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March 15, 2022. The St. Regis, Mumbai.Team Assembly Day.
The IPL is not just a tournament; it is a traveling circus of dreams, money, and high-octane cricket. And for the Gujarat Titans, the circus was pitching its tent for the very first time.
The call had gone out to every corner of the cricketing globe. From the beaches of the Mumbai to the dust bowls of domestic India, the message was simple: Report to Mumbai. The Titans are rising.
With no international fixtures clashing, the entire squad had arrived by the afternoon of March 15th. The lobby of the St. Regis, usually a place of hushed whispers and business deals, was buzzing with the nervous energy of a first day at school.
I stood near the reception, wearing the new training kit navy blue with gold accents. I wasn't just a player today; I was the host, the captain.
The elevator doors opened, and chaos walked out. Shubman Gill and Abhishek Sharma emerged, pushing a trolley stacked high with kit bags. Following them was Arshdeep Singh, the left-arm pacer from Punjab.
"Oye Captain Sahab!" Abhishek shouted, ignoring the decorum of the 5-star hotel.
I walked over, grinning. We hugged a three-way collision of shoulders and laughter. "Welcome to the Titans," I said. "Try not to break anything."
"He already broke a vase in the room," Gill deadpanned, pointing at Abhishek.
"It was ugly anyway!" Abhishek defended himself. "I did them a favor."
Arshdeep shook my hand, his grip firm. "Paaji, the kit is fire. Proper fire."
Behind the boisterous Punjab gang stood the quieter ones. The players whose lives had changed overnight at the auction, but who still felt like imposters in this world of glitz.
Yash Dayal, the left-arm pacer from UP, looked like he was afraid to step on the carpet. Sai Sudharsan, the young talent from Tamil Nadu, was clutching his backpack tight. Abhinav Manohar and Rinku Singh (who had been around the IPL but never in a role this prominent) stood together, observing.
I walked up to them. "Yash, Sai, Rinku," Sai, Abhinav I nodded to each. "Relax. You're not guests here. You own this place as much as I do."
Rinku Singh, with his perennial humble smile, folded his hands. "Thank you, Aarav. The hotel... it is very big."
I put an arm around Rinku's shoulder. "Wait until you see the stadium, Rinku. This is just the waiting room."
Then, the heavyweights arrived. David Miller, Josh Hazlewood, Heinrich Klaasen, Jason Behrendorf ,Tim David, Jonny Bairstow, and the magician himself, Rashid Khan and Noor Ahmad.
Rashid walked up to me, his sunglasses pushed back on his head. We had met before, played against each other, but this was different. "Captain," Rashid smiled, extending a hand. "Ready to spin some webs?"
"I'm counting on it, Rashid," I said. "I need those four overs to be boring. Boring is good."
He laughed. "Boring for the crowd, maybe. But fun for us."
By 4:00 PM, the convoy was ready. We walked out of the hotel to a wall of heat and noise. The Gujarat Titans Official Team Bus was waiting. It was a behemoth, wrapped in the team colors, with the triangular logo emblazoned on the side and the faces of the marquee players painted on the windows.
The paparazzi were swarming. Flashbulbs popped in the afternoon sun. "Aarav bhai! One photo!""Miller! Tim! Klassen!Jonny Jonny! Yes Papa!! Rashid bhai!"
I stopped at the door, signing a few miniature bats thrust at me by kids who had skipped school. Rinku Singh signed his first autograph as a Titan, his hand shaking slightly with pride.
We boarded. The bus smelled of new leather and air conditioning. "Next stop," I announced "The Airport. But not the one you're used to."
We didn't go to Terminal 2. The bus swerved away from the chaotic public drop-off and headed towards the General Aviation Terminal (Kalina).
As we stepped off the bus, the reaction of the squad was divided. The veterans Miller, Klassen, Saha nodded. They had seen private travel before. The youngsters Sai, Yash, Umran Malik stopped dead in their tracks.
