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The moment the BCCI's official X (formerly Twitter) account hit 'Post', the Indian cricketing internet did not just break; it completely spontaneously combusted.
@BCCI:đ¨ SQUAD ANNOUNCEMENT đ¨Presenting the 15-member squad for the ICC Men's T20 World Cup 2024! đŽđł#TeamIndia #T20WorldCup
Below the caption was a sleek, aggressive graphic featuring Aarav Pathak, Rohit Sharma, and Virat Kohli standing shoulder-to-shoulder, backed by the twelve other chosen gladiators.
Within exactly three minutes, the hashtag #Invincibles2 was trending globally at number one. The sheer audacity, the ruthless omissions, and the aggressive inclusions sent cricket pundits, former players, and millions of fans into an absolute frenzy.
The media networks abandoned all other news. On MahaSports Tak, the anchors were practically screaming at their digital touchscreens.
"THIS IS A RUTHLESS BLUEPRINT!" the lead anchor shouted, circling KL Rahul's glaring omission. "The Prince has made his first massive statement as the all-format captain! KL Rahul, the captain just months ago, has been completely dropped! No safety nets! No conservative anchors! And look who is back! Sanju Samson is on the flight to the Americas!"
The Rajasthan Royals fanbase was in a state of absolute euphoria. For years, the narrative around Sanju Samson had been a tragic tale of immense talent and missed opportunities. Now, selected over established veterans, the internet was flooded with highlight reels of his effortless sixes against spin.
But the biggest, most joyous uproar came from the spin bowling fraternity.
Yuzvendra Chahal had been left out of the 2021 T20 World Cup. He had been benched for the entirety of the 2022 campaign in Australia. He had been written off by experts as a relic of a bygone era.
Ten minutes after the squad dropped, Chahal posted a picture on Instagram. It wasn't a training montage or an emotional paragraph. It was just a picture of a chessboard, with a single white knight poised to checkmate a black king. The caption was a simple smiling emoji. It garnered one million likes in an hour.
"YUZI IS BACK!" Harsha Bhogle tweeted from his official handle. "Aarav Pathak clearly values wicket-taking ability in the middle overs over lower-order batting. On slow Caribbean tracks, bringing back India's highest T20I wicket-taker is a masterstroke of attacking captaincy."
Even Yashasvi Jaiswal's inclusion as the pure, unadulterated backup opener sent a clear message. The era of taking time to settle in the powerplay was officially dead and buried.
Halfway across the world, the ICC was capitalizing on the Indian squad announcement with a marketing budget that rivaled blockbuster movies.
The T20 World Cup in the USA and the West Indies wasn't just a tournament; it was cricket's desperate, ambitious crusade to break into the impenetrable American sports market.
In the heart of New York City, Times Square was completely hijacked. The iconic, towering digital billboards that usually displayed Nike, Apple, and Broadway shows suddenly synced up. The screens faded to black, before erupting into a high-definition, slow-motion video of Aarav Pathak bowling a 155 kmph thunderbolt, followed by Virat Kohli hitting his legendary straight drive.
CRICKET MEETS BASEBALL COUNTRY, the massive neon text read. INDIA vs PAKISTAN. JUNE 9. NASSAU COUNTY, NEW YORK.
The faces of Aarav, Kohli, and Babar Azam looked down over the bustling Manhattan streets. American news channels like ESPN and CNN were running features on the pop-up, 34,000-seater modular stadium being constructed in Eisenhower Park specifically for the tournament. The ICC was using the Prince of Cricket a billionaire tech heir and a sports god as the ultimate poster boy to bridge the cultural gap.
While the world was losing its mind over the impending American invasion, the man who had orchestrated the ruthless 15-man squad was navigating the chaotic evening traffic of Mumbai in his blacked-out Range Rover.
Aarav Pathak wasn't heading to a boardroom, and he wasn't heading to the NCA. He was heading to the plush, sea-facing lanes of Worli.
In the passenger seat, Shubman Gill was adjusting the collar of his crisp, dark green kurta. In the backseat, Abhishek Sharma was busy connecting his phone to the car's Bluetooth system.
Abhishek wasn't just another player to Aarav. They had grown up together on the dusty maidans of Mumbai. He was Aarav's childhood best friend, his brother from another mother. And professionally, the explosive left-hander in Aarav's IPL franchise, forming a terrifying opening partnership with Shubman Gill for the Gujarat Titans.
