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Chapter : 34

The longest chapter I have ever written, word count : 3.9k+
So please read it when you are free, Thank you 🎀

•••

•SHUBMAN GILL•

Hello people! missed me? Of course you did *flips imaginary hair* !!!!!

"Where am I?" is the first question that comes to my mind as soon as I open my eyes. My head feels dizzy, and my eyes are heavy. I look around and realize that I am in a hospital. I sense a presence and, looking there, I see Ishan sitting on a stool. His head rests on the bed, his eyes closed, his features tense.

I try to get up, but my commotion wakes him. As his face comes into full view, I can see the dark circles under his eyes.

In a hoarse voice, he says, "Sorry, I slept."

"Don't be sorry."

"How are you feeling now? Do you need anything?"

You.

"My head feels dizzy," I reply. He nods in understanding and hands me a water bottle, insisting me to drink it.

As I start drinking the water, I realize how dehydrated I am.

He leaves the room and re-enters after a few minutes with something in his hand.

"Here, have some food," he says, sitting on the stool.

"Salad," I scrunch my nose.

"Yeah, salad." He digs in the fork and holds it in front of my mouth. "Aaa," he says, and I open my mouth to take the bite. After I finish the whole salad, he sets the bowl aside.

"Here, take this med. They asked me to give it to you once you woke up."

I take the medicine from his hand and swallow it with water.

"Where is everyone?"

"They were here, but the hospital said that only one person is allowed to stay at night, so they had to leave."

"And you stayed." I whisper.

He tucks me under the covers, and before he can leave the room, I hold his wrist and scoot to one side of the bed, making some room for him to lie down.

He looks down at my hold and then at me. With my eye movements, I gesture for him to sleep beside me.

"You want me to sleep here?" he asks.

"Yeah."

"You won't be able to rest properly."

Who is going to tell him that having him beside me will be the best rest for me?

"Please," I say, giving him puppy eyes. He smiles a little before getting on the bed.

He drapes his arm around me as I snuggle closer to him, forgetting about everything for the moment.

The next time I open my eyes, I see everyone standing in the room, tension etched in their features. Ishan is sitting on the stool, looking somewhat better than he did last night. He must have taken a shower while I was asleep, as he's wearing different clothes.

They all start bombarding me with questions. - how am I, do I feel any pain, or do I remember anything. One by one, I answer them all.

Soon after I wake up, I'm discharged from the hospital. There was nothing serious in my system, just some intoxicating drugs that had knocked me out.

_____

We all sit down for breakfast, and Rohit bhaiya starts explaining how they have to do double practice as we have a match today. they missed two days of practice,  all thanks to me.

"Do you need therapy?" Shreyas asks out of nowhere.

"Therapy? Why?"

"Wasn't getting kidnapped a traumatizing experience?"

"It could have been, but it wasn't. While kidnapping me, they knocked me out with chloroform. When I woke up, I drank water from a bottle in the room, and I guess there was something in that too because I got knocked out again. Then, when everyone came to rescue me, I got knocked out once more."

"So it was basically a series of you getting knocked out with short intervals of consciousness." Kuldeep bhaiya retorts.

I snicker. "Yeah, we can say that."

Rohit, Virat, and Hardik bhaiya start scolding Ishan. At first, I can't understand why. But then, from their heated words, I realize they're scolding him because he entered the house to find me, even though the cops told everyone not to enter.

At first, it angers me that he did something so reckless. But then, it kind of makes me feel important - important to him.

_____

In the evening, the match starts, and I’m watching it on TV. Nia and Darshan are with me in the room, watching it too, because I asked them to stay.

New Zealand makes 213 runs, and while chasing the score, Ishan makes a century. The three of us clap for him in the room.

But then, in a moment that takes my breath away, Ishan does something unexpected. Just after completing his century, he bows down with his helmet in hand - exactly how I celebrate my centuries. I just stare at the screen, a warmth spreading across my chest as I realize he has dedicated his century to me. This gesture is so personal that it leaves me feeling overwhelmed.

From the corner of my eye I can see Nia smiling at me . She must be thinking that her ship is sailing, but who is going to tell her that her ship has sunken and resting at the bottom of the ocean?

But why did he do that? Why did he dedicate his achievement to me? He shouldn’t have done that, he should have dedicated it to his girlfriend, not to me.

When the team returns, I can hardly meet them as they are swarmed by fans outside the hotel.

_____

I enter our shared room only to find him packing his things because we have to leave tomorrow. I stare at the distance between the TV and the bed, the very spot where his girlfriend proposed to him, and he accepted the proposal.

The sadness comes rushing back.