There were no queues. No security checks where you had to take off your belt. No crying babies. Just a plush lounge with sofas, an espresso bar, and a view of the tarmac.
"Is this... the airport?" Umran Malik asked, his eyes wide.
"This is the Titans airport," I corrected.
I gathered the overseas players in a corner of the lounge while the boys attacked the buffet. David Miller,Josh Hazlewood, Jason Behrendorff, Heinrich Klaasen, Noor Ahmad, Rashid and others.
"Gentlemen," I said, keeping my voice low but firm. "I know you play all over the world. You play the Big Bash, the PSL, the Hundred. You are mercenaries in the best sense of the word."
Miller smirked. He appreciated the honesty.
"But here," I continued. "I don't want mercenaries. I want family. You see those kids eating sandwiches?" I pointed to Umran and Yash. "They are looking at you. They need you to lead them."
I looked at Hazlewood. "I promise you one thing. The logistics? The luxury? The comfort? That is my problem. You will fly private. You will stay in the best suites. You will never have to worry about a thing off the field. I will treat you like kings."
I leaned in. "In return... you give me everything on the field. You dive. You run. You mentor the kids. And we win this trophy. Deal?"
David Miller, the veteran, nodded slowly. "You look after us, we look after the scoreboard. Deal."
Rashid Khan tapped my shoulder. "We are with you, Skipper. Let's fly."
We walked out onto the tarmac. And there she was. Titans Force One.
The Gulfstream G650ER, painted in deep Navy Blue with the Gold stripe running down the fuselage. The logo on the tail fin caught the sun. It looked less like a cricket team's transport and more like a head of state's aircraft.
"No way," Rahul Tewatia whispered. "We are flying in that?"
"We own that," Abhishek corrected, walking up the stairs like he had done it a thousand times (he hadn't).
The interior was even more impressive. Cream leather seats that reclined into beds. Mahogany tables. A bar (serving juices and shakes for now). Wi-Fi.
I watched the players board. Rinku Singh touched the leather seat tentatively before sitting down. Sai Kishore took a selfie with the window shade. Rashid Khan was already on FaceTime, showing the plane to his family.
I sat in the front seat, facing the cabin. Ashish Nehra sat opposite me, buckling his belt. "Not bad," Nehra ji said, looking around. "Better than the indigo flights we took in my day."
"Recovery starts here," I smiled.
The pilot's voice came over the speakers. "Welcome aboard Titans Force One. Captain Pathak and team, we are cleared for departure to Surat. Flight time is 35 minutes. Please sit back and enjoy the hospitality of the Pathak Group."
The engines roared to life—a smooth, powerful hum. The plane taxied. As we accelerated down the runway and lifted off into the Mumbai sky, leaving the traffic and the noise behind, I looked back at the cabin.
The players were laughing. Some were sleeping. Some were just staring out the window, dreaming. The team was assembled. The machine was moving.
We banked right, heading north towards Gujarat. Towards Surat. Towards the beginning of the campaign.
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March 15, 2022. Surat International Airport.
The wheels of Titans Force One kissed the tarmac of Surat with a gentle screech. As the plane taxied towards the private hangar, I looked out the window. The sun was setting, painting the Gujarat sky in hues of saffron, but on the ground, a different kind of storm was brewing.
"Look at that," Shubman Gill whispered, peering over my shoulder.
Even from inside the soundproof cabin, we could see the sea of people pressed against the airport perimeter fences. Flags were waving the tricolor of India and the new Navy Blue of the Gujarat Titans.
The pilot's voice crackled over the intercom. "Welcome to Surat, gentlemen. The temperature is 32 degrees, but I suspect it's about to get hotter. The city is waiting for you."
The doors opened. The humid air rushed in, carrying with it the faint scent of the sea and the unmistakable roar of a crowd.