"I still can't believe Yash bought a sea-facing 4-BHK in Worli," Abhishek muttered, shaking his head in sheer awe as he stared out the window. "Bro, do you know how much real estate costs in this specific zip code? It's astronomical."
"He deserves every single square foot of it," Aarav said smoothly, turning the steering wheel as they approached the towering, ultra-luxury residential complex.
The story of Yashasvi Jaiswal was the ultimate, undisputed fairy tale of Indian cricket. From sleeping in a groundsman's tent at the Azad Maidan and selling panipuri on the streets of Mumbai to survive, to buying a multi-million sea-facing apartment in one of the city's most expensive neighborhoods. It was a testament to sheer, unbreakable willpower.
"He called me crying yesterday," Gill smiled softly, leaning back. "When the registry papers cleared. He said his dad just walked around the empty living room touching the walls to make sure it was real."
"That's why we're here," Aarav nodded, a deep sense of brotherly pride swelling in his chest. "Tonight is about Yash."
Aarav pulled the Range Rover into the heavily secured underground parking garage. The three of them grabbed their respective housewarming gifts Aarav had pulled some strings to get an incredibly rare, vintage Sachin Tendulkar signed bat from a private auction, professionally framed in museum-grade glass for Jaiswal's new living room and an idol of Ganesh Bhagwan.
They took the private elevator up to the 22nd floor.
When the doors opened directly into the private foyer, Yashasvi Jaiswal was waiting. He was dressed in a simple white silk kurta pajama, a red tilak on his forehead from the ongoing housewarming puja (prayer ceremony).
The moment Jaiswal saw them, his eyes welled up instantly.
"Aarav. Shub. Abhi," Jaiswal breathed out, stepping forward.
Aarav didn't wait. He dropped the framed bat, stepped forward, and pulled the young opener into a massive, bone-crushing hug. "Congratulations, Yash," Aarav murmured, slapping his back hard. "I am so damn proud of you, brother. This is just the beginning."
Gill and Abhishek piled into the hug, turning it into a chaotic, laughing, emotional group embrace.
"You did it, you crazy bastard," Abhishek laughed, ruffling Jaiswal's perfectly styled hair. "A house in Worli! I'm moving in tomorrow. I'm claiming the guest room."
"Get out of here, I claimed it first," Gill shoved Abhishek playfully.
"You guys can have the whole house," Jaiswal laughed, wiping his eyes hastily, gesturing for them to come inside. "Come in, come in. The puja just finished. My parents are waiting."
The apartment was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered an unobstructed, panoramic view of the Arabian Sea and the Bandra-Worli Sea Link. The dĂŠcor was elegant but understated.
In the center of the massive living room, a traditional Hindu prayer setup was still smoking slightly with incense. Jaiswal's parents, dressed in their finest traditional clothes, were standing nearby, looking overwhelmed with joy.
Aarav, Gill, and Abhishek immediately walked over, bending down to touch the feet of Jaiswal's mother and father.
"God bless you all," Jaiswal's mother said, her voice trembling with emotion as she patted Aarav's cheek. "Yashasvi tells me how much you all look after him in the dressing room. You are like his elder brothers."
"He doesn't need much looking after, Aunty," Aarav smiled warmly. "He's the one terrorizing the bowlers for us. You have raised a champion."
Jaiswal's father, a humble man who had seen the darkest days of poverty, wiped a tear from his eye, tightly gripping Gill and Abhishek's hands.
The formalities gave way to a warm, incredibly loud, and chaotic dinner. The Jaiswal family had prepared a massive, authentic North Indian feast. Instead of eating at the fancy dining table, the four boys took their plates filled with hot puris, rich paneer makhani, and dal tadka out onto the sprawling, sea-facing balcony.
They sat on the plush outdoor lounge chairs, the cool Mumbai sea breeze washing over them, the glowing city skyline serving as their backdrop.
This was the core. The Prince, the Heir Apparent, the Fearless Opener, and the Explosive Prodigy. Four young men in their early twenties who held the present and future of Indian cricket in their hands.
