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The series was already in the bag for India, but the 3rd ODI at Old Trafford was about pride for the England. England, stung by the humiliations at The Oval and Lord's, turned up with a point to prove.
India Batting: Sent in to bat, India posted a competitive 261. Shikhar Dhawan failed early, but Rohit Sharma and Virat Kohli provided a steady start. The star, once again, was the Vice-Captain. Aarav Pathak, batting at Number 4, played a fluent innings. He didn't get a century this time, holing out for a well-made 72 while trying to accelerate. Rishabh Pant and Hardik Pandya added late runs.
England Bowling:Reece Topley continued his fine form, taking 3 wickets.
England Batting (The Chase): Chasing 262, England finally found their "Bazball" rhythm in ODIs. Jason Roy (41) and Jonny Bairstow (30) gave a rapid start. Ben Stokes played a captain's knock (Wait, Buttler is captain, Stokes is player). Jos Buttler (60) and Ben Stokes (55) steadied the ship. Despite Aarav Pathak picking up 2 wickets (removing Roy and Moeen Ali) and Yuzvendra Chahal taking 3, England held their nerve. David Willey and Liam Livingstone finished the game.
Result: England won by 4 wickets (with 3 overs to spare). Series Result: India wins 2-1.
The Manchester crowd applauded both teams. It had been a fiercely contested summer. Nasser Hussain stood with the microphone.
Nasser: "A consolation win for England, but the summer belongs to India. They take the ODI series 2-1. Let's have the presentation."
Player of the Match:Reece Topley (3/35 & brilliant death bowling).
Player of the Series: The announcer's voice boomed. "For scoring 207 runs in 2 innings (did not bat in 1st match) and taking 8 wickets across the series... Aarav Pathak!"
Aarav walked up to the podium. The cheers were loud. Even the Manchester crowd respected the performance.
Nasser leaned on the podium, a smirk on his face. "Aarav, come here. We need to talk."
Aarav smiled, holding the trophy. "What did I do now, Nass?"
Nasser: "I have to ask you something on behalf of every English cricket fan. Tell me honestly, do you have a personal grudge against England?"
Aarav laughed, shaking his head. "No, no! Nothing like that! Why would you say that?"
Nasser: "Think about it! You came here for the Tests, you demolished us. You skipped the T20s, and we thought, 'Thank God, we can take a breath.' But then you join the ODIs... First match at The Oval, 4 wickets. Second match at Lord's, a Century and 2 wickets. And today, 72 runs and 2 more wickets! You are a nightmare for us!"
Aarav (Grinning): "Well, I just enjoy playing cricket, Nasser. It doesn't matter if it's in India or England. The ball is round, the bat is wood. I just try to do my job. No hard feelings against England... apart from the food maybe."
The crowd laughed.
Nasser: "Fair enough. But you have added another unique record to your name. Whenever you play at Lord's, you score a hundred. Two Test matches there, two hundreds. And now in the ODI, another hundred. What is it about the Home of Cricket?"
Aarav: "I think it's the slope, honestly. It reminds me of my old practice track at home backyard. We had a bit of a natural slope in my backyard where I grew up. So, when the ball comes down the hill or goes up, it feels familiar. It feels like home."
Nasser: "Mumbai to Lord's. That is some journey. How was the experience of being the Vice-Captain on such a big tour? Leading with legends like Virat and Rohit?"
Aarav: "It was an honor. Just standing next to them in the slips, listening to their plans... I learned more in this one month than I have in years. And winning the series... that is the icing on the cake. First ODI series win for Rohit bhai as captain, so happy to contribute."
Nasser: "Well played, Aarav. Please go home and let us win some games now."
Aarav: "See you in the World Cup, Nasser!"
Nasser: "And finally, the winning captain, Rohit Sharma!"
Rohit walked up, looking delighted despite the loss in the final game. Nasser: "Rohit, 2-1. First series win as permanent ODI captain. Happy?"
