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The heavy curtains of Suite 1901 were drawn back, revealing the Melbourne skyline bathed in the soft, golden light of spring. It was a Sunday. The streets below were slowly waking up, joggers running along the Yarra River, oblivious to the storm that was brewing a few kilometers away at the MCG.
For 90,000 fans, today was D-Day. It was India vs. Pakistan. But for Aarav Pathak, standing on the balcony with a mug of green tea, the date on his phone screen sparked a different emotion. October 23rd. Back home in India, it was Choti Diwali (Naraka Chaturdashi).
The distance hit him then. It wasn't a sharp pain, but a dull, hollow ache. Diwali at Pathak Villa was legendary. The lights draped over the mansion like a golden net. The smell of marigold flowers and sandalwood incense. His mother's frantic coordination of the staff. His father's jovial distribution of bonuses. The sheer noise of joy.
Here, in the sanitized luxury of a five-star hotel, it was quiet. Aarav took a sip of tea. "Happy Diwali, Aarav," he whispered to the empty air.
He checked the time. 10:30 AM (Melbourne). That meant it was 5:00 AM in Mumbai. Early. But the Pathaks were early risers on festival days. The Abhyanga Snan (holy bath) ritual wouldn't wait.
He sat on the plush sofa and dialed the video call. 'Mom ❤️'
It rang for three seconds. The screen burst into life. It was chaos and color. Priya Pathak filled the frame. She wasn't in her usual elegant silk sarees yet; she was wearing a simple cotton puja saree, her hair wet from the bath, a red bindi on her forehead. Behind her, the living room of Pathak Villa was glowing with hundreds of diyas (earthen lamps).
"Aarav! Mera baccha! (My child!)" Her voice cracked slightly, instantly bridging the 10,000 kilometers.
"Happy Choti Diwali, Mom," Aarav smiled, his eyes softening. "You look beautiful. And busy."
"Happy Diwali, beta!" she beamed, adjusting the phone. "We miss you so much. The house feels empty without your noise. Ramakaant keeps asking if he should set a plate for you by mistake."
Aarav chuckled. "Tell Kaka to eat my share of the laddoos. Where is Dad?"
"Here! Here!" Rajat Pathak's face squeezed into the frame next to Priya. He was wearing a white kurta-pyjama, looking fresh and proud. "Happy Diwali, Champion! How is Melbourne? Is it cold?"
"It's perfect, Dad. Happy Diwali," Aarav said.
Then, instinctively, he shifted in his seat. He placed the phone on the coffee table and stood up. He stepped back, folded his hands, and bent down, touching the floor in the direction of the phone. Pranam.
"Bless me, Mom. Bless me, Dad."
On the screen, Priya's eyes welled up. She touched the screen as if touching his head. "Jeete raho, beta. (Live long, son). Ayushman bhava. Vijayi bhava. (May you be victorious). Not just in the match today, but in life. May the light of Diwali guide you."
Rajat raised his hand in blessing. "Our blessings are always with you, son. Make us proud today. But more importantly, play with a free heart. Don't take pressure."
Aarav stood up and sat back down, picking up the phone. "Thanks, Dad. Are you going to the office?"
"Are you mad?" Rajat laughed. "It's India vs Pakistan! The office is closed! We have a screening set up in the garden. Even the Watchman has invited his cousins."
"No pressure then," Aarav grinned.
"None at all," Priya wiped her eyes. "Aarav... did you eat?"
"Mom, I have a nutritionist," Aarav groaned good-naturedly. "Yes, I ate oatmeal."
"Oatmeal on Diwali," she shook her head in tragedy. "I am sending you a parcel. Custom courier. You need chakli and shankarpali."
"Mom, customs will arrest me," Aarav laughed. "Go do the puja. I love you both."
"Love you, son. Win it for India."
The call ended. The room felt a little warmer, filled with the residual love of his parents.
Aarav took a deep breath. One set of blessings secured. Now for the other. He dialed 'Dad (Sachin)'.
It picked up instantly. The background was different—a serene terrace garden filled with white flowers. Sachin Tendulkar sat there, wearing a traditional cream-colored kurta, looking every bit the sage. Beside him sat Anjali, radiant in a festive orange saree.
"Happy Choti Diwali, Aarav," Sachin's voice was calm, soothing.