"I'm telling you, Yash, batting with Abhi at the top for GT this year was a joke," Gill said, tearing a piece of puri. "The guy was hitting Sunil Narine like he was a net bowler. Made my life so easy."
"Bro, I just close my eyes and swing," Abhishek laughed self-deprecatingly, though the pride was evident. "But seriously, Yash, congrats on the World Cup selection. You're going to tear it up in New York."
A sudden, comfortable silence settled over the balcony. The sound of the ocean waves crashing against the Worli sea wall filled the void.
Aarav set his plate down on the glass table. He leaned back in his chair, looking at Shubman and Abhishek. The banter faded, replaced by the quiet, heavy gravity of the all-format captain.
"I want to be straight with you two," Aarav said, his voice dropping into that calm, commanding register that dictated dressing rooms and boardrooms alike.
Gill looked up from his food, chewing slowly. Abhishek stopped laughing, sitting up straighter. Jaiswal looked between them, sensing the shift in tone.
"The selection meeting," Aarav continued, looking directly at the Heir Apparent. "Shub... I was the one who vetoed you from the main fifteen. I put you in the reserves."
Abhishek's eyes widened slightly, shocked by the sheer, unfiltered bluntness. Captains rarely ever admitted to dropping their closest friends to their faces.
Gill didn't look angry. He didn't look surprised. He just reached for his glass of water, took a sip, and met Aarav's gaze with absolute, unshakeable maturity.
"I know, Aarav," Gill said softly, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. "Rahul Sir called me after the meeting. He told me it was your call."
"Are you pissed?" Aarav asked, watching him closely.
"For about ten minutes, yeah. I wanted to punch a wall," Gill admitted honestly, chuckling lightly. "Nobody likes being dropped from a World Cup squad. But then I looked at the stats. I looked at the squad you built. And I saw the logic. You needed intent at the top. Yashasvi provides that left-handed, ball-one aggression that I don't naturally have in this specific format. If I played, the top three of Rohit, Virat, and me would be too identical. Too classical."
Gill leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You made the right call for the team, Aarav. You're the captain. You can't let our friendship dictate the playing eleven. If you did, you wouldn't be the Prince. And you definitely wouldn't be the guy I'm about to officially call my brother or brother-in-law."
Aarav let out a slow breath, a massive weight lifting off his chest. He had known Gill would understand, but hearing it directly from his brother-in-law solidified the unbreakable bond between them.
"You're the future of Test and ODI cricket, Shub," Aarav said fiercely. "I need you fresh for the Border-Gavaskar trophy later this year. You are going to anchor this country for the next decade."
Aarav then turned his dark eyes toward Abhishek Sharma.
Abhishek gulped slightly. He had known Aarav since they were children playing in Mumbai alleys, but he suddenly felt very small under the Indian Captain's intense gaze.
"And you, Abhi," Aarav pointed a finger at his oldest friend. "Dravid Sir and Agarkar wanted to put you in the fifteen. They saw your strike rate in the powerplay for our franchise. They were ready to pull the trigger."
Abhishek's jaw dropped. "Wait, seriously? They wanted me in the World Cup?"
"Yes," Aarav nodded. "And I was the one who told them absolutely not."
"Ouch," Abhishek winced playfully, putting a hand over his heart. "Direct hit, Skip."
"You haven't played a single bilateral international series yet, Abhi," Aarav explained, his tone shifting into pure, protective mentorship. "The IPL is an incredible platform, and you and Shub are the best opening pair in it. But a World Cup in the Caribbean is a different beast entirely. The pressure of wearing the blue jersey for the very first time, knowing 1.4 billion people are expecting you to hit a six on ball one... it can break a young player permanently if they fail. I wasn't going to throw my best friend to the wolves without blooding you first."
Aarav leaned forward, pointing at the young Mumbai prodigy.
"The literal day after this World Cup ends, we are touring Zimbabwe for a T20I series," Aarav declared. "You are opening the batting in that series. That is your debut. I want you to go out there, make your mistakes, learn the international pressure, and build your foundation. Because after Rohit and Virat retire from T20s... it's going to be you and Yashasvi opening for India."
The balcony went dead silent.
Abhishek Sharma stared at Aarav, the magnitude of what the captain had just promised crashing over him. A guaranteed debut. A clear, defined roadmap for his future. Aarav hadn't dropped him; he had fiercely protected him.
