Shobhana's POV 

I was hunched over my laptop at the edge of the practice ground, transferring photos from my camera. The transfer bar crawled at a snail's pace, and I drummed my fingers against the table, muttering under my breath. 

Finally, when the screen announced "Data Transfer Complete," I saved everything and shut my laptop with a dramatic flourish as if I'd just finished editing a Hollywood blockbuster.

I glanced at my watch. 5:30 p.m. Freedom! I stretched out my legs across the chair in front of me, closing my eyes for what felt like five seconds.

"Tap-tap."

I cracked one eye open and squinted at my shoe. Someone was tapping it. Someone annoyingly persistent. Slowly, my gaze travelled up to see... Oh no. Oh yes. Shubman Gill.

He stood there, a smirk plastered across his face, hands tucked casually into his track pants like he was starring in a sportswear ad. 

His hair was perfectly tousled, his hoodie clinging to him like it had been hand-sewn by angels.

"Hey," he said, all dimples and charm.

"Hey," I croaked back, trying not to sound like a frog that had been hit by a cricket ball (again). I stumbled upright, yanking my bag onto my shoulder.

"Let's grab some coffee?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Uh, yeah. Sure!" My brain screamed, ACT COOL!

As we walked toward the exit, I eyed his outfit. He was rocking the ultimate post-practice look: a sleek black hoodie over grey joggers, paired with clean white sneakers that somehow looked too perfect for someone who'd just finished sweating it out on the field.

I, on the other hand, looked like a hurricane survivor. My maroon blazer was crumpled, my white shirt had a tiny suspicious coffee stain (courtesy of the morning's chaos), and my ponytail was threatening to rebel entirely. 

A mess. A certified mess.

We reached the parking lot, chatting about random things like caffeine addictions and weird fan encounters.

"Hey, are you by any chance related to Shahneel Gill?" I asked as casually as I could, while also silently praying I hadn't just sounded creepy.

"Yeah, she's my sister. How do you know her?"

"Oh, we met in a class once!" I replied, leaving out the part where I totally fangirled over her impeccable Insta aesthetic.

"I know this cool café nearby. Wanna go there?" he asked, steering me toward his car—a black Range Rover that looked like it ate poor people for breakfast.

"Sure!" I chirped, trying not to compare my rented Mercedes to his luxury behemoth.

Inside the café, I half-expected a horde of fans to pop out and mob him, but to my surprise, it was blissfully empty. 

A mix of soft lighting and indie music filled the air. How does this guy always find places that look like Instagram filters in real life?

"What do you want? I'll order," he offered, leaning casually against the counter.

"Just a regular hot coffee, thanks." I smiled before plopping down at a table and pulling out my phone.

Me to Shahneel Di:
You didn't tell me you had a brother.
HE IS SO PRETTY I CANNOT DEAL.
AHHHHH.

Shubman returned with two steaming cups and sat down, sliding mine toward me. "So," he said, leaning forward, "tell me about yourself."

I resisted the urge to choke on my coffee. Shubman Gill wants to know about me? Is this real life?

"Okay, um, I'm Shobhana Kumar. I'm 19. I have an older brother named Sundar, and my best friend is Kriti." I paused, fidgeting with my cup. "Your turn."

He grinned. "Same age as you. I'm Shubman Gill, obviously. I've got an older sister, a tight group of friends, and cricket is... kind of my whole life."

"When's your birthday?" he asked, sipping his coffee like a model in a commercial.

"December 13. You?"

"September 8."

Before I could say something clever (or embarrassingly dumb), a voice interrupted.

"Did we just crash your date?"

I turned to see Ishan Kishan and Kriti standing there. Kriti looked as smug as a cat that had just caught a mouse. 

Ishan, meanwhile, was grinning like he'd just caught someone in the act of committing high treason.

"Ishan, my man!" Shubman exclaimed, jumping up to pull him into a bro hug. Meanwhile, Kriti plopped into the seat next to me and gave me a what-the-hell-is-happening-here look.

"This is Ishan," Shubman introduced, gesturing at him like he was showing off a prize. "Ishan, this is Shobhana."

"Nice to meet you," I said, shaking his hand.

Ishan leaned over and whispered something to Shubman that made the boy flush bright red.

"What? No!" Shubman hissed, looking mortified.

Me:

Your brother is ridiculous.

Shahneel Di:
Hehe.
So you met him.
And you think he's pretty? 😏😏😏

Me:
STOP.

"It's getting late," Kriti announced, standing up and dragging Ishan with her.

Shubman lingered behind as we left the café. "Hey," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "Would it be okay if I got your number?"

I smirked. "Here," I said, handing him my phone. He quickly entered his number before handing it back, looking way too pleased with himself.

Back at the hotel, Kriti and Ishan bolted ahead, leaving Shubman and me alone at the elevator.

When we reached the 8th floor, it hit me. "Wait—your room is next to mine?"

"Looks like it," he said, grinning.

"Great. So now I can hear your midnight cricket theories," I teased.

"Goodnight, Shobi," he said softly, his dimples flashing in the hallway light.

"Goodnight, Shub," I replied, stepping into my room and shutting the door.

And then promptly throwing myself onto the bed like a giddy idiot. What. A. Day.