•SHUBMAN GILL•

"It's Shubman," I correct him again.

"Yeah, yeah, Shubham... and I agree to be his fake boyfriend... and... then you know what happened?"

"What?" I ask, fully aware of what actually happened after that.

"Then someone pub.......lishes an......artisal (article) saying that we are dancing (dating) ........for real." The alcohol is working its way as his speech becomes more slurred. But what baffles me is that he remembers all this but doesn't remember that I am the one he is talking about right now.

"And this.....sab....nam....He didn't even bother to oppose the idea of fake dasing...I mean how can he agree to it that easily-
I literally have to abandon my best friend for all this, aaarhhhh I was having a great vacation" I didn't bother to correct my name this time, and let him Butcher it mercilessly.
He is literally whining like a five year old kid, this is what alcohol does to you.

He is sitting quite close to me, moving his head left and right as if he wants to find a comfortable position.

"And now........ we have to pretend..... as boy.......friends," he says, finally resting his head on my shoulder.

"And you are not okay with that?" I ask, nudging him a little.

He moves his head to look me in the eyes. "How.....do.... you ......know? Are you......psyco-"

"You mean psychic?"

He just hums in response.

"I just know." I reply, shrugging my shoulders.

He leans on my shoulder again and snuggles a little closer to me this time because the night winds are quite chilly.

After a moment, he asks, "Wait, who are you?" He jolts away, trying to sit straight.

"Ummm, I am Shubman."

"Shubman? You are Shubman too?"

"I guess so."

Now what Ishan is doing takes me by surprise; he cups my face and moves it left and right, squinting his eyes to get a better look.

"You are my, oh my, you are my boyfriend... uh, fake one," he asks, still cupping my face.

Instead of saying anything, I just nod my head slightly. He let go of my face and whispers,"Oooooopssss I just bad mouthed about you infront of you.....hihihi" and covers his mouth trying to  muffle his laugh.

And all of a sudden his expression becomes serious, "you.... know it's sooooooooooo........ wrong," and loses the last bit of consciousness he had.

Now I am sitting in the garden in the middle of the night with a drunk Ishan sleeping by my side, using my shoulder as support.

Life has been giving me surprises lately. I thought I'd be able to talk to Ishan, apologize to him, and make him understand. I indeed talked to Ishan, but a drunk one.

As I carry him to his room and lay him on the bed, and cover him with a blanket, he stirs in his sleep, saying something incoherent, and...

"OWWWWWHHHHHHH WHAT THE ACTUAL-............"

Have you ever heard of being manhandled by a drunk sleeping person? Well, that just happened to me. Ishan literally pulled my hand so hard that my forehead slammed against the wall behind.

I rub my forehead gently as it is paining a little and notice that Ishan is still holding my wrist while snoring lightly.

I try to remove my hand from his grasp, but he just makes some grunting sound in his sleep and tightens his hold.

WHAT THE HELL DOES HE WANT... ARGHHH LET ME SLEEP IN MY ROOM PEACEFULLY. WHEN I SAID YES TO TAKE HIM TO HIS ROOM, I DIDN'T SIGN UP FOR THIS.

With a lot of effort and struggle, I somehow manage to make some space for myself in the bed. He is still holding my hand.

I am trying to sleep, but the physical closeness between Ishan and me is kinda distracting. I don't sleep with anyone or share rooms with anyone. But here I am trying to sleep in a small space, my hand in Ishan's grip.

I notice his face, covered in shades of pink and red, his hair disheveled, his soft curls covering his forehead and his lips making a cute pout... Did I just say CUTE?

---

As I open my eyes, adjusting to the brightness, the memories of last night flood back. The last thing I remember before completely drifting to sleep is someone hugging me.

And that someone is none other than my fake boyfriend, Ishan Kishan.

Ishan Kishan se yaad aaya -- Where is he? I look around, but there's no sign of him in the room... he might have woken up early.

As I make my way towards the bathroom, I notice him lying on the floor, the blanket tangled around his leg. The bed is quite big, so how on earth did he end up there? His party clothes are all crumpled now, as if mine are any better.

When I come out after taking a shower, he is still lying in the same position.

"Ishan... Ishan... wake up."

No response.

I shake his shoulders a little.

Again No response.

"Please wake up," I say, closing off his nostrils.

"Ouch... owhh... Oowhhhh." A punch lands on my nose, not so subtly, by none other than your favorite Ishan Kishan. Tell me he din't intentionally do that because there's no way he hit me twice in his sleeping state.

And now he is finally awake, holding his head, unaware of the pain he just caused me.

"Aahhh, my head is spinning," he says hoarsely, his face morphing into an unpleasant expression.

And you just spun my nose. What about that? Huh?

"This hurts so bad," he says, pressing his head between his fingers. He is definitely having a bad hangover.

~~~

RCB WON THE WPL FINAL🥺❤️