Rohit: "Very happy. We came here to win the series, and we did that at Lord's. Today was a good test, England played well. But overall, very proud of the boys. Especially the bowlers."
Nasser: "Here is the trophy."
Rohit took the silver trophy. He didn't hold it for long. He walked straight to the group. He looked for the youngest member who hadn't held a trophy yet. Arshdeep Singh (who was in the squad) and Prasidh Krishna were standing there.
Rohit handed the trophy to Arshdeep Singh.
"CHAMPIONS!"
The team erupted. Champagne sprayed everywhere. Aarav stood next to Virat, both soaking wet, laughing. Shikhar Dhawan was doing his thigh-slap celebration. Yuzvendra Chahal was sitting on Hardik Pandya's shoulders.
It was the perfect end to the English summer. The "Young India" transition was complete. They had conquered the Tests, they had conquered the ODIs.
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The Emirates flight touched down on the wet tarmac of Mumbai, the wheels kicking up a spray of water that lashed against the windows. Aarav Pathak adjusted his watch, winding it back from British Summer Time to Indian Standard Time. It was a simple mechanical action, but it signaled a profound shift in his reality.
For the last months, he had been the 'Seth', the Vice-Captain, the destroyer of English bowling attacks in the cold winds of Edgbaston and Lord's. Now, as the cabin door opened and the humid, heavy air of Mumbai hit him smelling of rain, sea salt, and wet earth he was just Aarav. The son returning home.
He walked through the VIP exit, bypassing the usual chaos. The BCCI security team and his private detail were waiting. He slid into the backseat of the family's white Mercedes Maybach, the noise of the city instantly muffled by the double-glazed windows.
As the car navigated the waterlogged streets of the Western Express Highway, Aarav rested his head against the cool leather. The rain drummed a rhythmic beat on the roof. Mumbai in the monsoon was chaos, but it was his chaos. He just wanted to see the iron gates of Pathak Villa.
The car crunched over the gravel driveway of the Juhu mansion. Before the chauffeur could even open the door, Aarav saw the main door swing open.
Priya Pathak stood there. She wasn't wearing the designer sarees she wore for charity galas; she was in a simple cotton suit, a shawl wrapped around her shoulders against the damp breeze. Behind her stood Rajat Pathak, looking less like a business tycoon and more like a father waiting for his boy, holding a newspaper but clearly not reading it.
Aarav stepped out into the shelter of the porch. "Mom," he breathed, dropping his kit bag.
Priya didn't say a word. She rushed forward and enveloped him in a hug that threatened to crack his ribs. It was the hug of a mother who had watched her son face 150 kmph bouncers on TV thousands of miles away. "You're thin," she whispered fiercely into his chest. "You've lost weight. Doesn't the BCCI feed you?"
Aarav laughed, the sound vibrating through her. "They feed us plenty, Mom. It's just the running."
Rajat walked up, placing a firm hand on Aarav's shoulder. His eyes were shining with pride. "Welcome home, Vice-Captain," Rajat said, his voice thick. "That reverse swing at Old Trafford... I've watched the replay fifty times."
"Thanks, Dad," Aarav smiled, pulling him into the hug as well.
Lunch was a quiet, sacred affair. The dining table was laden with his favorites—Dal Makhani, Paneer Tikka, Jeera Rice, and Gajar Ka Halwa. It wasn't the meticulously calculated diet plan of the Indian team. It was comfort. Aarav ate with his hands, savoring the spices that England never quite got right. He told them stories not about the matches, but about the little things. How cold Birmingham was, how he teased Virat about the 'Dad' contact, how Rohit forgot the team sheet at the toss.
Rajat laughed heartily, and Priya kept piling food onto his plate despite his protests.
By 3:00 PM, the jet lag hit him like a freight train. His body, confused by the time zones and the sudden drop in adrenaline, simply demanded shutdown.
"Go," Priya said, seeing his drooping eyelids. "Sleep. Don't set an alarm."