I fold my arms and just stare at him. How did I let the idea of "us" get into my head when I knew there would be no "us"? How could there be? You don't get lucky enough for the person you love to start reciprocating your feelings.

Maybe if I hadn't witnessed it that day, if I hadn't known he belongs to someone else, then just maybe, my heart wouldn't shatter into a million pieces every time I think of what we could have been.

He turns in my direction, acknowledging my presence with a small smile. "I'll pack your stuff once I'm done with mine," he says, then resumes his work, his back to me.

"No need," I reply, my voice sharper than I intended. He pauses and turns to face me again, surprise flickering in his eyes. "I'll do it myself," I add, trying to keep the quiver out of my voice. I hate speaking to him like this, but I have to. I can't let his gestures give me any more false hope.

He stops what he's doing and walks towards me, concern evident on his face. "You okay?" he asks gently. I just nod a little and sit down on the edge of the bed.

He walks to the side and opens a drawer, taking out a small first aid box and placing it beside me.

"What are you doing?" I inquire.
He sits before me on the ground and points to my bicep, lifting the sleeve of my tee slightly to reveal a bandage. "You got a cut there somehow. The bandage needs changing,"  he explains softly. His fingers brush against my skin as he starts to remove the bandage, and I flinch at the contact.

He notices my reaction and looks into my eyes, his expression unreadable, but I can sense the hurt in his eyes. But why would he be hurt?

We hold each other's gaze for a lingering moment, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I can't cry. I can't cry in front of him. NOT IN FRONT OF HIM. I look away, blinking rapidly.

He carefully removes the bandage, revealing a horizontal cut. He begins cleaning the old medicine off with careful movements, not wanting to cause me any more pain. The irony is almost unbearable – after hurting me so deeply emotionally, here he is, being so careful not to hurt me physically. But can I blame him for all of it?

His touch is tender as he applies fresh medicine to the cut, and I fight desperately to keep the tears at bay.

He looks at me again, this time with a hint of curiosity in his voice. "Can I ask you something?" his voice is even and low.

I hum in response.

He carefully wraps the new bandage, his fingers gentle. "When they were checking the CCTV footage of you leaving the hotel that evening," he begins, his voice trailing off. He pauses, as if searching for the right words. "You looked so... lost and sad. What happened?"

The emotions I had fought so hard to bury surge up, threatening to spill over. I bite my lip, desperately trying to hold back the tears that are dangerously close to the surface.

"I saw something," I murmur, my eyes fixed on the floor, unable to meet his gaze. "Something that broke me."

Even without looking, I can sense his confusion and concern. His brow furrows, and he reaches out to touch my face. "Shubman," he says softly, but before his hand can make contact, I stand up abruptly. it's too much to handle, the emotions and the overwhelming urge to cry.

My sudden movement throws me off balance, and I nearly stumble. He grabs my hand, steadying me with a firm grip.

••

He removes my hand a bit harshly, and with hurt in his voice, he says, "You shouldn't do this." His voice almost breaks as he adds, "Someone will not like it."

I blink, trying to grasp what he is trying to say.
I shouldn't do what?
Who will not like it?

But before I can ask any of these questions, he leaves the room hastily. I call out his name, but he doesn't stop.

He was fine today, everything was good. So why this sudden change in behavior? And why did he say that he saw something that day which hurt him?

I try to recall the events of that day. He was avoiding me, and we didn’t talk. Aanya visited me, and--
nothing significant stood out. What could have possibly hurt him? And who is this "someone" he mentioned?

Then something strikes me. I retrieve my phone from the side table and check my call logs. I remember calling him when Aanya was with me, but he didn’t pick up. And that footage - it was around the same time.

Still, the pieces don’t fit. Could seeing me with Aanya have hurt him so deeply? But she is like a sister to me. It makes no sense. Even if he had felt jealous, it wouldn’t have broken his heart like this.

Then it hits me, a realization that makes my stomach drop. Did he see Aanya imitating her proposal? Did he think she was proposing to me?

I facepalm, the absurdity of the situation sinking in. He has completely misunderstood.

••


I burst out of the room, wiping my tears dramatically. After a few steps, my sadness morphs into dread as I sense someone following me. It’s definitely not Ishan. I stop dead in my tracks, and whoever is behind me stops too.

Am I getting kidnapped again?

I start walking faster, and the footsteps quicken to match my pace, coming closer and closer. Now he’s right behind me. I whirl around and scream at the top of my lungs. To my surprise, he screams too, his voice as high-pitched as mine.

I stop screaming and take a good look at him. He’s younger and taller than me and dressed in a black suit.

"Who are you?" I demand.

