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India To Final of The World Cup đđ
Bumrah the Goat!
Axar the Bapu still fighting for India against Britishers!
Sanju giving justice to his fans!
Dube still not out by opponent Bowlers!
Hardik proving in clutch situation!
Abhishek, I don't know what to say!
Varun telling everyone why he was dropped after 2021!
Arshdeep: Sometimes maybe good, sometimes maybe shit.
Tilak: Bhai tu Neiche hi aa, Amazing Man!!
Surya: Forget's to bat, but captaincy đ«Ą
Ishan Kishan: Cluth, the man who changes the momentum!
Bethell: Take a bow man! Man went single handedly to chase the total! Better than Harry Brook, as Brook only scored outside England only against Pakistan!
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The soft, grey London sunlight filtered through the small gap in the curtains, painting a warm stripe across the bed. Aarav Pathak opened his eyes slowly. For the first time in what felt like months, there was no alarm blaring, no schedule to adhere to, and no match-day pressure squeezing his chest. He had slept deeply, the kind of heavy, restorative sleep that only comes when the mind is completely at peace.
He felt a familiar, comforting weight anchoring him to the mattress. He looked down. Shradha was sprawled half across him, her face buried in the crook of his neck, her arms wrapped tightly around his torso as if afraid he might slip away in the night. Her dark hair was a glorious, disheveled mess, tickling his jawline.
Aarav smiled, a soft, genuine expression that reached his eyes. He didn't move to get up. He just lay there for a few minutes, soaking in the quiet domesticity of the moment. He brought his hand up, gently untangling a knot in her hair, his fingers lightly grazing her scalp.
He leaned down and pressed a long, tender kiss to her forehead. "Morning, sleeping beauty," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
Shradha stirred. She let out a soft groan, burying her face deeper into his chest before slowly blinking her eyes open. She squinted against the light, looking up at him with a sleepy, confused expression that quickly melted into a radiant smile.
"You're still here," she whispered, her voice husky.
"I'm not a dream," Aarav chuckled, pulling her closer. "Though waking up like this definitely feels like one."
Shradha stretched like a cat, resting her chin on his chest. "What time is it?"
Aarav glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. "Almost 8:00 AM."
Her eyes widened in panic. "Oh no! I have clinical rounds at 9:30!" She tried to scramble out of bed, but Aarav's strong arms held her firmly in place.
"Relax, Doctor. You have plenty of time. I'll make coffee."
Twenty minutes later, they were sitting on the kitchen counter. Aarav, dressed in a pair of grey sweatpants and a plain white tee, handed her a steaming mug of perfectly brewed coffee. Shradha, wearing her hospital scrubs and tying her wet hair into a functional ponytail, took it gratefully.
"You are a lifesaver," she sighed, taking a sip.
"I try," Aarav leaned against the counter next to her. "So, what time do you escape the hospital today?"
"Should be done by 5 PM," Shradha smiled, her eyes lighting up. "And guess what? I managed to swap my Friday shift with a colleague. Which means after I walk out of those hospital doors today... I am officially off duty for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday."
Aarav's face broke into a massive grin. "A three-day weekend? Just you and me?"
"Just you and me," she nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. "We can finally explore London properly. Or just lock the doors and sleep for three days. I vote for the latter."
"We can do both," Aarav kissed her nose. "But day after tomorrow, Friday night, we have a small engagement."
Shradha paused, taking a sip of her coffee. "Right. The dinner. Aarav, are you sure about this? Virat Sir and Anushka Ma'am... they are basically Bollywood and Cricket royalty. What if I say something stupid?"
Aarav laughed, putting his coffee mug down to hold her shoulders. "Shradha, you are the daughter of Sachin Tendulkar. You literally grew up with cricket royalty in your living room. Virat bhai respects your dad immensely, and Anushka Bhabhi is the sweetest person you will ever meet. Plus, they already love the idea of you. They're family. It's time you properly met my inner circle."
She bit her lip, still looking a bit nervous. Outside of Abhishek, she hadn't officially interacted with Aarav's teammates as his fiancée.
"It's just a casual dinner," Aarav reassured her. "At my place in Regent's Park. Just the four of us... and Vamika. Trust me, Vamika will probably steal all my attention anyway."
"Okay," Shradha smiled, her nerves settling under his calming gaze. "I'll see you at home after work tonight, then?"
"Actually," Aarav said smoothly, taking her empty mug, "I'll come pick you up. I want you treated like a queen."
Shradha kissed his cheek, grabbing her medical bag. "You spoil me, Captain. See you this evening."
Once Shradha left, Aarav cleaned up the apartment, locked the door, and went back to the Pathak family's luxurious residence in Regent's Park to freshen up and drop off his luggage properly.
By late afternoon, he was ready to execute his next mini-surprise. He grabbed the keys to the midnight-blue Bentley Bentayga parked in the mansion's massive garage.