Aarav nodded gratefully. He trudged up the grand staircase to his room. His bedroom was exactly as he had left it—pristine, smelling of sandalwood and fresh linen. He didn't even bother unpacking. He collapsed onto the massive bed and pulled the heavy duvet over himself.
The sound of the rain outside was a lullaby. Within seconds, the hero of Lord's was fast asleep.
Time Unknown.
Dreams were strange when you were jet-lagged. Aarav dreamt he was fielding at slip, but the ball was a balloon, and he couldn't catch it because his hands were made of marshmallows. Then, the dream shifted. He felt a pressure on his chest. A warm, grounding weight. He thought it was the heavy English blankets at first. Or maybe he was still wearing his chest guard.
But then he felt movement. Soft, rhythmic breathing against his collarbone. Fingers—delicate, warm fingers—lightly tracing the line of his jaw, then resting over his heart.
Aarav floated up from the depths of sleep. The room was dim, the grey monsoon light filtering through the curtains suggesting it was late afternoon or early evening. He didn't open his eyes immediately. He knew that scent. It wasn't the hotel soap. It wasn't the locker room Deep Heat. It was vanilla, rain, and something uniquely her.
He slowly peeled his eyes open.
His vision was blurry at first, but then it focused on the top of a head resting squarely on his chest. Dark, silky hair was sprawled across his white t-shirt. Shradha.
She was asleep. Or at least, drifting. She was curled up on her side, her body molded against his, her arm thrown possessively over his torso, her hand clutching his t-shirt. Her legs were tangled with his under the duvet.
Aarav stared at the ceiling for a moment, his brain catching up with reality. She's here. In Mumbai. In my room.
A slow, wide smile spread across his face. The fatigue that lingered in his muscles seemed to evaporate, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the temperature.
He shifted his hand slowly, careful not to wake her. He brought it up and gently touched her hair, brushing a stray lock away from her face. She stirred. She made a small, contented sound—a hum in the back of her throat—and snuggled closer, her nose pressing into his neck.
"Mmm... you're awake," she murmured, her voice husky with sleep.
"I think so," Aarav whispered, his voice rough. "Or I'm still dreaming. Because the last time I checked, you were in a medical lecture."
Shradha shifted, pushing herself up slightly so she could look at him. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her face soft and devoid of makeup, her skin glowing in the half-light. She rested her chin on his chest, looking down at him with a gaze so full of love it made his breath hitch.
"I bunked," she confessed, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Don't tell Dad."
Aarav laughed, a low rumble in his chest. "The daughter of Sachin Tendulkar bunking class? Scandalous."
"The Fiancée of the Vice-Captain needed to see him," she countered, tracing the shape of his eyebrows with her thumb. "You've been gone for a month, Aarav. Video calls aren't enough."
"Come here," he said softly.
He reached up, cupping her face, and pulled her down. Their lips met. It wasn't a quick peck. It was a slow, languid kiss, tasting of sleep and longing. It was the kind of kiss that said, 'I missed you' more than words ever could. Aarav's hand slid into her hair, holding her there, drinking in the reality of her presence.
When they broke apart, Shradha rested her forehead against his. "Hi."
"Hi," he smiled. "How long have you been here?"
"An hour," she whispered. "Your mom let me in. She said you were out cold. I didn't want to wake you."
"So you decided to use me as a mattress?"
"You're a very comfortable mattress. Expensive, but comfortable."
Aarav chuckled, shifting so he could wrap both arms around her. He pulled her down so she was lying completely on top of him, her head tucked under his chin. "I missed this," he admitted quietly, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above. "England was great. The cricket was amazing. But... the hotel rooms get quiet at night. I missed the noise of you."
"I missed you too," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt. "Watching you on TV... it was stressful. When Stokes hit you? My heart stopped. And when you got out on 48... I wanted to fly there and hug you."
"You did hug me," he said. "On the phone. It helped."
They lay there in silence for a while, just listening to the rain outside. It was a comfortable silence, the kind that only exists between two people who know each other's souls.
