The world saw them as paragons of success, their lives seemingly flawless. Aarohi, the CEO of one of Australia’s most prestigious law firms, was a force to be reckoned with in the corporate world. Sharp, ambitious, and eloquent, she had built an empire from scratch. She had wealth, influence, and a life that inspired envy. Yet, deep down, she carried a void that no achievement could fill.

For years, she had perfected the art of pretending. To her colleagues, clients, and friends, Aarohi was the epitome of confidence and happiness. But every evening, when the noise of the day settled and she was left alone in her sprawling penthouse, the truth crept in.

Her gaze often fell on the television screen, broadcasting cricket matches from around the world. She couldn’t bring herself to watch any game unless Shubman was playing. It wasn’t just about the sport anymore; cricket was Shubman for her. She didn’t know why she kept torturing herself by following his career, but it brought her a strange sense of peace. Knowing he was achieving his dreams, living the life he always wanted, gave her solace.

She thought about him often—too often. The memory of their last meeting in Bali still haunted her. She hadn’t wanted to leave that day. She had wanted to stay, to tell him everything, to confess how much she loved him. But she couldn’t. Aarohi loved him too much to hold him back, so she chose to let go. And in doing so, she left a piece of herself behind.

For the world, her life was perfect. Beyond perfect, perhaps. But the loneliness weighed heavily on her, and no one saw the cracks beneath her polished exterior. Every time someone casually mentioned cricket around her, a sharp pang of longing shot through her heart. She would force a smile, change the topic, and bury the ache. But it never really went away.

---

On the other side of the world, Shubman Gill was soaring to unprecedented heights in his cricketing career. At 28, he was a household name, celebrated as one of the greatest players of his generation. For the third consecutive year, he was named ICC Cricketer of the Year. His face was plastered on billboards, his name cheered in stadiums, his records etched in history.

But none of it mattered to him.

Shubman was hollow. The fame, the accolades, the applause—they all felt meaningless without her. Aarohi had been the one constant in his life, the person who had seen him for who he truly was before the world knew his name. Without her, he felt unmoored, lost in a sea of expectations and responsibilities.

He knew where she was—he had always kept tabs on her, discreetly, through mutual acquaintances and the occasional news article. She was thriving, just as he had always known she would. But he could never muster the courage to reach out. He was terrified that seeing her would shatter the fragile composure he clung to.

Abhishek and Ishan were the only ones who knew the truth about Aarohi. They had seen the shadow of her name in his eyes, the way he would start to say, "If Aaru had been here—" and then stop, his voice trailing into silence.

“You can’t keep living like this, bro,” Abhishek had told him once, exasperated. “You’re not living—you’re surviving.”

But Shubman couldn’t explain it. How could he move on when Aarohi had been the person who made him who he was? She had believed in him when no one else did, stood by him when he was just a quiet boy with big dreams. She was a part of him, and he couldn’t let her go, even if he tried.

---

In the quiet moments, when he was alone in his hotel room or sitting on the team bus, Shubman found himself clutching the small silver ring she had left behind. He carried it with him everywhere, a tangible reminder of her presence in his life. It was his talisman, his connection to her, the ghost of a girl who still haunted his heart.

He had zoned out during team dinners, during press conferences, even during matches at times. His teammates noticed but didn’t press him, though Abhishek and Ishan exchanged knowing looks. They could see how much he had changed over the years—more closed off, more reserved, his smiles never quite reaching his eyes.

“Why don’t you just go to her?” Ishan had asked one night, frustrated. “Tell her what you feel.”

Shubman had sighed, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple.”

“It is,” Ishan countered. “You’re making it complicated because you’re scared.”

Maybe he was scared. Scared of rejection, of facing the truth, of opening old wounds. But more than that, he was scared of the possibility that she had moved on, that she was truly happy without him.

---

Cowards, the both of them.

They couldn’t live with each other, but they couldn’t live without the thought of one another. Aarohi poured herself into her work, building a life that seemed perfect on the surface but felt empty inside. Shubman channeled his pain into his game, achieving greatness but finding no joy in it.

Two souls, bound by love yet separated by time, distance, and their own fears.

Perhaps fate would bring them together again. Or perhaps they would continue to drift, carrying the ghosts of what could have been.