requested by taylrsdaughter! hope you like it <3

Supraja was the kind of girl who could tell you Rohit Sharma's batting average in the last five ODIs but would blank out when asked her own blood group. Cricket was her language, her comfort zone, her way of understanding the world. It had been for as long as she could remember.

But being a cricket enthusiast— scratch that, borderline expert— had its downsides. Her cousins called her "the commentary box," a title she wore proudly until she realized it wasn't meant as a compliment. People often told her she was "too much"— too loud, too excited, too... Supraja.

She had learned to laugh it off, masking the sting with quick jokes and exaggerated eye-rolls. But deep down, she wished someone would see past her volume and into her heart.

Supraja had always imagined her graduation day as the dawn of her independent life— a life of exploring career options, cheering for the Indian cricket team during every match, and daydreaming about meeting her ultimate crush, Shubman Gill, in some magical, once-in-a-lifetime way.

What she hadn't imagined was her parents announcing, less than a week after she'd collected her degree, that she was getting married.

Supraja had barely submitted her graduation project before her parents had dropped the bombshell. It wasn't a casual mention over chai or a passing comment while watching TV. No, it was a full-blown announcement, complete with both her parents sitting across from her in the living room, their expressions far too serious for her comfort.

"You're getting married." her father said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Supraja stared at him, her mouth hanging open. For a moment, she wondered if she'd fallen asleep at her desk again, and this was some bizarre stress dream. "I'm sorry— what?!"

Her mother sighed, leaning forward. "We've found a good match for you. His family and ours have known each other for years."

"Match?" Supraja repeated, blinking rapidly. "What is this, the 1800s? I just graduated yesterday! Can I, I don't know, get a job first? Maybe figure out my life before you marry me off?"

"You'll figure it out together." her father said firmly.

Supraja pressed her palms to her forehead, trying to make sense of it all. "Do I even get a say in this?"

"You'll meet him first, of course. If you really don't like him, we can talk about it. But trust us, Supraja. He's a good man. You'll love him." Her mother said confidently, placing a steaming cup of chai in front of her at the breakfast table.

Supraja stared at the cup like it had personally betrayed her. "Love him? I don't even know him!"

"Love comes with time, Supraja." her father chimed in from behind his own cup of chai, as though this was the most normal thing in the world.

Supraja sighed dramatically, flopping back in her chair. "Can't I at least have a few years to live my life first? Get a job, see the world—"

Her mother clicked her tongue. "There's plenty of time for all that after marriage. And it's not like we're marrying you off to some random stranger. He is a respectable man, and his family has been close to ours for years."

That didn't make her feel any better. "What's his name?" she asked, her voice laced with suspicion.

Her parents exchanged a look, and her father cleared his throat. "Shubman Gill."

The name hit her like a thunderbolt. Shubman Gill? The Shubman Gill? The Indian cricket team's star batter, the man whose posters still adorned the walls of her childhood bedroom, the celebrity crush she'd spent years swooning over from afar?

"Are you joking?" she asked, half-laughing, half-panicking.

Her mother shook her head, smiling calmly. "No joke. His family approached us, and we thought it was a good idea. You love cricket, don't you? You two will have plenty in common."

Supraja let out a strangled laugh. "Yeah, because mutual cricket obsession is definitely enough to build a marriage on."

The meeting was set for the following Sunday, and Supraja spent the next few days alternating between outright panic and numb disbelief. She'd tried Googling Shubman Gill to remind herself he was just a regular human being and not some unattainable demigod, but every image of his sharp jawline and confident smile only made her anxiety worse.

When Sunday arrived, she found herself in her room, glaring at the salwar kameez her mother had picked out for her. "You'll look lovely," her mother had said, but all Supraja could think about was how much she hated the color.

By the time the doorbell rang, Supraja was ready to crawl under her bed and hide. But her mother called her name, and she had no choice but to take a deep breath, plaster on a polite smile, and walk out to meet her fate.

Her father opened the door, and there he was—Shubman Gill in the flesh next to his parents. Dressed casually in a crisp white shirt and jeans, he looked effortlessly handsome, his confident smile lighting up the room. Supraja felt her stomach flip, and she cursed herself for reacting like one of the fangirls she always mocked online.

"Uncle, Aunty." Shubman greeted her parents warmly before turning to her. His sharp brown eyes locked onto hers, and he gave her a polite nod. "Supraja."

She opened her mouth to respond but found herself at a complete loss for words. Say something, Soup! Say literally anything!

"Supraja... you okay?" Shubman asked, his voice smooth and genuine.

"Soup." she corrected automatically, then immediately regretted it. "I mean... everyone calls me Soup."

Shubman's lips quirked upward in an amused smile. "Soup, then."