"You know," Shradha said, drawing abstract patterns on his chest with her finger. "The internet is still going crazy over that photo. They have named me 'The Mystery Queen'. There are fan pages dedicated to my wrist watch."
Aarav smirked. "Let them guess. I like having a secret."
"Dad is happy," she added. "He was analyzing your bowling action yesterday at dinner. He thinks your wrist position for the outswinger has improved."
"Of course he was," Aarav groaned good-naturedly. "Does he ever stop thinking about cricket?"
"No. And neither do you," she teased, poking his side. "I bet even now, you're thinking about the West Indies tour."
"I'm not," Aarav said honestly. He turned his head, kissing her temple. "Right now, I'm thinking that I am 21 years old, I just won a series in England, and the most beautiful girl in the world is in my bed. I'm thinking I've peaked."
Shradha laughed, lifting her head to look at him. "You haven't peaked, Pathak. You're just getting started. You have a World Cup to win this year."
"We," he corrected her, looking deep into her eyes. "We are getting started. None of this works without you, Shradha. The trophies are heavy. You make them light."
Her eyes shimmered. She leaned down and kissed him again, deeper this time, pouring all the pride and love she had held back for a month into the contact. Aarav responded, his hands moving to her waist, holding her close, grounding himself in her reality.
Outside, the Mumbai monsoon raged on, washing away the dust and heat. Inside, in the sanctuary of the room, time stood still. They were young. They were in love. And for this brief, precious moment, they weren't the Cricketer and the Cricket God's Daughter. They were just Aarav and Shradha.
"Stay for dinner?" he asked, his voice low.
"Mom already set a plate for me," she smiled. "And Arjun is coming over later to raid your PlayStation."
Aarav groaned. "There goes my peace."
"But," she whispered, settling back down onto his chest, closing her eyes. "Until then... just five more minutes?"
"Take an hour," Aarav murmured, closing his eyes too, holding his world in his arms. "Take forever."
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The rain had momentarily paused over Mumbai, leaving the air crisp and smelling of wet earth. Inside the high walls of the Tendulkar residence, the world of cricket felt both incredibly distant and intimately present.
The dining room was warm, lit by the soft glow of a chandelier. It was a space that had hosted legends, prime ministers, and artists, but tonight, it felt like a simple family home. The smell of Varan Bhaat, Puran Poli, and a special Mutton Curry (made on special request) wafted from the kitchen.
Seated around the large mahogany table was a gathering that would make any paparazzi hyperventilate.
At the head sat Sachin Tendulkar, the God of Cricket, looking relaxed in a linen kurta. To his right was Anjali Tendulkar, the matriarch, serving food with the grace that defined her. On one side sat the "Gill-Tendulkar" axis: Shubman Gill and Sara Tendulkar. They were whispering something to each other, laughing softly. On the other side sat the "Pathak-Tendulkar" axis: Aarav Pathak and Shradha Tendulkar. Shradha's hand was resting on Aarav's knee under the table, a silent anchor. And at the far end, Arjun Tendulkar was busy piling his plate high, serving as the comic relief.
"So," Arjun said, pointing a fork at Aarav. "You come back from England, win the series, get Player of the Series, and then you sleep for 14 hours? That's your celebration?"
Aarav laughed, tearing a piece of naan. "Recovery, Arjun. You'll know when you bowl 20 overs in a Test match."
"I bowl 20 overs in the nets every day!" Arjun protested. "Dad makes me!"
Sachin chuckled. "And that is why your yorker is improving. But Aarav is right. Mental fatigue is real. That series in England... it was intense. I was watching every ball."
"We all were," Sara chimed in. "Especially the 'Death Stare' at Stokes. That was scary, Aarav. Even Shubman got scared watching on TV."
"No, Total lie" Shubman defended himself, grinning. "And yes, it was scary. But Stokes deserved it. He was chirping too much."
Aarav's phone, placed face down on the table, buzzed. It was a long, sustained vibration. A call, not a message.