Knowing that a lot of Indian students studied and interned at Shradha's hospital and attached medical college, he needed a solid disguise. He pulled on a black hoodie, a dark baseball cap pulled low, and a black face mask covering his nose and mouth. To complete the look, he wore his high-tech, clear-framed Astra AI glasses. He looked entirely unidentifiableâjust an incredibly wealthy, mysterious young man.
He arrived outside the medical college gates ten minutes before her shift ended. He parked the gleaming, multi-million-rupee SUV right near the main pedestrian exit. In a sea of student bicycles and standard hatchbacks, the Bentley stood out like a diamond in a sandbox.
Students walking out stopped to stare. Whispers broke out among groups of Indian and international students alike. "Who is that?" "Look at that car, mate. That's a Bentayga." "Is it a celebrity?"
At exactly 5:05 PM, Shradha walked out of the double glass doors, surrounded by three of her Indian friends, looking exhausted but engaged in an animated conversation about their clinical rounds.
"I swear Dr. Harrison hates me," one of her friends groaned. "Anyway, Shradha, are you taking the tube today?"
Before Shradha could answer, her eyes landed on the massive blue Bentley. Then, she saw the driver leaning casually against the passenger door. Despite the mask, the cap, and the glasses, she knew that posture anywhere. The broad shoulders, the crossed arms, the quiet confidence.
Her friends stopped in their tracks, their jaws dropping as they noticed the imposing figure waiting by the luxury car. "Shradha... who is that?" her friend Neha whispered, eyes wide. "Are you getting kidnapped by a billionaire?"
Shradha couldn't contain her massive, radiant smile. She turned to her friends. "Actually, I'm getting a ride. I'll see you guys on Monday!"
She walked confidently toward the car. Aarav opened the passenger door for her, giving a slight, courteous bow. "Your carriage, Doctor," his muffled voice came from under the mask.
"You are so extra," she giggled, slipping into the plush cream-leather seat.
Aarav closed the door, jogged around to the driver's side, and slid in. He pulled down his mask and took off the glasses, flashing her a brilliant smile. "Surprise."
Outside, her friends were standing frozen on the pavement, watching the Bentley purr to life and glide away smoothly into the London traffic.
"Did she just...?" one friend stammered. "I don't know who that was," Neha muttered, "But Shradha is definitely living a double life."
Aarav didn't drive back to her tiny apartment. He drove straight to the sprawling Pathak family residence near Regent's Park.
As they walked through the grand foyer of the mansion, Shradha kicked off her shoes, letting out a long sigh of relief.
"The dinner is day after tomorrow, so tonight..." Aarav said, tossing his keys onto a silver tray and pulling her into a hug from behind. "Tonight, we do absolutely nothing."
And they did exactly that. There were no elaborate cooking sessions or candlelit setups. They ordered a massive spread of simple, greasy, delicious takeoutâpizzas and loaded fries. They changed into the softest sweatpants they could find and collapsed onto the massive sectional sofa in the private home theater room.
Aarav pulled the heavy duvet over both of them, while Shradha curled comfortably against his side. They queued up a classic Bollywood comedy on the giant projector screen.
No pressure. No cricket. No media. Just the two of them, a box of pizza, and the quiet, simple luxury of finally being together.
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The sprawling mansion in Regent's Park was silent, insulated from the distant, muted hum of London's nocturnal traffic. The heavy rain that had battered the city all afternoon had reduced to a gentle, rhythmic drizzle against the towering glass windows.
Inside the massive, state-of-the-art kitchen, the atmosphere was entirely domestic, a stark contrast to the opulence of the house. Aarav Pathak stood by the marble island, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel. He had just finished cooking a simple, comforting Indian vegetarian dinnerâDal Tadka, Jeera Aloo, and hot, ghee-brushed Phulkas. It was exactly what Shradha had craved after another grueling, mind-numbing twelve-hour clinical shift at the hospital.
Shradha sat at the dining table, her eyes heavy with sleep, finishing the last bite of the meal. She looked incredibly cozy, wearing one of Aarav's oversized grey sweatshirts, her hair tied up in a loose, messy knot.
"That was amazing," she murmured, letting out a soft sigh of contentment, her hands wrapped around a warm mug of chamomile tea. "You have ruined normal food for me, Aarav. If you ever stop cooking, I might actually starve."
Aarav chuckled softly, walking over to collect her empty plate. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. "I'll take that as a compliment, Dr. Tendulkar. You look like you're about to pass out in your tea."
Shradha blinked slowly, a sleepy smile spreading across her lips. "I am. My brain feels like mush. Cellular biology and patient charts all day. I just want the bed."
"Go," Aarav said gently, pulling her chair back and helping her to her feet. "I've already turned down the bed and set the room temperature. Go to sleep."