"Happy Diwali, Dad. Happy Diwali, Mom," Aarav bowed his head slightly in respect. "Touching your feet."
"God bless you, Aarav," Anjali said warmly. "We were just talking about you. How are you feeling?"
"Calm, Mom," Aarav replied honestly. "A bit of butterflies, but good ones."
"Butterflies are good," Sachin nodded. "They keep you sharp. Remember what we discussed about the MCG dimensions? Square boundaries are huge. Running between wickets will be key today."
"Yes, Dad. Twos and threes. Make them chase the ball."
"Exactly," Sachin smiled. "But today is a festival. Forget the strategy for a minute. How is the team? Is everyone in good spirits?"
"They are good. Rohit bhai is relaxed. Virat bhai looks... scary focused. The boys are ready."
"Good," Sachin leaned back. "We are all praying for you. Not just for the win, but for your safety and happiness. Play the game you love, Aarav. The result will follow."
Aarav heard a commotion in the background. "Is that Arjun?" he asked.
Arjun Tendulkar popped his head into the frame, holding a box of sparklers. "Happy Diwali, Pathak ji! Are you going to hit a six into the Yarra River today?"
"If you bowl to me, yes," Aarav teased. "Happy Diwali, Arjun. Don't burn the house down."
"No promises," Arjun grinned, running off.
"And Sara?" Aarav asked.
"She's on a call with Shubman," Anjali whispered conspiratorially. "Probably giving him a pep talk."
"Or scolding him for not packing his ethnic wear," Sachin laughed. "Alright, son. We won't keep you. Go get ready. The world is watching."
"Thanks, Dad. Thanks, Mom."
Aarav put the phone down. His heart rate picked up slightly. The family duties were done. Now came the selfish indulgence. He checked the time. 6:20 AM in Mumbai. She would be awake. She always woke up early on Diwali to help Anjali with the Rangoli.
He pressed the video call button for 'Dr. S 🩺'.
The ringtone hummed. Then, the screen cleared.
Aarav forgot to breathe for a second. Shradha was sitting on her bed, cross-legged. She wasn't in pajamas this time. She was dressed for the occasion. She wore a soft, pastel pink Anarkali suit with delicate silver embroidery. Her hair was loose, cascading over one shoulder in soft waves. She wore small jhumkas (earrings) that tinkled softly as she moved. A tiny, diamond-studded bindi adorned her forehead. The morning light of Mumbai filtered through her window, giving her an ethereal glow.
"Hi," she whispered, her smile reaching her eyes.
"Hi," Aarav breathed out. "You... wow."
Shradha blushed, looking down at her dress. "Mom made me wear it early for the puja. Too much?"
"Not enough," Aarav said, leaning closer to the screen. "You look stunning, Shradha. Like... I don't have words. Why are you so far away?"
"Because you decided to go become a national hero," she teased, adjusting the dupatta. "Happy Choti Diwali, Aarav."
"Happy Diwali, love," he said softly. "I miss you. I miss you terribly right now."
"I know," she said, her voice gentle. "I miss you too. The house is full of sweets and lights, but... it feels a bit dim without you."
Aarav sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I wish I could teleport. Just for an hour. To hold you. To see that dress in person."
"Focus, Mr. Vice captain," she chided gently, though her eyes were full of affection. "You have a job to do."
"No cricket talk," Aarav shook his head. "Not with you. Not now. Tell me about the Rangoli. Did you make the peacock design again?"
Shradha laughed. "I tried! But Arjun stepped on it. It looks like a abstract art peacock now. Mom was furious."
"I can imagine," Aarav chuckled. "And the sweets? Did you steal the Kaju Katli before the guests arrived?"
"Obviously," she winked. "I saved a box for you. In the freezer. It will be waiting when you come back with the trophy."
They talked for twenty minutes. Not about Pakistan. They talked about the color of the curtains she wanted to change in his room. They talked about a stray cat she had fed yesterday. They talked about how much she hated the heavy earrings but wore them because he liked them.
It was mundane. It was domestic. It was everything Aarav needed to anchor himself before the storm. She was his escape. His normal.
"You look tired," she said suddenly, inspecting his face on the screen.
"Nerves," he admitted. "It's a big day."