The table went silent. Aarav wiped his hands on a napkin. He picked up the phone. Caller ID:Chetan Sharma (Chief Selector)
He looked at Sachin. Sachin nodded imperceptibly. Take it.
"Excuse me," Aarav whispered. He didn't leave the room; he just turned slightly in his chair.
"Hello, Chetan Sir."
The room held its breath. Shradha squeezed his hand under the table. Shubman stopped chewing.
"Good evening, Aarav," Chetan Sharma's voice was formal but warm. "Am I disturbing you?"
"Not at all. Just dinner."
"Good. I have some news. We have finalized the squad for the ODI series in the West Indies. As you know, Rohit, Virat and the seniors are rested."
"Yes."
"The Board and the Selection Committee have made a decision," Chetan continued. "We want you to lead the side."
Aarav froze. He had expected to be Vice-Captain, maybe leading if Rohit was injured. But being named Captain for a full series? "Captain?"
"Yes. Captain. You will lead India in the 3 ODIs. Shreyas Iyer will be your deputy. We see this as the start of your leadership era. Congratulations, Captain Pathak."
Aarav swallowed hard. "Thank you. I won't let you down."
"I know you won't. Also, Shubman is in the squad. Tell him to pack his bags."
"I will. Thank you."
Aarav cut the call. He sat there for a second, staring at the screen. He looked up. Five pairs of eyes were glued to him.
"Well?" Arjun asked, unable to hold it in.
Aarav looked at Shubman first. "Pack your bags, Gill. You're going to the Caribbean."
Shubman pumped his fist. "Yes! Calypso cricket!"
Then Aarav looked at Sachin. "They rested Rohit bhai," Aarav said softly. "And Virat bhai. And Pant."
"And?" Sachin asked, a knowing smile playing on his lips.
"And," Aarav took a deep breath, looking at Shradha. "They named me Captain."
Silence. For one heartbeat, the room was perfectly still.
Then, chaos.
"WHAT?!" Shradha screamed, jumping up and hugging him so hard his chair nearly tipped over. "Captain?! India Captain?!"
"Oh my god!" Sara clapped her hands. "Youngest Captain! Aarav, that is insane!"
Shubman Gill stood up and bowed dramatically. "Oye hoye! Skipper! Captain Saheb! Do I have to carry your kit bag now?"
Anjali was beaming, tears in her eyes. "My boy is the Captain of India. Look at him, Sachin."
Sachin Tendulkar stood up. The Legend walked around the table to where Aarav was sitting. Aarav tried to stand up to touch his feet, but Sachin stopped him, placing heavy hands on his shoulders.
"Captain of India," Sachin said, his voice thick with emotion. "Do you know how heavy that blazer is, son?"
"I can guess, Dad," Aarav whispered.
"It is heavy," Sachin nodded. "But you have the shoulders for it. I saw you in the IPL. I saw you in England. You are ready. You were born for this."
He pulled Aarav into a tight hug. "I am so proud of you."
Ten minutes later, the BCCI official handle tweeted the news.
@BCCI:"Squad Announcement 🚨: #TeamIndia for the ODI series against West Indies.Captain: @AaravPathakVice-Captain: @ShreyasIyer15
The Squad:1. Aarav Pathak (C)2. Shreyas Iyer (VC)3. Ruturaj Gaikwad4. Shubman Gill5. Deepak Hooda6. Suryakumar Yadav7. Ishan Kishan (wk)8. Sanju Samson (wk)9. Shardul Thakur10. Yuzvendra Chahal11. Axar Patel12. Avesh Khan13. Prasidh Krishna14. Mohammed Siraj15. Arshdeep Singh
Within minutes, Aarav's phone became a vibrating brick. The notifications were a blur.