She leaned her head against his chest for a brief moment, her arms wrapping around his waist. "Are you coming?"
Aarav held her close, resting his chin on her head. "In a bit. I have some work to catch up on. A quick meeting."
Shradha pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a sleepy frown. "A meeting? Aarav, it's past 11 PM. You just flew halfway across the world yesterday. You need to rest too."
"It's early morning in India," Aarav explained smoothly, his voice a soothing baritone. "The tech world doesn't sleep. It won't take long. Just some quarterly reviews. I promise I'll be in bed before you even realize I'm missing."
She sighed, too exhausted to argue. "Okay, Mr. Vice-Captain. Don't stay up too late. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, my love."
Aarav watched her pad softly down the thickly carpeted hallway until she disappeared into the master suite. He waited until he heard the soft click of the heavy oak door closing.
Aarav walked towards the east wing of the mansion, approaching a biometric-secured door that looked like a solid wall of mahogany. He pressed his thumb against the hidden scanner. Click. The heavy door swung open, revealing his private study.
It wasn't a traditional, dusty library filled with leather-bound books and cigars. It was a technological fortress, a nerve center designed for global domination. The room was soundproofed to military standards. A massive, curved ultra-wide OLED monitor dominated the primary obsidian-glass desk. Ergonomic Herman Miller chairs, mood-adaptive ambient lighting, and dedicated server racks humming quietly in the corner completed the aesthetic.
đ đ
Aarav sat in the primary command chair. He didn't wear a suit; the Loro Piana hoodie was enough. Power wasn't about what you wore; it was about what you controlled.
He tapped the screen of his custom-built laptop. He didn't open Zoom, Microsoft Teams, or Google Stream. He opened a proprietary application holding a sleek, minimalist logoâa stylized, glowing constellation.
Astra Meet. Under Aarav's aggressive financial backing and technological foresight, Astra Meet had obliterated the competition during the remote-work boom. Built proudly in India and expanding globally, boasting zero-latency architecture, unbreakable end-to-end quantum-resistant encryption, and real-time, AI summary and, beta AI voice translation across 60 languages, it was the undisputed king of enterprise communication.
Aarav entered his administrative credentials. The screen transitioned to a sleek waiting room UI, then immediately into the main conference grid.
Four video feeds popped up instantly.Â
The men and women on the screen were some of the most powerful executives in the global tech industry. They were the generals of Aarav's empire.
Parag Agrawal â Chief Executive Officer (CEO) of Astra Corp. P
Aravind Srinivas â Chief Technology Officer (CTO).Â
Rohan Mehta â Head of Global Expansion & Consumer Products.Â
Naina Desai â Chief Financial Officer (CFO).Â
"Good morning, team," Aarav said, his voice dropping into a sharp, authoritative register that none of his cricket teammates had ever heard.
"Good morning, Boss," Parag Agrawal nodded respectfully from his Bengaluru office. "Congratulations on the World Cup performance. That innings against Pakistan was... efficient."
"Thank you, Parag," Aarav replied, his face impassive. "Cricket is a passion. But let's talk about the real game. I want the numbers, and I want the rollout status on the new verticals. Naina, start with the hardware."
Naina Desai, a sharp-featured woman in a tailored blazer, adjusted her glasses and shared her screen. A holographic-style presentation popped up on Aarav's monitor.
"The numbers are historic, Aarav," Naina began, her voice crisp and professional. "As of midnight yesterday, we have officially crossed the 7 million units shipped milestone for the Astra Glasses - Gen 1."
Aarav leaned forward, resting his chin on his steepled fingers. "Seven million."
"Yes," Parag took over, a hint of pride in his voice. "We have completely monopolized the Augmented Reality wearable space. Apple is still struggling with the weight and battery life of their prototype, and Meta's 'Quest' line is being viewed by consumers as a bulky, gaming-only gimmick. By designing the Astra Glasses to look exactly like high-end Ray-Bans and Wayfarers, we solved the social friction problem instantly and our distribution helped a lot, like our experience center, PatMart store section and Lenskart our partner and company owned by you. Lenskart has expanded and opened several stores in most of the major nations."
Aravind Srinivas, the CTO, chimed in, practically vibrating with technical excitement. "It's the edge-computing integration, Aarav. Because our proprietary AI model handles the natural language processing and AR overlay, we bypassed the latency issues our competitors face. The users are loving the real-time translation features. We're seeing tourists in Tokyo using Astra Glasses to read menus, and businessmen in Dubai using them for real-time meeting transcripts directly in their peripheral vision."
"And the margins?" Aarav asked, his eyes tracking the financial graphs.
"Beautiful," Naina smiled. "Production costs in our automated Indian and Taiwan facility have dropped by 14%. At a retail price of $499, we are looking at a gross profit margin of 62%. The hardware division alone has injected $2.1 billion in pure profit into Astra's reserves this fiscal year."