"You'll be fine," she said confidently. "You always are."
"How do you know?"
"Because I know you," she said simply. "You don't play for the applause, Aarav. You play because you love it. Just remember that today. When the crowd is screaming, just... play."
Aarav stared at her. She always knew exactly what to say. "I love you, Shradha."
"I love you too."
He looked at the clock. 11:00 AM. Team brunch was in 15 minutes. The bus would leave soon after. The bubble was about to close in.
"I have to go," he said reluctantly.
"I know," she nodded. "Go. Be the prince."
"Will you be watching?"
"Is that even a question? Front row. In front of the TV. Wearing your jersey over this Anarkali."
Aarav laughed. "That's a fashion statement."
"Best of luck, love," she whispered, leaning in and kissing the camera lens. "Bring it home."
"For you," he promised.
The screen went black. Aarav sat there for a minute, holding the phone. The silence of the room returned, but it didn't feel empty anymore. He felt full. Filled with blessings, filled with love.
He stood up. The softness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a steely glint. He walked to the closet and pulled out the India Blue Jersey. It was time to go to work.
11:30 AM: Team Brunch
Aarav walked into the dining hall. The atmosphere had shifted. The laughter from the 'Field Trip' two days ago was gone. The players were eating, but their eyes were focused. Virat Kohli was eating fruits, headphones on, tapping his foot. Rohit Sharma was talking to Rahul Dravid in a corner, using salt shakers to set a field. Hardik Pandya was wearing dark sunglasses indoors, looking locked in.
Aarav grabbed a plate. He sat next to Arshdeep Singh. "Happy Diwali, Paaji," Arshdeep whispered.
"Happy Diwali, Arsh," Aarav replied, cutting his bread. "Let's light some fireworks of our own tonight."
Arshdeep grilled. "Yes. Stumps flying. Best kind of fireworks."
The drive to the MCG was short, but it felt like a procession into battle. The streets of Melbourne were flooded. Not with cars, but with people. Blue jerseys. Green jerseys. Drums. Flags. Smoke bombs. 90,000 people were converging on one spot.
As the bus crawled through the sea of fans, Suryakumar Yadav looked out the window. "Look at that," SKY murmured. "It's an ocean."
Aarav looked. He saw a young kid on his father's shoulders, wearing a jersey with 'PATHAK 4' .
Aarav touched the window glass. He remembered the call with his mother. Vijayi Bhava. He remembered the call with Shradha. Just play.
The bus turned into the tunnel of the MCG. The darkness swallowed them for a moment, only to lead them to the light of the dressing room.
Aarav opened his locker. He hung his blazer. He placed his cap on the shelf. He sat down and started taping his fingers. Virat Kohli walked by. He stopped. He held out a fist. Aarav bumped it. No words were spoken. None were needed. The King and The Prince were ready.
Outside, the roar of the MCG began to rise, a beast waking up from its slumber. India vs Pakistan.T20 World Cup.Melbourne.
It didn't get bigger than this.
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Flashback:
If cricket is a religion, then Media Day is its glitzy fashion show. The ICC had transformed a massive hall inside the MCG into a content creation factory. Green screens, rotating platforms, smoke machines, and enough lighting rigs to illuminate a small runway.
The Indian team had just arrived, wearing the brand-new T20 World Cup jersey—a vibrant 'Harrier Blue' with accents of orange. It looked sharp. It looked aggressive.
Aarav Pathak walked in, adjusting his collar. He was immediately accosted by a makeup artist. "Sir, just a little powder for the shine?" Aarav dodged. "No powder. The sweat is natural glow. It adds character."
Rohit Sharma walked past, holding a bat. "Character? You look like you just woke up." "That's the look, Skipper," Aarav grinned. "Effortless."
The official photoshoot was supposed to be serious. Intense stares. Arms crossed. Determination. But with this squad? Impossible.
Station 1: The 'Scream' Shot The photographer asked Virat Kohli to roar at the camera. Virat did it perfectly. Veins popping, eyes blazing. Then Rishabh Pant stepped in. He tried to roar but ended up looking like he had stubbed his toe. "Cut!" the photographer laughed. "Rishabh, scary, not confused!"