We walked down the stairs. I led the way, wearing the team t-shirt. As soon as my foot touched outside the airpot, the cheer went up. It wasn't just a cheer; it was a rhythmic chant that vibrated through the tarmac.
"GT! GT! GT!""Aarav! Aarav!"
We boarded the team bus the second one we had deployed in Surat. It was identical to the Mumbai one, a fortress on wheels.
The journey from the airport to the hotel usually took about 45 minutes. Today, it took over an hour, and nobody complained.
The bus moved through the streets of Surat like a royal chariot. People lined the roadsides, holding up posters, banging drums, and dancing Garba on the sidewalks.
David Miller was filming everything on his phone, shaking his head in disbelief. "I've played in India for ten years," Miller said. "But a new franchise getting this kind of love before playing a single ball? This is madness."
"This is Gujarat, David," I grinned. "They love cricket, and they love business. We are bringing them both."
Rashid Khan was waving to the fans, his smile as wide as the Tapi River. "They know the game here, Skipper. Look at that kid bowling action!"
As we left the city limits of Surat, the landscape changed. The chaotic, vibrant urban sprawl gave way to wide, tree-lined avenues and smooth, smart highways.
We passed under a massive digital archway: WELCOME TO PATRA CITY.
The mood in the bus shifted from excitement to awe. The rookies Yash Dayal, Sai Sudharsan, Abhinav Manohar pressed their faces against the glass.
They saw the solar-powered streetlights glowing softly in the twilight. They saw the sleek, glass-fronted residential towers reflecting the sunset. They saw the automated pods gliding on magnetic tracks.
"Is this... still India?" Rahul Tewatia asked, genuinely confused.
"This is the future," Abhishek Sharma answered smugly. "Welcome to the Captain's backyard."
The bus turned onto a wide boulevard dedicated to sports. On the left, we passed the several buildings. But today, we were heading to the training base.
We entered the gates of the Sardar Patel Sports Arena. It was a massive complex. It wasn't just one ground; it was a constellation of sporting excellence. There were tennis courts, an Olympic-sized swimming pool complex, a football turf, and a high-performance gym housed in a glass cube.
But the jewel in the crown lay in the center.
Vijay Khel Maidan.
The main cricket ground. The floodlights were already on, illuminating the lush green outfield that looked like a billiard table. The pitch block in the center was pristine.
"Beautiful," Ashish Nehra murmured, looking at the grass banks surrounding the ground. "Proper cricket ground. Open air. Good breeze."
The bus came to a halt outside the Titan's Den the dedicated hotel and clubhouse built within the Patra City complex for the team.
It was a luxury 5-star property, but designed specifically for athletes. The architecture was modern, sharp angles and glass, mimicking the 'Titans' logo.
We stepped off the bus. The hotel staff, dressed in crisp uniforms with the GT logo, welcomed us with traditional aarti and garlands.
I stood in the lobby, addressing the team as they collected their key cards.
"Welcome home, boys," I said. "This entire wing is ours. No outsiders. The gym is open 24/7. The pool is heated. The gaming room is on the first floor."
Rinku Singh looked around the lobby, his eyes wide. "Aarav, this is... too much."
"It's just right, Rinku," I patted his back. "You work hard, you rest hard."
Gary Kirsten walked up to me. "Professional setup, Aarav. World-class. The boys have no excuses now."
"That's the point, Gary," I smiled.
A message flashed on everyone's phones simultaneously—a broadcast from the team management app.
[TEAM ALERT]Meeting: Tomorrow, 9:00 AM.Venue: Conference Hall
"Go fresh up," Vikram Solanki announced. "Dinner is at 8. Sleep early. Tomorrow, the work begins."
The players dispersed to their rooms. I could hear the excitement in their voices, the chatter about the rooms, the view of the stadium, the sheer scale of the operation.
I walked to my suite. I didn't unpack immediately. I walked to the window. I looked down at Vijay Khel Maidan. The lights were reflecting off the dew on the grass.