Aarav nodded slowly. It was a massive win. He had known, through the subtle hints from his System's technological rewards two years ago, that miniaturized AR was the future. He had dumped a billion dollars of money into R&D, poaching the best Indian engineers from around the globe to build the hardware ecosystem. The gamble had paid off astronomically.
"Excellent," Aarav said. "But don't get complacent. Parag, I want the Gen-2 prototypes on my desk by next few months. We need to integrate health-trackingâretinal scanning for fatigue and blood pressure estimations. If we can make these a medical necessity as well as a lifestyle accessory, the market cap will double."
"The R&D team is already on it, Boss," Parag confirmed, taking notes. "Gen-2 is on schedule."
"Moving on to software and consumer platforms," Aarav swiped to the next agenda item on his screen. "Rohan. Give me the update on Reels."
Rohan Mehta, a young, aggressive executive sitting in a sleek, glass-walled office in Mumbai, broke into a wide grin.
"Aarav, Reels is no longer just a platform; it is a cultural apex predator," Rohan stated confidently.
When the Indian government had banned TikTok due to geopolitical tensions, Aarav hadn't waited for Instagram or YouTube to fill the massive void. Leveraging his immense capital and Astra's superior AI algorithms, he had launched a standalone short-video app simply named 'Reels' .
"The Indian market is fully saturated. We hold an 88% market share in the short-form video sector," Rohan detailed, pulling up a heat map of the globe. "But the real story is our global expansion. Over the last six months, we have executed localized takeovers in Southeast Asia. We are currently the number one downloaded app in Japan, South Korea, Vietnam, and Indonesia."
"How are we beating the local competitors in Japan and Korea?" Aarav asked, playing devil's advocate. "They are highly insular markets."
"The Astra Algorithm," Aravind Srinivas interjected, adjusting his glasses. "Our recommendation engine is lightyears ahead of ByteDance's old model and also Japan and China political tension helped us. Also the predictive AI doesn't just analyze watch-time; it analyzes micro-expressions via the front camera (with user opt-in for 'enhanced experience'), scrolling speed, and even time-of-day sentiment. We are feeding users exactly what triggers their dopamine receptors with 94% accuracy."
"And the Middle East?" Aarav prompted.
"Exploding," Rohan confirmed. "We launched a massive creator-fund in Dubai, Riyadh, and Doha. By incentivizing local Arabic content creators with direct monetization, we bypassed the slow organic growth phase. Our Daily Active Users (DAU) in the MENA region just crossed 45 million."
"Monetization?" Aarav turned to Naina.
"Ad revenues are through the roof," Naina reported, her spreadsheet flashing green. "Because our user engagement time averages 79 minutes per day, advertisers are flocking to us. Our targeted ad API is yielding a 40% higher conversion rate than Meta's current suite. Reels is generating approximately $15 million in ad revenue daily across all global markets."
Aarav leaned back in his chair, processing the numbers. Over $5 billion a year in ad revenue from a single app.
"Keep the creator funds aggressive," Aarav ordered. "I don't want any creators migrating to YouTube Shorts. Pay them above market rate. We buy loyalty until it becomes a habit. Rohan, I want a strategy for European expansion by Q2 next year. It's time we push West and fight Tik-Tok."
"Consider it done," Rohan nodded.
"Now," Aarav's voice dropped, becoming even more focused. "Let's talk about the crown jewel. Let's talk about VEO."
This was Aarav's personal masterpiece. While the world was fighting over subscription fees, password sharing, and streaming wars, Aarav had decided to break the wheel. He had launched VEO, an Over-The-Top (OTT) streaming platform, just three months ago.
"The user acquisition phase for VEO has broken every industry record," Parag Agrawal reported, visibly amazed by the data. "We just crossed 200 million active users globally. Netflix took years to hit that number. We did it in 90 days."
"Because it's completely free," Naina pointed out, though she was smiling. "The 'Free to User, Supported by Unskippable Premium Ads' model is working flawlessly. In markets like India, Southeast Asia, and Africa, where credit card penetration and subscription fatigue are real issues, a high-definition, free platform is an irresistible proposition."
Aarav permitted himself a small, private smirk. His executives thought the secret to VEO's success was just the aggressive business model. They didn't know the real reason. Aarav had utilized a technological reward from his Systemâan ultra-advanced data compression codec. This codec allowed VEO to stream crystal-clear, 4K (or best according to device potential) resolution video on the most basic 2G and 3G networks without a single second of buffering. It required 80% less bandwidth than Netflix or Amazon Prime. In developing nations with spotty internet, VEO was quite literally the only platform that worked seamlessly on a train, in a village, or in a crowded city.
"The tech is holding up beautifully, Aarav," Aravind Srinivas marveled, shaking his head. "Our server costs are a fraction of our competitors."