Station 2: The 'Partnership' Shot Aarav and Suryakumar Yadav (SKY) were asked to stand back-to-back, arms folded. "Okay, look tough," the director said. SKY whispered, "If you step on my new sneakers, I will run you out in the match." Aarav whispered back, "If you play a sweep shot to a yorker, I will retire hurt you." They both burst out laughing, ruining the shot. The photographer sighed. "Okay, let's try 'Happy Team' instead."
Station 3: Rohit Sharma sat on a throne-like chair. Aarav, the Vice-Captain, stood beside him, hand on the backrest. "Very Godfather," Hardik Pandya commented from the sidelines. "Don Corleone and Michael." "More like Batman and Robin," Aarav corrected. "Who is Batman?" Rohit asked. "Me, obviously," Aarav smirked. "You are Alfred. The wise mentor." Rohit threw a cricket ball at him. "Get out of my frame."
In a corner of the hall, a familiar face was setting up a more casual interview setup. It was Tanay Tiwari, the popular cricket content creator known for asking the questions mainstream media avoided. He waved at Aarav. "Seth Saheb! Finally!"
Aarav walked over, high-fiving him. They sat on beanbags. The vibe was chill.
Tanay: "Welcome back to the channel, guys! Today, we have the man, the myth, the guy who blocked my number last week—Aarav Pathak!"
Aarav: "I didn't block you, Tanay. I just... archived you. For mental peace."
Tanay: "Ouch. Okay, let's get straight to it. Last year, after winning the 2021 World Cup, I interviewed you. And you said something viral. You said, 'This is just the start. We are winning 8 or 9 more ICC trophies in the upcoming years.'"
Aarav: "Did I say that?"
Tanay: "You did. It's on tape. 400 million views. People called you arrogant. People called you delusional. So, one year later... do you stand by it?"
Aarav leaned back, interlacing his fingers behind his head. He looked straight into the lens. "100 percent. In fact, I might have undersold it. Maybe 10."
Tanay (Laughing): "Ten?! Bro, leave some for Australia! They have families to feed!"
Aarav: "Look, Tanay. We have the team. We have the talent. Why should we aim for one? We are India. We should aim to fill the cabinet. By the end of my career, I want the BCCI to build a new room just for the cups. Is that confidence? Yes. Is it arrogance? Maybe. But I believe it."
Tanay: "I love that. 'Build a new room'. Someone clip that! Okay, serious question now. The fans are angry at you."
Aarav: "Why?"
Tanay: "Not about cricket! Your YouTube channel! 'Aarav Pathak' Last upload: 4 months ago. Last stream: 6 months ago. What is happening? The subscribers are starving! They don't want cover drives; they want Call of Duty rage!"
Aarav: "Ah. That." He scratched his head sheepishly. "See, the problem is... my teammates. Specifically, Yuzi Chahal."
Tanay: "Chahal? Why?"
Aarav: "Because every time I try to stream, Chahal bursts into my room dancing to some trending reel song. I can't game when he is doing the 'Kacha Badam' dance in the background! It ruins the tactical immersion!"
Tanay: "So Chahal is the villain of the gaming community?"
Aarav: "He is the final boss. And also, time, man. Captaincy, Vice-Captaincy... it takes time. But I promise, after we win this World Cup, I will do a marathon stream. With the trophy next to the monitor."
Just then, Yuzvendra Chahal and Axar Patel walked by. They saw the interview happening. They didn't walk past. They raided it.
Axar Patel jumped over the beanbag and landed next to Aarav. Chahal sat beside Aarav.
Tanay: "Oh look! The content has arrived!"
Chahal: "What is he saying? Is he lying about me? I heard my name."
Aarav: "I was telling him how you are the best dancer in the team."
Chahal (Preening): "See? He knows. Tanay, put that in the thumbnail. 'Yuzi: The Lord of Dance'."
Tanay: "Okay, Rapid Fire. Quick answers only. No thinking."
Aarav: "Go."
Tanay: "Messiest roommate?" Aarav: "Ishan Kishan. He leaves socks everywhere. Even on the ceiling fan."
Tanay: "Who googles themselves the most?" Aarav: "KL Rahul. He checks his fashion looks."
Tanay: "Who is the most obedient player to Dravid Sir?"
Aarav: "Shreyas Iyer. He nods even before Sir speaks."