It was quiet now. But in a few weeks, this place would be a factory of noise and runs.
I took a deep breath of the cool, conditioned air. The flight was done. The welcome was done. The circus was in town.
And tomorrow, the Titans would start to train.
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March 16, 2022. Patra City, Gujarat.Conference Hall A, Titan's Den.Time: 9:00 AM.
The conference hall was sleek, modern, and intimidatingly professional. The walls were adorned with digital screens displaying player stats, heat maps, and motivational quotes that weren't the usual clichés.
The squad sat in a semi-circle facing the main podium. The air conditioning was set to a brisk 20 degrees, keeping everyone alert.
Ashish Nehra (Head Coach) stood at the front. He wasn't wearing a suit. He was in his training shorts and a polo shirt, a whistle already around his neck. Next to him stood Vikram Solanki (Director of Cricket) and Gary Kirsten (Batting Coach).
Nehra clapped his hands once. The room fell silent.
"Welcome," Nehra said, his voice casual but carrying weight. "Look around you. This is not just a team. This is an experiment. The experts are saying we are too young. The experts say we lack experience."
He paused, looking at the rookies Sai Sudharsan, Yash Dayal, Abhinav Manohar.
"I say... good. Let them talk. Because while they are talking, we will be working. We are the Gujarat Titans. We don't have a history. We don't have baggage. We are writing the first page of the book today."
He pointed to the screen where the squad list was projected.
"We have a mix here. We have the best young talent in India. And we have the best overseas professionals in the world."
Nehra gestured to the senior pros.
"I want to hear from you. The guys who have played all over the world. Tell these kids what it takes to win."
David Miller stood up first. The South African veteran, 'Killer Miller', looked relaxed but focused. "I've played IPL for a long time," Miller said, his voice deep. "I've seen teams with superstars fail, and teams with 'nobodies' win. The difference is trust. If I'm batting at 5 and we need 12 an over, I need to know that the guy at the other end isn't panicking. Trust your skills. You are here because you are good enough."
Jonny Bairstow, the English opener, leaned forward. "Aggression. That's my word. Whether we bat first or chase, we punch first. If we get out, we get out. But we don't die wondering. We take the game on."
Josh Hazlewood, the tall Australian pacer, nodded. "Discipline. In T20, everyone wants to bowl the magic ball. But hitting the top of off stump is still the hardest thing to hit. Stick to the basics. Do the boring things well."
Wriddhiman Saha, the quiet Indian veteran, spoke softly. "I have played many finals. The noise... it will be loud. Especially here in Ahmedabad. Just breathe. Focus on the ball, not the crowd."
Rashid Khan stood up last. He looked at the young spinners Noor Ahmad and Sai Kishore. "Spin is not about turning the ball a mile," Rashid said, smiling. "It is about turning the batsman's mind inside out. Be brave. If you get hit for six, smile and bowl the next one slower. We are the magicians. We control the game."
Kuldeep Yadav, "Same like the others! 😅😂."
Then, the room turned to me. Aarav Pathak. Captain.
I walked to the front. I didn't have a prepared speech. I looked at my team—my army.
"You heard them," I said. "Trust. Aggression. Discipline. Bravery."
I looked at Shubman Gill and Abhishek Sharma sitting in the front row.
"We are a new franchise. We don't have fans who have supported us for 14 years like CSK, MI or RCB. We have to earn them. Every run, every wicket, every dive... that is how we build a legacy. We aren't here to make up the numbers. We are here to take the trophy."
I pointed to the door.
"The talking is done. The ground is waiting. Let's go to work."
Time: 11:00 AM.
The sun was climbing high over Patra City, but the breeze from the nearby Sabarmati River kept the heat manageable. We walked onto the Vijay Khel Maidan. The grass was lush, the nets were freshly painted, and the smell of cut grass filled the air.