"Keep it a black box, Aravind," Aarav deflected smoothly. "Trade secrets. But a platform is only as good as its content. Pathak Entertainment is locking down the movie space, but we are missing the biggest engagement driver in the country. Live Sports."
He tapped his desk, leaning in.
"The upcoming cricket broadcasting rights cycle is upon us. I want VEO to monopolize it. Bid for it! We are going to bid $3.1 billion dollars for the ICC Global Rights, and $2.9 billion dollars for the IPL Digital Rights."
Naina Desai gasped slightly. "Aarav, that's a $6 billion combined outlay. That is astronomical. Disney and Viacom18 are preparing to go to war over this. Are you sure we want to outspend them to this degree?"
"Positive," Aarav said, his voice completely devoid of hesitation. "If we get cricket, half of the Indian OTT audience will migrate to VEO overnight. They will delete every other app. We control the advertising inventory for the biggest sporting market in the world. But we don't stop there."
Rohan Mehta's eyes lit up. "You want to expand the sports catalog?"
"I want to own it," Aarav corrected. "I want the English Premier League (EPL). Bid $70-100 million US dollars for the subcontinent rights. The urban youth demographic loves football. Secure the Pro Kabaddi League for 200 croresâit dominates the rural and tier-2 viewership. Grab the digital rights for Formula 1, Wimbledon, and the Indian Super League (ISL)."
"We are building a sports monopoly," Parag muttered, typing furiously. "VEO will become the default television replacement."
"Exactly," Aarav agreed. "And for entertainment, Pathak Entertainment's Indian monopoly isn't enough. Rohan, initiate talks with Hollywood. I want aggressive licensing. Offer premium terms for 5 to 7, or even 10-year exclusive contracts with Sony Pictures, Warner Bros, and Universal for Indian Market."
Naina was running the projections on her screen. "The upfront capital burn will be massive, Boss. But if the ad-revenue model holds up with this kind of traffic and your future subscription you planned... we will break even in 36 months. We will essentially become the Netflix of the East, but totally digital."
"Execute it," Aarav commanded.
The meeting had been going on for forty minutes. The operational updates were flawless. Aarav leaned back in his chair, taking a sip of espresso he had brought into the study.
"Let's move to the macro-strategy," Aarav said, his tone shifting from managerial to visionary. "Aravind. Talk to me about the AI landscape. Talk to me about OpenAI."
Aravind Srinivas's face appeared on the main grid, looking slightly amused. "You saw their press release this morning, I assume?" Aravind asked.
"I did," Aarav nodded. "They announced their new Generative Pre-trained Transformer model. GPT-1 or whatever they are calling it. The tech media is losing their minds over it. They are calling it a revolution in natural language processing."
Aravind actually laughed out loudâa rare, geeky chuckle. "Boss, it's cute. That's the only word for it. It's cute."
Parag Agrawal smiled knowingly from his screen.
"Break it down for me," Aarav ordered, though he already knew the answer.
"OpenAI is boasting about a model with 175 billion parameters," Aravind explained, pushing his glasses up his nose. "They are proud of its ability to write basic emails, generate passable code, and hold a somewhat coherent conversation. They think they have cracked the code for commercial AI even better than us."
Aravind leaned into his webcam, his expression turning entirely serious.
"Aarav, their 'new, revolutionary' model is mathematically and architecturally equivalent to the Astra Gen-1 Prototype we built and discarded in the sandbox year and a half years ago."
Aarav nodded slowly. This was the true power of his empire. Through the system rewards, Aarav had obtained the foundational mathematics for true neural-network evolution years ahead of the current timeline. He had handed these encrypted algorithms to Aravind and his team of absolute geniuses, effectively giving them a map to the future.
"Where does Astra AI currently stand compared to them?" Aarav asked, wanting it on the official record.
"There is no comparison," Aravind stated flatly, devoid of ego, just presenting facts. "Our current internal model, Astra-Omni, operates on a dynamically scaling parameter architecture that crosses the 2-trillion mark. But it's not just about size; it's about reasoning. OpenAI's model is a highly advanced predictive text engine. It guesses the next word based on probability."
Aravind paused for effect.
"Astra-Omni doesn't guess. It reasons. We have achieved early-stage multi-modal cognitive deduction. It doesn't just read text; it processes audio, video, and spatial data simultaneously. It understands context, sarcasm, deep logic, and complex mathematics. It writes flawless, production-ready code for our server infrastructure entirely autonomously."
"And the hallucination rate?" Aarav asked, zeroing in on the main flaw of current AI.
"Under 0.04%," Aravind replied proudly. "We cracked the self-correction loop. Omni verifies its own outputs against a closed-loop factual database before presenting an answer. By the time OpenAI figures out how to stop their chatbot from confidently lying about historical facts, we will be testing early iterations of AGI (Artificial General Intelligence)."