"Your bodyguard," he replies, looking just as confused as I am.

"My bodyguard?" I furrow my brows. "But I didn't hire anyone."

"Your manager did," he says matter-of-factly.

"What?"

"Yes."

I give him another once-over. "Why are you wearing sunglasses at night?"

"For the vibes," he says, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. I narrow my eyes at him, shaking my head. I’m supposed to be sad right now, not arguing with this weirdo my manager hired without my knowledge.

As I start walking again, he resumes tailing me. I turn around once more. "Can you please stop following me?"

"I can't. Following you around is my job."

"But we’re in a hotel. What could possibly go wrong?" I ask, exasperated.

"A lot, apparently," he replies with deadly seriousness.

I sigh deeply. "Look, I get that it's your job to protect me, but I really want to be alone right now."

"But....." he starts to argue.

"Please," I plead.

He nods in understanding, finally.

"Thank you," I say, walking away. Thankfully, he doesn't follow.

I find a quiet spot near the swimming pool, leaning on the railing and gazing at the city below. My sadness begins to engulf me again. Then I hear a familiar, breathless voice shouting my name. I turn around.

There Ishan is, holding his knees and gasping for breath.

••

He turns around, and I stand up straight, taking a few steps toward him. "What broke your heart?" I ask directly, coming to the point.

He leans back on the railing, his expression distant. "Telling you won't make any difference," he replies.

I am not going to entertain this stubbornness of his.

"I am asking again, Shubman," there is an edge in my voice, "what broke your heart? Tell me right now."

He keeps his silence.

"Did you see something in our room that broke your heart?" I press. He looks amused that I guessed it right.

"Shubman, how much more dumb can you get?" I continue. He keeps looking at me with those hurt-filled eyes, and it pains me now.

"She isn't my girlfriend," I say, watching as his expression shifts from confusion to a glimmer of hope, only to fall back into sadness. "Yeah, she's your fiancée now."

Tell me again how I fell for him?

"No, you're getting it all wrong," I say, shaking my head. "She's like a sister to me. That day, she was just telling me how she got proposed to by her boyfriend."

His brows furrow, and for a moment, he seems to relax, his hands falling to his sides. "Really?" he asks skeptically.

"Wait, let me call her." I whip out my phone from my jeans pocket and dial Aanya’s number. She picks up on the second ring, and I put the phone on speaker.

"Hello," she greets cheerfully.

"Hello, Aanya! How are you and how’s your fiancé?"

"I’m good, and he’s also fine. But why are you suddenly asking this?"

"And that day you came to visit me, and you also told me how you got proposed to..."

"Yeah, but why are you asking this?" she asks, clearly confused.

"Nothing, Aanya, just some people are too dumb to understand anything."

"Huh?"

"Bye, Aanya. I’ll talk to you later. Don’t forget to invite me to your wedding."

"And you better not forget to bring your boyfriend!"

"Sure," I say, cutting the call.

He looks at me, somewhere between guilty and relieved. "I totally misinterpreted the whole situation," he admits, staring at his feet.

"You didn’t only misinterpret the situation, you decided to not communicate with me at all and turned into devdas without even letting me tell you my feelings." At this, he looks up, something flickering in his eyes - maybe hope.

"Your feelings?" he asks, blinking.

"I love you," I finally voice out my feelings, the words feeling strange on my lips, but at the same time, saying them for him makes those words so worth it.

As my words register in his brain, his features relax a bit, but then his expression changes again, as if he can't quite believe me.

And then he start spewing some bullshit.

"May be it's your sympathy speaking," he says, his voice trembling. "You got to know about my feelings that day, and  you felt guilty. You know that not reciprocating my love would hurt me, so you mistake your sympathy for love."

He look as if he is in some kind of daze, possibly still under the influence of the drugs, or maybe it is just his sadness. But why can't he believe that someone can love him?

"It's okay, Ishan, you don't have to--"
At this point he is just rambling, his words not making much sense, but his lip, his lips looks irresistibly kissable right now.

So I cut him off abruptly, "Can I kiss you?" I ask in one breath.

He blinks, taken aback. "Huh?" His eyes narrowed in confusion. He did hear me but he is having a hard time processing what he just heard.

I had enough, I can't take it any longer. I grab him by the fabric of his tee, pulling him close, my intense gaze locks on his. "You know what? Fuck consent," I say fiercely.

With those words, I pressed my lips to his. At first, he is too shocked to respond, but then, realising what is actually happening, realising that he is being kissed, kissed by me --  he begin to kiss me back. My hand still clutching the fabric of his tee, while the other cupping his face. The kiss is fiery, sloppy, hot, and messy, so different from our first kiss, which had been slow, tender, and sweet.