The Warm-UpRamji Srinivasan, our Strength and Conditioning coach, took charge. It wasn't a gentle jog. It was high-intensity interval sprints, mobility drills, and reaction catching. "Wake up the fast twitch fibers!" Ramji shouted. "You are Titans, not tortoises!"
The Nets The squad split up. Batting Net 1: Top Order. Me, Gill, Bairstow, Abhishek. Batting Net 2: Middle Order/Finishers. Miller, Tewatia, Rinku, Tim David. Bowling Net: Pacers and Spinners rotating.
I padded up. I wanted to set the tone. Josh was marking his run-up in the pace net. "Full tilt, Josh?" I asked, adjusting my gloves. "Is there any other way, Skip?" Josh grinned.
He ran in. 148 kmph. I saw it early. I played a crisp backfoot punch. "Shot," Gary Kirsten nodded from behind the net. "Head still. Good balance."
In the spin net, Rashid Khan, Kuldeep Yadav and Noor Ahmad were tangling the batsmen up. Noor, the young left-arm wrist spinner, was a mystery. Tim David struggled to pick his googly. "Watch the wrist, Tim!" Rashid coached him. "Higher arm means googly."
Fielding Drills After two hours of nets, Nehra called for fielding. High catches. Direct hits. Rinku Singh was a livewire. He threw himself around like his life depended on it. Abhinav Manohar took a stunning one-handed catch on the boundary.
The Closing Huddle At 1:30 PM, we gathered in the center. Everyone was drenched in sweat. "Good session," Nehra said. "Intensity was 90%. I want 100% tomorrow. Rest up. Ice baths. Lunch."
I walked off the field with Jason Behrendorff. "Good setup, mate," Jason said, wiping his face. "Proper facilities." "We try," I smiled.
I looked back at the ground. The first layer of foundation had been laid. The sweat had soaked into the soil of Patra City. The Titans were no longer just a logo on a screen. We were a team.
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March 19, 2022. Patra City, Gujarat.Conference Hall A, Titan's Den.Time: 4:00 PM.
Three days of intense nets had passed. The players were acclimatized to the heat, the facilities, and each other. The initial awkwardness between the rookies and the legends had melted away over shared meals and FIFA sessions.
Now, it was time to define our identity.
I called for a full squad meeting. Just the players and the support staff and coach in the background. I stood at the head of the table, the Gujarat Titans logo glowing on the screen behind me.
I looked at the faces in the room. Shubman Gill and Abhishek Sharma, my lieutenants. David Miller and Henrich Klassen, the veterans. Rashid Khan, the magician. Umran Malik and Yash Dayal, the raw energy.
"Gentlemen," I started, placing my hands on the table. "We have trained hard. We look good in the nets. But nets don't win trophies. Mindset wins trophies."
I paced the room slowly.
"I called you here for two specific reasons. One is about how we play. The second is about how we show the world we play."
"First," I said, pointing to the cameras at the back of the room (the content team). "Tomorrow, we are playing an intra-squad practice match. Team Aarav vs Team Rashid."
The players nodded. Standard procedure.
"But," I paused, a mischievous smile playing on my lips. "We aren't doing it behind closed doors. We are broadcasting it. Live on YouTube."
A ripple of shock went through the room. Wriddhiman Saha frowned. "Live? Skipper, usually teams hide their strategies. We don't want MI or CSK seeing our combinations."
"Let them see," I said, my voice dripping with the Viv Richards Aura. "I want them to see. I want them to see Umran bowling 155. I want them to see Rinku hitting sixes. I want them to see that we aren't the 'Baby Titans' they joke about. We are an open book because we know they can't stop us even if they read it."
Rashid Khan grinned, tapping the table. "I like it."
"Exactly," I nodded. "We make a statement before the first ball of the IPL is even bowled."
"Secondly," I walked over to the whiteboard where the batting order was sketched out. "The Brand of Cricket."
I picked up a marker and circled Abhishek Sharma's name at the top of the order.