Virat Kohli (Instagram Story):Photo of Aarav from the England Test series."The baton passes to safe hands. Congratulations Skipper @aaravpathak. Lead them well. Fearless. 🦁"
Rohit Sharma (Twitter):"Resting the body, but the mind is with the team. Congrats @aaravpathak on the captaincy debut. Enjoy the Caribbean music, but win the trophy! Don't forget the team sheet at the toss! 😉"
MS Dhoni (Text Message):"Captaincy is not about controlling others. It is about controlling yourself. You have the calmness. Trust your gut. Good luck."
Sunil Gavaskar (On Sports Tak): "It is a historic day. At 21, to lead India... it reminds me of Pataudi. But this boy is different. He has already won an IPL. He has performed everywhere in the world. He earns the respect not by age, but by performance. This is the boldest and best decision BCCI has made."
Virender Sehwag (Twitter):"Waah! Seth Saheb ban gaye Kaptan Saheb! (The Boss has become the Captain!) Young blood, hot blood. West Indies be careful, hurricane is coming! #AaravCaptain"
Yuvraj Singh (Twitter):"So proud of you little brother @aaravpathak. I saw you in the academy, now seeing you lead the country. The journey is just beginning. Left handers in the team, listen to him! 😂"
Sachin Tendulkar (Twitter):"To lead India is the greatest honor. To do it at 21 is a testament to maturity. Aarav, go out there and play with pride. The nation is behind you."
Back at the dining table, the food had gone cold, but no one cared. Arjun had opened a bottle of sparkling juice (cricketer discipline).
"A toast!" Arjun announced. "To the Captain. And to Shubman for making the cut so he can carry drinks for the Captain."
"I am opening, you idiot!" Shubman laughed, throwing a napkin at him. "Me and Ruturaj. Or maybe me and Ishan. I don't know. Ask the Captain."
Everyone looked at Aarav. Aarav smiled, leaning back, holding Shradha's hand. "Shubman and Ruturaj to open. Me at 3. Iyer at 4. SKY at 5. who knows not decided."
"Don't change the batting order just to show off," Shradha teased.
"I am the Captain," Aarav winked. "I can do anything."
Later that night, Aarav stood by the door with Shubman. The laughter had died down. The reality was setting in.
"This is big, Aarav," Shubman said quietly. "Leading India. Without Virat bhai. Without Rohit bhai. It's just us. The Young Guns."
"It's better this way," Aarav replied, looking at the Mumbai skyline. "No safety net. If we win, it's us. If we lose, it's on me. I like those odds."
"Arshdeep, Siraj, Prasidh... they will look to you," Shubman pointed out. "You are their age, but you are their leader now."
"I've led them in the IPL," Aarav shrugged. "It's the same ball. Just a different jersey color."
"And a billion more expectations," Shubman patted his back. "See you at the airport, Captain."
Before Aarav left, Shradha pulled him into a quiet corner of the foyer. "Youngest Captain," she whispered, adjusting his collar. "Does it scare you?"
Aarav looked into her eyes. He thought about the 60,000 people in Patra. He thought about Stokes in Birmingham. He thought about the empty chair in the BCCI meeting room.
"No," Aarav said honestly. "It doesn't scare me. It feels... correct. Like the timeline is finally aligning."
"You sound like a sci-fi movie," she giggled. "Just win. And come back safe."
"I always come back," he promised.
He kissed her forehead. He walked out to his car. The rain had started again. Aarav Pathak sat in the car and looked at the BCCI email on his phone. Subject: Captain's Itinerary - West Indies Tour 2022.
He smiled. The Seth was going global. The Caribbean awaited the Youngest King.
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The charter flight carrying the Indian Cricket Team descended through the fluffy white clouds, revealing the turquoise blue waters of the Caribbean Sea below. Inside the cabin, the mood was less "International Cricket Team" and more "College Field Trip."
With the senior pros resting, the average age of the squad had dropped significantly. The noise levels, consequently, had risen.
Ishan Kishan was looking out the window. "Oye! Look at that water! Can we go jet skiing?" Shubman Gill, adjusting his designer sunglasses, shook his head. "We are here to play cricket, Ishan. Not to shoot a music video." Arshdeep Singh chimed in from the row behind. "Why not both? 'Brown Munde in Barbados' sounds like a hit."