"I won't let you down, Aarav," Abhishek said, his voice thick with genuine emotion, dropping the casual banter entirely. "I swear to God, brother. I'll be ready."
"I know you will," Aarav smiled, picking his plate back up. "Now pass the paneer before Yash eats it all. The guy has a house in Worli, he can afford to buy us dessert."
The heavy tension evaporated instantly, replaced by a roar of laughter.
"You're paying for dessert, Seth, you literally own the delivery app!" Jaiswal fired back, throwing a piece of naan at Aarav.
They spent the next three hours on the balcony, trading dressing room stories, roasting each other's IPL performances, and looking out over the glittering Arabian Sea.
The media was fighting. The experts were debating. The ICC was projecting their faces onto skyscrapers in New York.
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The early morning sun over the Arabian Sea was a soft, hazy gold, casting a warm and tranquil glow through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Aarav's private suite in the Pathak Mansion.
The chaotic energy of Mumbai traffic hadn't yet risen to its usual roar, leaving the sprawling, sea-facing estate in a state of absolute, serene quiet.
Aarav was already awake. He was lying on his back against the plush, white linen pillows of the massive king-sized bed. He had one arm tucked comfortably behind his head, while his other arm was securely wrapped around the woman sleeping peacefully against his side.
Shradha was curled up against him, her head resting perfectly over his heart. One of her legs was thrown casually over his, and her hand was resting flat against his bare chest. She was wearing one of his oversized grey t-shirts, which swallowed her small frame entirely. Her dark hair was a beautiful, chaotic mess, splayed across his shoulder.
Aarav didn't move a muscle. He just watched the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing.
Last night had been an absolute whirlwind.
The halls of the Pathak Mansionâusually reserved for Rajiv Pathak's multi-billion dollar corporate mergersâhad been entirely hijacked. Priya Pathak and Anjali Tendulkar had sat on opposite sides of the massive mahogany table, flanked by an incredibly nervous-looking Panditji, three different astrological calendars, and two iPads.
Sachin Tendulkar and Rajiv Pathak had smartly retreated to the corner bar, sipping aged single malt whiskey and observing their wives orchestrate the future with the tactical precision of military generals.
Aarav and Shradha had just sat on the sofa, holding hands, watching the chaos unfold with a mix of sheer amusement and mild terror.
It had taken three hours of debating planetary alignments, auspicious timings, and Mumbai monsoon weather patterns. But finally, the Panditji had tapped his ledger with a definitive nod. Both mothers had gasped in unison, high-fived each other, and declared the matter officially settled.
July.
Specifically, the second week of July. Exactly a few weeks after the T20 World Cup Final in Barbados.
Aarav's thumb began to trace lazy, absentminded circles on Shradha's bare shoulder, the memory of last night bringing a soft, completely unrestrained smile to his face.
The movement roused her. Shradha let out a soft, adorable sigh, shifting slightly. She nuzzled her face deeper into his chest, her eyes fluttering open. She blinked against the morning sunlight, taking a second to orient herself.
She tilted her head up, her sleep-hazy dark eyes meeting his.
"Good morning," Aarav whispered, his voice a low, raspy rumble that instantly sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.
"Morning," Shradha mumbled, her voice thick with sleep. She pushed herself up slightly, resting her chin on his chest so she could look at him properly. "How long have you been awake?"
"About an hour," Aarav replied, his hand moving up to gently brush a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"And you just laid here staring at me for an hour?" she teased, a lazy smile touching her lips. "Creep."
"I am completely within my legal rights to stare at you," Aarav countered smoothly, a wicked, charming glint in his eye. "Especially considering what happened last night."
Shradha's smile widened, a beautiful, brilliant flush of pink dusting her cheeks. The reality of the previous evening came rushing back. The calendars. The Panditji. The sheer joy on her parents' faces.
"July," Shradha whispered, the word tasting sweet and surreal on her tongue.
"July," Aarav echoed. He shifted his weight, turning onto his side so he was facing her completely, propping his head up on his hand. He looked at her with an intensity that made the rest of the world feel entirely insignificant. "It's official. The date is locked. The venues are being booked."
Shradha reached out, her fingertips lightly tracing the sharp line of his jaw. "It feels surreal. I mean, we've talked about it forever. But hearing the Panditji actually say the date... seeing our moms start aggressively drafting guest lists on their iPads... it hit me. I am actually going to marry you."