"Abhishek, stand up."
Abhishek stood up, looking slightly nervous.
"Listen to me, and listen closely," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "You are my opener. You are walking out first."
"Okay," Abhishek nodded.
"I am giving you a contract right now, in front of everyone," I continued, my voice intense. "You are playing 14 matches. Plus playoffs. I am not dropping you. You could score fourteen ducks in a row, and your name will still be on the team sheet for the Final."
The room went silent. That kind of job security is unheard of in the IPL.
"But," I raised a finger. "There is a condition. I don't want a 'sensible' 50 off 40 balls or 35 balls. I don't want you to 'see off the new ball'. I want you to murder it."
I slammed the marker cap on.
"I want 30 runs off 10 balls. I want 20 off 6. You go out there, and you swing. You bang the door down. If you get out hitting a six over cover on the first ball, I will be the first one to clap. But if you get out defending... then we have a problem. You have the License to Kill. Do you understand?"
Abhishek's chest swelled. The fear of failure evaporated, replaced by a dangerous confidence. "Understood, Captain. Bang bang."
I turned to Shubman Gill. "Shubman, you are the class. You anchor. But the days of 120 strike rate are over. You anchor at 150. You find the gaps. If Abhishek falls, you hold the fort, but you don't stop the flow."
I looked at the middle order. David Miller, Heinrich Klaasen, Rinku Singh, Tim David.
"And you guys," I gestured to them. "Number 4, 5, 6. You don't have sighters. You don't have 'time to settle'. You walk in, and you dominate. Klaasen, you destroy the spin. Miller, you finish it. Tim or Rinku, you hit it out of the state."
I walked back to the head of the table.
"Our bowling unit is strong. Rashid, Kuldeep, Noor, Arshdeep, Hazlewood, Umran, Dayal, Behrendorff.
"Our bowlers," I corrected seamlessly. "Josh, Umran, Arshdeep, Rashid and Kuldeep. You guys are the fortress."
I looked at the batting group one last time.
"Here is the math. If we bat first, we don't aim for 160. We aim for 220. Because if we score 220, our bowlers only need to defend 219. That is the velocity we play at. We remove the fear of getting out. We embrace the chaos."
I looked at Ashish Nehra. He was beaming. This was his language.
"Any questions?" I asked.
Tim David raised his hand. "So, if I hit the first ball for six, you won't be mad?"
"If you hit the first ball for six," I smiled, "I'll buy you dinner."
"Done," Tim grinned.
"Right," I clapped my hands. "Rest up. Tomorrow, the world watches us on YouTube. Let's give them a show."
"TITANS!" The room roared.
The meeting broke up. The energy was different now. It wasn't just hope; it was clarity. Abhishek walked up to me. "14 matches?"
"14 matches," I confirmed. "Make them count."
"I will," he said, and for the first time, he didn't look like my childhood friend. He looked like an IPL opener.
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The marketing machine had been churning for a week. The Gujarat Titans social media handles usually a place for training photos and birthday wishes had turned into a countdown clock.
"THE FIRST LOOK. LIVE."
The premise was simple but revolutionary. IPL teams guard their practice matches like nuclear codes. They don't want the opposition to see their combinations, their weaknesses, or their new variations. But we were flipping the script. We were broadcasting our intra-squad game live on YouTube, in 4K, with commentary in English, Hindi, and Gujarati.
It was a flex. A statement that said: We don't care if you know what's coming. You still can't stop it.
By 2:00 PM, two hours before the toss, the YouTube waiting room had 1.5 Million concurrent viewers. The chat was moving so fast it was unreadable.
I stood in the dugout, watching the production crew set up. This wasn't just cricket; this was content. This was brand building.
FLASHBACK: The Battle for the Home Ground
February 28, 2022. Gujarat Cricket Association (GCA) Headquarters, Ahmedabad.
The euphoria of the auction had barely settled when the first political storm hit. It was a battle over territory.