Tanay: "If you were not a cricketer, what would you be?"
Aarav: "Business Man. which I am still though."
Tanay: "Last one. Prediction for the Pakistan match?"
The laughter died down slightly. The three players looked at each other. Aarav's expression shifted from the playful boy to the Vice-Captain.
Aarav: "It's going to be a spectacle. The MCG. 100,000 people. But prediction? There is only one prediction. We win."
Axar Patel: "We win." Chahal: "We win."
Tanay: "Goosebumps. Okay, guys, let them go. They have a World Cup to fetch. Aarav, thank you. 10 Cups, remember?"
Aarav: "Count them."
Aarav stood up, dusting off his jeans. He hugged Tanay. "Good chat, bro. Keep the edits funny."
"Always."
As Aarav walked away with Axar Patel and Chahal, Tanay turned to the camera. "That was Aarav Pathak. Relaxed. Funny. Confident. Maybe a little too confident? But hey, if anyone can walk the talk, it's him. Like, Share, Subscribe. And pray for the 12-hour stream."
Aarav walked out of the media zone into the corridor of the MCG. The lights were dimmer here. He stopped smiling. He took a deep breath. The media circus was fun. The banter was necessary. But now, the talking was done. The flashlights were off. The stadium lights were waiting.
He walked towards the dressing room where his kit bag lay. 8 or 9 cups. He had said it. Now he had to do it. Starting Sunday.
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The atmosphere inside the MCG was building up like a pressure cooker waiting to whistle. The Indian team was going through their final warm-up drills near the boundary rope. Aarav Pathak, having finished his stretches, was jogging along the fence, waving to the sea of blue shirts that had already filled the lower tier.
"Aarav! Aarav! One selfie, please!" "Seth Saheb! Autograph!"
Aarav smiled and jogged over to a group of fans leaning over the advertising boards. He grabbed a marker and started signing jerseys, bats, and even a phone case.
Standing nearby, mic in hand ready for a segment, was Jatin Sapru from Star Sports, chatting with content creator Tanay Tiwari. They waved at Aarav.
"Busy man, Pathak ji," Tanay grinned.
"Always time for the fans," Aarav replied, scribbling his signature on a young boy's hat.
Suddenly, a college-aged fan in the front row, wearing a 'Virat 18' jersey but holding an Aarav poster, shouted out.
"Aarav Bhai! Aarav Bhai! I have a question!"
Aarav looked up, capping the marker. "Is it about the Playing XI? I can't tell you."
"No, no!" the fan laughed. "It's a riddle. A cricket riddle."
Aarav raised an eyebrow. He leaned against the hoarding. "Okay. Go for it. I'm listening."
Tanay and Jatin stepped closer, sensing content. Tanay pulled out his phone to record.
The fan cleared his throat, looking very pleased with himself. "Do you know why Jasprit Bumrah never brings his own car out to drive?"
Aarav paused. He went into a thinking pose, tapping his chin. "Why doesn't he drive? He loves driving. He has a nice car collection."
Jatin Sapru chimed in, "Petrol kam hai? (Is petrol low?) Prices are high these days."
The fan shook his head vigorously. "No! Think, Aarav bhai! Think! Why does Bumrah never take his own car out when you are around?"
Aarav frowned, genuinely confused. "Is he scared of traffic? No idea, mere bhai. Tell me."
The fan grinned, pointing a finger at Aarav. "Because he loves... YOUR-CAR (Yorker)!!"
There was a split second of silence as the pun landed. Yorker.Your Car.
Then, the Tanay exploded in laughter.
"OHHHH GOD!" Aarav groaned, burying his face in his hands. "That was terrible! That was so bad!"
Tanay Tiwari was howling with laughter, zooming in on Aarav's facepalm. "That is the best Dad Joke I have ever heard! Bumrah loves Your-Car! Get it? Because he bowl yorkers!"
Jatin Sapru was clapping. "Full marks for creativity! I am using that on commentary."
The fan was beaming, high-fiving his friends. "It was good, na? Tell Jassi bhai!"
Aarav replied. "I will definitely tell him. He might bowl a bouncer at you, but I'll tell him."
He gave the fan a fist bump. "Good one, buddy. Now let us go bowl some 'Your-Cars' at Pakistan."