And when we finally break the kiss to catch our breath, he looks too stunned, too abashed, as if he couldn't believe what had just happened.

I cup his face, forcing him to look into my eyes. "Shubman, there is no sympathy," I assure him, softly. He nods slowly, trying to grasp whatever I am saying. He looks so confused.

Ah, he is so dumb and cute. But he is my dumb and my cute, so it's okay.

He points a finger at my chest. "So you..." he begins, then points it toward himself, "love me?"

"Yessss," I say, nodding aggressively because nothing got through that thick skull of his.

"Why?" he questions, his expressions are dead serious.

Okay, time to give a monologue. I took a deep breath and begin to answer his "why."

I begin, "I don't love you out of sympathy, Shubman. No one can love someone because they feel sympathetic toward them."

He looks at me, confused, as I continue, "I don't love you because you love me. I don't love you because I think you're cute or endearing. I don't love you because of your height or your dimples."

I take a deep breath, my voice thick with emotions. "I love you, and there is no 'because.' I love your sleepy voice, your tousled hair. I love you when you hit a century and I love you when you get out on zero. I love you when life is easy, and I will love you when life gets hard. I want to love you even on your weakest days. I want to cheer you up when nothing seems to go right. I want to know your scars, your pain, and your favorite dessert. I want to know the brand you love to wear."

I pause, searching his face for understanding. "Just because I choose to be subtle and not obvious like you, it doesn't mean my love is any less. I know I messed up when I didn't voice my feelings that night, but I don't want to repeat that again. Because now I know nothing gets into that thick brain of yours unless it's said out loud."

"That's very offensive," he says, a hint of relief and amusement in his eyes.

"And it's true," I reply, my tone lightening.

"Agree," he smiles, and damn his smile,the softening of his eyes.

"You called me a ball of sunshine in your confession," I says, and his smile turns sheepish.

"But for me, you are an annoying ball of sunshine that I want in my life forever," I conclude while my fingers gently caressing his face.

He stares at me for a few moments, absorbing everything I've said. Then, with a soft, earnest voice, he asks, "Can I kiss you, Ishan?"

I smile and nod, my heart swelling with love. He closes the distance between us, leaning in. His kiss is sweet and slow, and I let myself melt into the moment, savoring every second.

When the kiss ends, I see tears streaming down his face. "Shubman," I call his name lovingly, gently wiping away his tears.

He hugs me as tightly as he can, as if afraid I'll disappear. "I can't believe it," he says, his voice shaky. "I can't believe you love me."

I draw soothing circles on his back. "I do, maybe even more than you," I say with a teasing edge in my tone.

Instantly, he lets go of me, looking straight into my eyes. "That's debatable," he counters, a spark of challenge in his gaze.

"Let's debate then," I whisper, capturing his lips again. He happily complies, and we lose ourselves in the kiss once more.

SHUBMAN GILL•

After countless sessions of kissing and hugging, and then some more kissing and hugging, I find myself lying down with my head on his lap. His back is pressed against the railing as we both gaze up at the sky. There are stars are that are twinkling, there is moon that is casting a glow over us, and there is   serenity of the moment.

We remain like that for a long time, basking in the peaceful silence. Though silence between us has never been uncomfortable, tonight it feels especially tranquil.

My insides still flutter from all that has happened between us—the confession, the kiss. It's still unbelievable to me that he reciprocates my feelings, but if I voice this again, I might just earn a punch or two from him.

He looks at me, his eyes warm with love, his lips curled into an endearing smile, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks. I place a hand on the back of his neck, pulling his face closer to mine. He complies happily, I tilt my head and our lips touch again, spreading warmth through my chest. We kiss slow and deep, a kiss full of love and tenderness.

When the kiss breaks, he lifts his head slightly to look into my eyes, those eyes I would never hesitate to drown in. His dark brown orbs hold a love meant for me and me alone. And this feeling can't be explained in words.

He pecks my lips before sitting up straight again and starts running his fingers through my hair, and I close my eyes, savoring the sensation.

"You know what?" he says, breaking the peaceful silence. I look up at him, curious. "I am not a pedophile," he finishes, leaving me bewildered.

"Uhmm, why this random fact?" I ask, arching an eyebrow.

His smile slowly turns into a mischievous grin. "Then how would you explain me falling for you?"

He chuckles softly, and I roll my eyes at him. Turning completely towards him, I snuggle closer, wrapping both my arms around his waist.

The night breeze feels cooler, the moon looks more beautiful, the air feels fresher, and the world seems more beautiful now that I have him all to myself.

~~~


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