I was summoned to a meeting with the GCA Chairman, Mr. Dhanraj Parikh (fictional name), and other senior officials. They were smiling, offering tea and dhokla, but the air was thick with expectation.
"Aarav beta," Mr. Parikh began, stirring his tea. "We are so proud. Gujarat finally has a team. And what a team! Now, we need to finalize the logistics for the Narendra Modi Stadium."
The Motera Stadium. The largest in the world. 132,000 seats. The pride of the GCA.
"Sir," I said politely, placing my cup down. "About that. We need to clarify the venue schedule."
Mr. Parikh nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, yes. The BCCI has allocated 7 home games. We are preparing the center wicket. The revenue sharing agreement is standard—"
"We won't be playing at Motera," I interrupted softly.
The spoon clattered against the saucer. The room went deathly silent.
"Excuse me?" Parikh frowned, thinking he misheard. "What do you mean? It is the home ground of Gujarat."
"It was," I corrected. "But the Gujarat Titans have their own home. The Vijay Khel Maidan. In Patra City."
Parikh's face turned a shade of red that matched the cricket ball on his desk. He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"Are you insane?" Parikh sputtered. "You want to abandon the world's largest stadium? For... for a private ground? The BCCI won't allow it! The fans won't allow it! Think of the gate receipts!"
"The BCCI has already inspected and sanctioned Vijay Khel Maidan," I said calmly, leaning back. "It has a capacity of 60,000. It has world-class drainage. It has LED floodlights superior to Motera. And most importantly... it belongs to us."
I stood up, meeting his gaze.
"At Motera, I am a tenant. I have to beg the curator for a green top. I have to share revenue with the Association. I have to ask permission to paint the walls blue."
I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a steely whisper.
"I spent 7,000 Crores on this team, Uncle. I don't rent. I own. At Vijay Khel Maidan, I control the pitch. I control the stands. I control the atmosphere. It will be a fortress painted in Navy Blue and Gold. No orange seats. No GCA politics."
"This is arrogance!" Parikh shouted. "You are turning your back on the Gujarat cricket administration!"
"I am building a new administration," I said, putting on my sunglasses. "The Titans don't share their home. We have severed all ties with Motera for this season and future seasons. Our bus goes to Patra City. Our fans come to Patra City. If you want to watch us play, Sir... you'll have to buy a ticket to my stadium."
I walked out. The bridge wasn't just burned; I had nuked it from orbit. But I didn't care. To build a dynasty, you need a castle that belongs only to you.
[END FLASHBACK]
The Live Stream Begins
4:00 PM. Vijay Khel Maidan (Torrent Arena Complex).
The umpire waved his hand. The cameras went live.
"Welcome to the Titans First Look!" The voice of boomed through the PA system and millions of phones worldwide.
Team Aarav (Blue Kit) vs Team Rashid (Gold Kit).
The graphics flashed the lineups. We had split the squad to simulate maximum intensity.
TEAM AARAV (Blue Kit)
Abhishek Sharma (LHB)
Sai Sudharsan (LHB)
Aarav Pathak (C) (RHB)
Heinrich Klaasen (RHB)
Tim David (RHB)
Jitesh Sharma (RHB/WK)
Rahul Tewatia (LHB)
Umran Malik (Fast)
Jason Behrendorff (L/A Fast)
Yash Dayal (L/A Fast)
Noor Ahmad (Wrist Spin)
TEAM RASHID (Gold Kit)
Shubman Gill (RHB)
Jonny Bairstow (RHB)
Abhinav Manohar (RHB)
David Miller (LHB)
Wriddhiman Saha (RHB/WK)
Rinku Singh (LHB)
Rashid Khan (C) (Leg Spin)
Kuldeep Yadav (Wrist Spin)
Josh Hazlewood (Fast)
Arshdeep Singh (L/A Fast)
Sai Kishore (Orthodox)
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