As Aarav jogged back to the center, he was still chuckling. It was a moment of lightness before the heavy battle, a reminder that cricket, at its heart, was just a game played by people who loved it.
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The media room at the MCG was overflowing. Journalists from every corner of the cricketing globe—India, Pakistan, Australia, England were crammed into the rows. The buzz was electric, the tension palpable. Outside, 90,000 fans were slowly filling the stadium, but inside, the battle had already begun.
Usually, the Captain addresses the press before a game of this magnitude. But Rohit Sharma, in a tactical move (or perhaps just wanting to stay relaxed), had sent his deputy.
The side door opened. Aarav Pathak walked in. He wore the India training hoodie, the BCCI logo over his heart. He looked calm, almost too calm for a 22-year-old about to face Pakistan in a World Cup opener. He sat down, adjusting the microphone. He took a sip of water.
"Namaste. Good afternoon. Happy Choti Diwali to everyone back home and here," Aarav began, his voice steady. "Let's start."
Q1: Journalist: "Aarav, last year in Dubai (2021 WC), you single-handedly won the match for India with that century and 3 wickets. Pakistan hasn't beaten India in a World Cup. What is the plan for today? Do you feel the pressure to repeat that performance?"
Aarav: "Thank you for the reminder (smiles). Look, history is good for the books, but it doesn't score runs today. The plan is simple. We respect the opposition, but we back our strengths. Last year was Dubai; this is Melbourne. The dimensions are bigger, the bounce is true. We have prepared for this. My personal plan? Just watch the ball. If it's in my arc, it goes out of the park. If I have the ball, I hit the stumps. Simple cricket."
Q2: Journalist (Geo News - Pakistan): "Aarav, Pakistan has a very dangerous bowling attack. Shaheen Afridi is back. Haris Rauf knows the MCG well. Are you afraid of facing this pace attack on a bouncy track?"
Aarav leaned back. He didn't blink.
Aarav: "Afraid? That's a strong word. Let me ask you when did we last lose to Pakistan in a T20 World Cup? Oh wait, never. So, no. The fear isn't there."
A murmur went through the room.
Journalist (Geo News): "Is this arrogance I see, Mr. Vice-Captain?"
Aarav: "It's not arrogance. It's confidence. Pakistan is an amazing side. Shaheen swings it, Rauf bowls fast. We respect that. It will be a great contest. But I have confidence in my team. I have confidence in my preparation. You can call it overconfidence if you want, that's your headline. But my headline is that India is winning. Thank you, next."
Q3: Journalist: "Aarav, leading up to this tournament, there was a lot of noise about Virat Kohli's place in the team. Critics said he shouldn't be in the T20 squad. You are the Vice-Captain. What is your take on his form and mindset going into this game?"
Aarav's expression hardened. The playful smile vanished.
Aarav: "The critics are sitting in air-conditioned studios. Virat Bhaiya is sitting in the dressing room, ready to bat. That's the difference. Let me be very clear. Virat Kohli doesn't need us; we need him. For a player like Kohli, who has done it for a decade, who has carried this team on his back... questioning his place is a joke. He knows when to accelerate, he knows how to chase. In a game like this, with 100,000 people screaming, you don't need just shots; you need character. He has the most character in this room. Watch him today. He will silence everyone."
Q4: Journalist: "This is your first World Cup as the official Vice-Captain of India. You are 22. You are leading men much older than you. How does that feel? Is it overwhelming?"
Aarav: "It's a privilege. Standing next to Rohit bhai and Virat bhai... learning from them. It's not overwhelming because they make it easy. We have a culture where everyone is a leader. My job is just to support Rohit. If he needs a field change, I suggest it. If the bowlers need a pep talk, I give it. It's about responsibility, not power. And honestly, leading India against Pakistan at the MCG? It's what you dream of as a kid."
Q5: Journalist: "The forecast has been dodgy. Rain is predicted. How does that affect the strategy? DLS might come into play."
Aarav: "We can't control the weather. We can only control the cricket. If it rains, we adapt. We have plans for a 20-over game, a 10-over game, even a 5-over game. We are professionals. We don't complain about the sky; we look at the pitch."
Q6: Journalist: "It's Choti Diwali back home. The entire nation is celebrating. Does that add extra motivation to give them a gift?"