"Are you having second thoughts, Doctor Tendulkar?" Aarav teased, though his hand slid around to cup the back of her neck, pulling her a fraction closer. "Because we have already drafted the non-disclosure agreements for the caterers. It's too late to back out."
Shradha rolled her eyes, laughing softly. She moved her hand from his jaw, tracing the faint, athletic scars on his shoulder.
"No second thoughts," she said softly, her tone turning deeply sincere. "Not a single one. I've been yours since we meet and trying to hide from the paparazzi, Aarav. July can't come fast enough."
Aarav's breath hitched slightly. For a man who faced 150 kmph cricket balls without blinking, the sheer, unadulterated devotion in her eyes was the only thing capable of knocking the wind out of his lungs.
He leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead. His lips trailed down, kissing the bridge of her nose, before finally capturing her lips.
It wasn't a rushed or urgent kiss. It was slow, tender, and impossibly sweet. A quiet, morning celebration of the promise they had made to each other. Shradha sighed into the kiss, her fingers threading into the soft, dark hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him flush against her.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were smiling stupidly.
"You do realize," Aarav murmured, his lips still hovering mere inches from hers, "that July is going to be absolute bedlam. My mother has been waiting for this moment for twenty-three years. She is going to turn South Mumbai into a Dharma Productions movie set."
"I know," Shradha groaned playfully, resting her forehead against his. "My mom was already talking to Sabyasachi at midnight. Midnight, Aarav. They are going to dress us up like royalty and parade us around for five days straight."
"I'll wear whatever they want," Aarav smiled, his thumb stroking her cheekbone. "As long as you are standing at the end of the aisle. I don't care if there are ten people there or ten thousand."
Shradha looked up at him, her heart swelling with an overwhelming amount of love. "You're a softie, you know that? The whole world thinks you're this terrifying, cold-blooded fast bowler, but you're actually just a massive romantic."
"Only for you," Aarav stated simply, without an ounce of shame.
He suddenly shifted, sitting up slightly and reaching over to the bedside table. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a small, sleek black velvet box.
Shradha's eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, pulling the oversized t-shirt down over her knees. "Aarav... what is that? We said the official ring exchange was at the ceremony!"
"It is," Aarav assured her, his eyes shining with mischief. He didn't open the box. He just held it in the palm of his large hand. "I just wanted to let you know that I didn't buy this yesterday. Or last month."
Shradha blinked, looking from the box to his face. "What do you mean?"
"I bought this ring exactly one year ago," Aarav confessed softly. "Right after the IPL final in 2023. I had jewelers source the diamond from South Africa, and I helped design the band myself. It has been sitting in safe in this house for twelve months."
Shradha covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes instantly welling with unshed tears. "You've had it for a year? Why didn't you give it to me?!"
"Because you were in London, finishing the hardest medical rotations of your life," Aarav said, his voice thick with profound respect and love. "You were building your dream, Shradha. I wasn't going to drop an engagement ring and a media circus onto your shoulders while you were studying for your finals. I wanted you to cross that finish line as Dr. Shradha Tendulkar first. I wanted you to have your moment, completely independent of me."
A single tear escaped Shradha's eye, rolling down her cheek. She didn't care about the ring inside the box. She cared about the man holding it. The absolute, unselfish maturity of his love was staggering. He was the Prince of Cricket, a man accustomed to getting whatever he wanted instantly, yet he had waited a full year just to protect her peace of mind.
"You are unbelievable," she whispered, her voice cracking.
She threw her arms around his neck, burying her face against his shoulder, holding onto him as tightly as she possibly could. Aarav let out a low, content chuckle, dropping the velvet box back onto the bed and wrapping his arms securely around her waist, burying his face in her hair.
"I'm keeping the box closed until July," Aarav murmured against her skin. "You're going to have to wait to see it."
"I don't care about the ring," Shradha sniffled, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye, her hands framing his face. "I just want you."
"You have me. Forever," Aarav promised, his dark eyes burning with absolute certainty.
He leaned in, capturing her lips in another deep, breathless kiss, the morning sunlight washing over them.
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Author: Aarav is getting Engaged đđ
Kids grow fast...
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