Aarav Pathak, seated in 1A, smiled. He was 21. He was leading India. And he was leading this chaotic bunch of talented misfits.
As the doors opened, the humid, salty air of Trinidad hit them. It was different from Mumbai's humidity; it carried the scent of the ocean and a laid-back rhythm.
A steel drum band was playing Calypso music right on the tarmac. Shreyas Iyer (Vice-Captain) was the first to start bobbing his head to the music. "Vibe hai, boss. Full vibe."
Aarav stepped out first. He wore the team travel polo, white shorts, and sneakers. He put on his sunglasses. The local ground staff cheered. "Welcome to the party, India!"
The team boarded the colorful bus waiting to take them to the Hyatt Regency Trinidad. The battle for the aux cord began immediately.
Suryakumar Yadav (SKY): "Play some local music. Let's get into the zone." Arshdeep Singh: "No way, Paaji. AP Dhillon first. We need energy." Ishan Kishan: "Bhojpuri! Just one song!"
"Veto," Aarav called out from the front seat. "We play Bob Marley. We are in the West Indies. Show some respect."
A cheer went up. 'Three Little Birds' started playing. The bus rolled through the vibrant streets of Port of Spain. Palm trees, colorful houses, and cricket happening on every street corner.
Shubman Gill sat next to Aarav. "You look the part, Skipper. The shades help." "Thanks," Aarav grinned. "Just trying to hide the jet lag. Mom packed enough theplas to feed the West Indies team too. It's in my hand baggage." "Classic Priya Aunty," Gill laughed. "I'm stealing some later."
The Hyatt Regency was a stunning property overlooking the waterfront. The team was greeted with chilled coconut water and garlands.
The hotel manager walked up to Aarav. "Mr. Pathak, welcome. We have prepared the Presidential Suite for the Captain."
Ishan Kishan overheard this. His eyes lit up. "Party in Room 501 tonight!" Ishan announced to the lobby. "Captain is hosting!"
Aarav groaned. "Ishan, if you break anything, it's coming out of your match fee." "I'm a keeper, Captain," Ishan winked. "Safe hands."
By 6:00 PM, the team had gathered at the infinity pool. The sun was setting, painting the sky in violent shades of orange and pink. It was a rare moment of downtime. No nets today. Just recovery.
Yuzvendra Chahal was trying to push Mohammed Siraj into the pool. Siraj was clinging to a deck chair for dear life. Sanju Samson and Axar Patel were calmly sipping mocktails, discussing the spin variations needed on Caribbean tracks.
Aarav sat on the edge of the pool, dipping his feet in the water. Shreyas Iyer sat next to him.
"This is good," Iyer said, looking at the team laughing. "Good energy. They aren't stressed."
"They shouldn't be," Aarav replied. "We are here to win, but we play our best when we are free. The seniors aren't here. No Kohli staring, no Rohit setting fields. It's us. We have to own it."
"You ready for the toss on the 22nd?" Iyer asked. "Nicholas Pooran is captaining them. He hits hard."
"Let him hit," Aarav shrugged, splashing water. "We have Siraj and Arshdeep. And Chahal. We'll be fine."
Suddenly, a loud splash interrupted them. Ishan Kishan had attempted a backflip into the pool to impress a group of tourists. He landed flat on his belly. A massive belly-flop. SMACK.
The entire team erupted in laughter. Even the hotel staff giggled. Ishan surfaced, sputtering water, giving a thumbs up. "Tactical entry! I meant to do that!"
"Sure you did, Spidey," Sanju Samson shouted, "That scored a perfect zero from the judges!"
Aarav shook his head, laughing. "This tour is going to be long."
The sun dipped below the horizon. The party vibes were high, but underneath the laughter, the Young Guns knew the mission. July 22nd. Queen's Park Oval. Captain Aarav Pathak's era was about to begin.
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