Aarav: "Absolutely. I spoke to my parents this morning. They are doing puja. Cricket is a festival in India, and Diwali is... well, Diwali. We want to double the celebration. We want every firecracker bursting in India tonight to be for us. We are playing for them."
Q7: Journalist: "Babar Azam is the No. 2 batter (in rankings). You are the No. 1. Is there a personal rivalry?"
Aarav: "Babar is class. Pure class. I love watching him bat. But cricket isn't tennis. It's not me vs him. It's India vs Pakistan. If I get him out, great. If Arshdeep gets him out, even better. As long as he is walking back to the pavilion, I'm happy."
Q8: Journalist: "Final message for the fans entering the MCG?"
Aarav (Grinning): "Keep the noise up. We hear you. We play for you. And wear Blue. It looks better than Green."
Aarav stood up. He adjusted his hoodie. "Happy Diwali," he said, waving to the Indian journalists.
He walked out of the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake. The confidence was bordering on cockiness, but it was exactly what the team needed. He had absorbed the pressure, deflected the heat from Kohli, and fired a warning shot at Pakistan.
Ravi Shastri (On TV): "Did you hear that? 'We need him'. That defense of Kohli... that is leadership. Aarav Pathak just told the world that this team is united. And that answer to the Pakistani journalist? 'When did we lose?' That is the attitude of a winner. He has set the stage on fire before a ball is even bowled."
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The Melbourne Cricket Ground wasn't just a stadium anymore; it was a living, breathing beast. Over 90,000 fans had packed into the concrete bowl, creating a tapestry of Blue and Green that stretched from the boundary rope to the very roof of the Great Southern Stand.
The noise was a physical force. It wasn't a cheer; it was a continuous, deafening roar that vibrated through the soles of the feet. The air was thick with anticipation, the smell of popcorn, and the nervous energy of a billion people watching worldwide.
The giant screens flashed: TOSS TIME.
From the tunnel, two figures emerged. Rohit Sharma, the Indian Captain, walked with his signature lazy elegance, adjusting his collar, looking around at the sea of humanity with a calm smile. Babar Azam, the Pakistan Captain, walked beside him, looking focused, absorbing the magnitude of the moment.
In the center of the pitch, the voice of Indian cricket, Ravi Shastri, stood with a microphone that looked tiny in his grip. Beside him was the Match Referee, Ranjan Madugalle, holding the coin that would decide the first advantage.
Ravi Shastri raised the microphone. His voice boomed through the stadium speakers, cutting through the noise like a thunderclap.
"MELBOURNE! ARE YOU READY?!"
The response was a roar that registered on the Richter scale. The ground shook.
Ravi Shastri: "It doesn't get bigger than this. The MCG. The World Cup. India versus Pakistan. I have the two captains with me. Rohit, Babar. Gentlemen, welcome."
He turned to the Match Referee. Ravi: "Ranjan, the coin, please."
Ranjan Madugalle showed the coin to both captains. Ravi: "Rohit, you are the designated home captain (technically neutral, but listed first). You spin."
Rohit took the coin. He looked at the sky, then at the pitch. He flicked it high into the Melbourne twilight. The gold coin spun, glinting under the massive floodlights, holding the breath of millions as it defied gravity.
"Heads," Babar Azam called.
The coin hit the turf. It rolled. It settled. Ranjan Madugalle leaned down.
"It is Tails," Madugalle announced.
Ravi Shastri: "Rohit Sharma wins the toss! A massive roar from the crowd! Rohit, what is it going to be?"
Rohit Sharma didn't hesitate. He looked at the overcast sky, he looked at the green tinge on the pitch, and he looked at the Indian fans in the stands.
Rohit Sharma: "We are going to bowl first, Ravi."
"YEAAAAHHHHHHH!"
The cheer from the Blue section of the MCG was explosive. Flags waved frantically. The decision had been made. The chase was on.
Ravi Shastri: "You want to know what you are chasing?"
Rohit Sharma: "Yeah, exactly. There's a bit of weather around, the pitch has some grass, maybe something for the bowlers early on. We want to use the conditions. And we back ourselves to chase anything here. The boys are ready."
The die was cast. India would bowl. The Pakistan openers would have to face the music under the lights of the MCG.
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