Aarav smiled, a cold, predatory smile. "So, no threat."
"None," Parag Agrawal confirmed. "They are fighting a battle with muskets, while we are sitting in orbit with orbital strike lasers. The only reason the public thinks OpenAI is leading the race is because it's an American Company, nothing else and also because we haven't released out Astra-Omni model."
"Keep the R&D locked down, Aravind," Aarav commanded. "Air-gapped servers only. Parag, continue the quiet acquisition of data centers in Iceland and Norway for the cooling efficiency. We are going to need the computing power."
"Understood, Aarav," Parag said.
"Are there any other roadblocks?" Aarav asked, looking at the time. It was nearing 1 AM in London.
"None that we can't handle, Boss," Naina Desai smiled. "The business is highly profitable, aggressively expanding, and technologically untouchable."
"Perfect," Aarav said, his voice softening just a fraction, the meeting drawing to a close. "Excellent work, all of you. Your bonuses this quarter will reflect this dominance. Keep your foot on the accelerator. I want to see those mega-bids filed immediately."
"Will do, Boss. Have a good night," Parag said.
"Goodnight, Aarav," the others chorused.
"Goodnight."
Aarav tapped the screen, terminating the Astra Meet connection. The four video feeds vanished, leaving Aarav staring at his own reflection in the dark, curved monitor.
He sat there in the silence of the soundproof study, the adrenaline of the boardroom fading slowly.
He ran a hand through his hair, leaning his head back against the Herman Miller chair. He closed his eyes. He thought about the millions chanting his name in stadiums. He thought about the billions of dollars flowing through his servers. He thought about the artificial intelligence he was nurturing that would change the trajectory of human history.
It was a staggering amount of power for one man to hold. A lesser mind would have shattered under the sheer weight of the hubris. But Aarav Pathak didn't feel overwhelmed. He felt precisely calibrated.
Aarav walked out of the study, the heavy mahogany door sealing the room behind him.
He walked down the quiet, carpeted hallway of the mansion, the shadows dancing in the dim light. He pushed open the door to the master suite.
The room was warm. A single bedside lamp cast a soft, golden glow over the massive bed. Shradha was fast asleep, exactly where he had left her, buried under the duvet, hugging his pillow, her chest rising and falling in a slow, peaceful rhythm.
Aarav walked over silently. He stripped off the hoodie and slipped under the covers beside her. Instinctively, even in her deep sleep, Shradha gravitated towards his warmth. She rolled over, burying her face into his chest, her arm wrapping around his waist.
Aarav wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, burying his face in her hair. The global expansions, the billion-dollar revenues, the AI arms race, the cricket World Cups... they all melted away into absolute insignificance.
He held her tight, feeling the steady beat of her heart against his own.
The King of the Tech World, the Prince of Indian Cricket, closed his eyes, finally at peace.Â
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The digital clock on the mahogany nightstand flipped silently to 8:00 AM. Aarav stirred, his hand instinctively reaching out across the massive, plush mattress to pull Shradha closer. Instead of warm skin and soft cotton, his fingers met empty, cool sheets.
His eyes fluttered open. The heavy curtains were drawn just enough to let a sliver of crisp, pale London morning light into the master suite. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, sitting up and looking around the quiet room.
Usually, after a long shift at the hospital, Shradha would sleep until at least nine, burrowed under the duvet like a hibernating bear.
Aarav swung his legs out of bed, running a hand through his messy hair. As he walked out of the bedroom and padded softly down the carpeted hallway, a faint, familiar aroma hit him. It wasn't the smell of the automated coffee machine. It smelled like toasted bread, sizzling butter, and... spices?
He followed the scent toward the sprawling, state-of-the-art kitchen.
Aarav stopped at the kitchen entrance, leaning against the doorframe. A soft, incredibly fond smile broke across his face, melting away any lingering remnants of sleep.
There she was. Shradha was standing at the stove, completely absorbed in her task. She was wearing his black Loro Piana hoodieâthe one he had worn to surprise her two days ago. On his 6'2" frame, it was a tailored fit; on her, it swallowed her completely, the hem dropping down to her mid-thigh, the sleeves rolled up multiple times just so she could use her hands. Her hair was tied up in a messy, haphazard bun held together by a single clip.
Aarav watched in quiet awe. He knew Shradha's history with cooking. She was the girl who could decipher complex medical charts in seconds but somehow managed to burn toast. Yet here she was, standing in his kitchen, humming a soft Bollywood tune, taking the initiative to make him breakfast.
The sheer effort of it melted his heart into a puddle.
He didn't make a sound. With the stealth of a fast bowler conserving energy, he tiptoed across the cold marble floor. He closed the distance between them until he was standing right behind her.
Without a word, he wrapped his strong arms around her waist and buried his face in the crook of her neck.
