep."
Aarav smiled, picking up his spoon again. The world didn't stop, true. The scrutiny, the pressure, the relentless schedule would all resume tomorrow. But tonight, surrounded by the walls of Pathak Villa, under the proud, protective gaze of his parents, Aarav Pathak was exactly where he needed to be to heal.
He was home.
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Jaa Ne
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Author's Note: - 5900+ Words
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