"Ahhh!" Shradha let out a short, high-pitched yelp, jumping slightly and nearly dropping the spatula.
She spun her head around, her heart pounding, only to be met with Aarav's deep, rumbling laughter vibrating against her shoulder.
"Aarav! You scared me half to death!" she scolded, though a massive smile was already taking over her face. She hit his arm lightly with her free hand. "I thought you were still sleeping!"
"Good morning to you too, gorgeous," Aarav murmured, his voice thick and raspy with morning sleepiness. He tightened his hold on her, resting his chin comfortably on her shoulder, perfectly content to stay anchored to her. "I woke up and my favorite pillow was missing."
"Your favorite pillow was trying to make breakfast," she giggled, leaning back into his solid chest, enjoying the warmth radiating from him.
Aarav peeked over her shoulder to inspect the kitchen counter and the stove. His eyebrows shot up in genuine surprise.
It wasn't just toast. There was a pan of golden-yellow Poha steaming gently, garnished with fresh coriander and peanuts. Next to it, a perfect, fluffy masala omelette was sizzling in a frying pan. On the cutting board sat two perfectly grilled sandwiches, and the coffee machine was dripping fresh espresso into two large mugs.
Aarav blinked. He looked at the food, then looked at the girl in his arms.
"Okay, who are you and what have you done to my fiancé?" Aarav teased, his eyes wide. "Poha? Omelette? Sandwiches? Since when did Dr. Tendulkar become a chef? I thought boiling water was a high-risk operation for you."
Shradha bumped her hip against his playfully. "Hey! I'll have you know I have upgraded my skills. Living in London alone forces you to evolve. I can't survive on hospital cafeteria food forever."
"I'm seriously impressed," Aarav said, reaching out to steal a peanut from the Poha pan, only to have his hand swatted away.
"Patience" she ordered. "And yes, it took some practice. When I moved here, Dad was practically begging to hire a private Indian cook for my apartment. He was so worried I would starve."
"A valid concern, historically speaking," Aarav chuckled, kissing her cheek to soften the blow.
"Shut up," she smiled, turning off the stove. "I denied it. I told him I wanted to learn how to manage on my own. So, I started watching YouTube tutorials. My first few attempts at Poha ended up looking like yellow glue, but I think I've finally nailed it. It's simple, but it tastes like home."
Aarav gently turned her around in his arms so she was facing him. He looked down into her bright, proud eyes. He brought a hand up, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"It's perfect," he said softly, his voice dropping all traces of teasing. "You making this for me... it's the best breakfast I've ever had, and I haven't even tasted it yet."
Shradha's eyes softened, melting under the sheer adoration in his gaze. She wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her tiptoes.
"I just wanted to pamper you a little," she whispered. "You cooked a five-course feast for me when you landed. You're always taking care of everyone, Aarav. Let me take care of you this morning."
Aarav leaned down and captured her lips in a sweet, unhurried kiss. The kitchen, the food, the cool London morning outside the windowsâit all faded into a perfect, quiet bubble of domestic bliss.
"I love you," Aarav murmured against her lips.
"I love you too," she smiled, pulling back slightly. "Now, let me go before the omelette actually burns and ruins my newly established chef reputation."
Aarav laughed, finally releasing her waist but grabbing two plates from the cabinet to help her plate the food.
"You grab the coffee," Aarav instructed, taking the pan. "I'll carry the feast to the table. And Doctor? If this tastes as good as it smells, I might just retire from cricket and become a stay-at-home husband."
"Don't threaten me with a good time," Shradha laughed, picking up the two steaming mugs of coffee.
They walked over to the small, sunlit breakfast nook overlooking the garden, ready to start their three-day weekend exactly the way it was meant to beâtogether, undisturbed, and wildly in love.
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The long weekend had officially begun. The sprawling Pathak residence in Regent's Park was bathed in the crisp, pale sunlight of a London Friday morning.
Aarav was lounging on the massive living room sofa, scrolling through some news, when he decided to confirm the timings for the evening. He dialed Virat Kohli's number.
"Morning, Aarav," Virat's energetic voice came through the speaker, accompanied by the distinct sound of a cartoon playing in the background.
"Morning, Virat bhai," Aarav smiled. "Just calling to check what time you guys are coming over for dinner tonight. I need to prep the kitchen."
There was a brief pause, followed by a heavy sigh from Virat. "Actually, Aarav... any chance we can prepone that? To, say, 11 AM?"
Aarav blinked, sitting up straight. "11 AM? That's not dinner, Bhaiya, that's brunch. Everything okay?"
"Everything is fine," Virat chuckled wryly. "But someone here woke up at 7 AM, realized we are in London, and has been chanting 'Cha-chu, Cha-chu, Cha-chu' non-stop for three hours. Anushka is losing her mind. We promised her chocolate from you at the airport, remember? The toddler remembers. The toddler demands her due."
Aarav burst out laughing, his heart melting instantly at the thought of little Vamika. "Tell the Princess her Cha-chu is ready. 11 AM is perfect. Come over, spend the whole day. We'll do brunch and a late lunch."
"You're a lifesaver," Virat sounded genuinely relieved. "See you in a couple of hours. And Aarav?"
"Yeah?"
"Anushka is strictly vegetarian, and you know she converted me a long time ago. Keep the meat away from us today."
"Don't worry, Bhaiya. I'm making a mega vegetarian feast. See you."
Aarav hung up, instantly shifting gears from relaxed host to a general preparing for war. It was 9:00 AM. He had exactly two hours to prepare a multi-course vegetarian spread fit for cricket royalty and a Bollywood superstar.
He walked into the master bedroom. Shradha was sitting cross-legged on the bed, her medical books finally put away for the weekend, casually browsing through her iPad.
"Change of plans, Doctor," Aarav announced, pulling his hair back and looking for a hairband. "The Kohlis are arriving at 11 AM. Vamika is getting impatient."
Shradha's eyes widened. "11 AM?! But the dinner..."
"Is now a royal brunch and lunch," Aarav grinned, pulling on a sleek black apron over his t-shirt. "And I need a sous-chef. Report to the kitchen in five minutes."
"Me? In the kitchen?" Shradha looked genuinely terrified. "Aarav, last time I tried to help, I almost set off the fire alarm making toast."
"You won't be using fire," he promised. "Just washing and basic chopping. I'll handle the heavy artillery."
Ten minutes later, the massive, state-of-the-art kitchen was a flurry of organized chaos. Thanks to the
He had mentally drafted the menu in seconds, keeping Anushka's strict dietary preferences and Virat's fitness-conscious but foodie nature in mind. For the main course, he began prepping a rich, smoky Dal Makhani, a vibrant Palak Paneer, and a fragrant Vegetable Dum Biryani. For the sides, he prepared the dough for fresh Garlic Naans and Aloo Parathas.
But he didn't forget the most important guest. On a separate counter, he set up a Vamika-special station: tiny, heart-shaped mini-dosas, mashed sweet potatoes with a hint of cinnamon, and a mild, non-spicy paneer scramble.
Shradha stood at the island counter, wearing a matching apron that was entirely too big for her. Her task was simple: wash the vegetables and peel the potatoes.
"You are peeling that potato like it owes you money," Aarav chuckled, walking past her to check on the simmering tomatoes.
"I'm being precise!" Shradha defended herself, sticking her tongue out in concentration as she meticulously removed the skin with a peeler. "If I'm cooking for Virat Sir and Anushka Ma'am, I want these potatoes to look beautiful."
"They are going to be mashed into parathas, babe. They don't need to look beautiful," he laughed, leaning over and kissing her cheek. "But I appreciate the dedication."
"I just can't believe you are whipping up a five-star hotel buffet in two hours," she marveled, watching him expertly toss spices into a pan with a flick of his wrist. "You look like you belong on a cooking show."
"Wait till you taste the Biryani," Aarav smirked, adding a generous dollop of pure ghee to the pot. "Virat bhai is going to cheat on his diet today. I guarantee it."
Despite her lack of culinary skills, having Shradha in the kitchen made the chore feel like a date. They bumped hips as they moved around the island. She fed him slices of cucumber while his hands were messy with dough. They argued over the playlist Aarav wanting upbeat Punjabi tracks to match his cooking speed, while Shradha insisted on soft, acoustic melodies.
"Okay, taste this," Aarav said, holding a wooden spoon filled with the Palak Paneer gravy up to her mouth. He held his free hand under her chin to catch any drips.
Shradha blew on it gently and took a sip. Her eyes fluttered shut. "Oh my god. Aarav, that is heavenly. It's so creamy."
"Right balance of spices?"
"Perfect. You are a wizard," she praised, wiping her mouth. "What else do you need me to do?"
Aarav looked at the clock. It was 10:45 AM. The Biryani was on dum, the curries were simmering, the dough was resting, and the sweet aroma of the Gajar Ka Halwa he had quickly whipped up for dessert filled the mansion.
He untied his apron and threw it over a chair. He walked over to Shradha, untied hers, and pulled it over her head.
"Your shift is over, Sous-Chef," Aarav smiled, wrapping his arms around her waist. "You did great. Zero fire alarms."
"I am a natural," she boasted playfully, resting her arms on his shoulders.
Just as Aarav leaned down to kiss her, the grand double doors of the mansion echoed with a sharp, melodic chime. The doorbell.
Shradha's eyes widened, a sudden rush of nerves hitting her. "They're here."
"Relax," Aarav kissed her forehead soothingly. "They are family. Let's go welcome the King, the Queen, and the little Princess."
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Jaa Ne
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