Supraja felt her cheeks heat up and quickly averted her gaze. Of all the moments to blurt out her ridiculous nickname, why did it have to be now?

"Why don't we take a walk?" Shubman suggested, standing up.

Her mother, who had been eavesdropping shamelessly, beamed. "Yes, yes! Go and talk!"

Before Supraja could protest, her mother was already ushering them toward the door. She groaned internally but followed Shubman outside, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the garden.

They reached the garden, the late afternoon sun casting a golden glow over the flowers. Supraja took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves.

"Sp." she began awkwardly, "you're... okay with this? The whole arranged marriage thing?"

Shubman shrugged, leaning casually against a tree. "It's not how I imagined my life going, but I trust my parents. And honestly... I don't mind getting to know you."

Supraja blinked, caught off guard by his candidness. "You're really okay with marrying someone you barely know?"

He tilted his head, studying her. "Are you?"

She hesitated, not sure how to answer. "I... I guess I don't have much of a choice."

"That's not a great start, is it?" Shubman said, his tone light but his gaze serious.

Supraja bit her lip, suddenly feeling very small under his scrutiny. "I just... I don't know how to do this. Be someone's wife, I mean. I've never even been in a relationship before."

Her admission hung in the air, and for a moment, she regretted saying it. But Shubman didn't laugh or tease her. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully.

"Then we'll figure it out together." he said simply.

His words were so calm, so steady, that they settled the whirlwind in her chest. For the first time since this whole ordeal began, she felt a flicker of hope.

"Do you even have time for this?" Supraja asked, trying to lighten the mood. "You're kind of, you know, busy being a cricket star."

Shubman smirked. "I'll make time. Besides, you're cricket-obsessed, right? At least we'll have that in common."

Supraja laughed, the sound bubbling out of her before she could stop it. "Obsessed is a strong word."

Shubman's gaze softened at the sound, an emotion shining in his eyes that Supraja couldn't quite place. "You literally have a Twitter account dedicated to cricket memes." he pointed out, raising an eyebrow.

She gaped at him. "How do you know about that?!"

His smirk grew wider. "Let's just say I did my homework."

Supraja groaned, covering her face again. "This is so embarrassing."

"Relax." Shubman said, his voice soft. "It's nice. You're... passionate. That's a good thing."

She peeked at him through her fingers, surprised to find that he seemed genuinely sincere.

As they continued talking, Supraja found herself relaxing bit by bit. Shubman was easy to talk to— charming without being overbearing, confident without being cocky. Just... perfect. And him being her longtime celebrity crush didn't help. Not one bit.

Over the next hour, they talked about everything from favorite movies to embarrassing childhood stories. Supraja learned that Shubman had a soft spot for mangoes. Shubman, in turn, learned that Supraja had once skipped school to watch an India-Pakistan match and had a secret talent for mimicry.

By the time they returned to the living room, she realized with a start that she wasn't dreading the idea of marrying him as much as she had before.

"Well?" her mother asked, her eyes darting between them.

Supraja glanced at Shubman, who gave her a small, reassuring nod. She took a deep breath and said, "I think... we can give it a try."

Her parents beamed, and Supraja felt a strange mix of nerves and excitement settle in her chest.

As Shubman left that evening, he turned to her one last time. "See you soon, Soup."

A few days later, Supraja received her first text from Shubman.

Shubman: Hey. Hope you're surviving all the wedding prep.

She stared at her phone, unsure how to respond. After a few false starts, she settled on:

Supraja: Barely. How about you?

His reply came instantly.

Shubman: Same. My mom's been trying to teach me how to tie a turban for the ceremony. It's... not going well.

Supraja laughed out loud, imagining him struggling with yards of fabric. She typed back:

Supraja: I can barely drape a sari, so we're in the same boat.

From there, the conversation flowed surprisingly easily. They talked about everything—the chaos of wedding planning, their favorite foods, and, of course, cricket. Supraja learned that Shubman had a soft spot for biryani and an encyclopedic knowledge of bowling techniques.

"What's your favorite cricket memory?" he asked one night.

"2011 World Cup," she replied without hesitation. "I was in eighth grade. My dad let me stay up to watch the final, and when Dhoni hit that six... I screamed so loud the neighbors complained."

Shubman laughed. "I was there, you know. Not on the team, obviously, but in the stands. It was unreal."

Supraja felt a pang of envy. "You were actually there? That's amazing."

"Yeah," he said. "But I think your story's better. It's pure."

The compliment caught her off guard. People rarely described her enthusiasm as "pure." Usually, they called it "excessive" or "too much."

As the weeks passed, their conversations became a constant in Supraja's life. Shubman wasn't what she'd expected— not just a famous cricketer, but a thoughtful, funny, and occasionally self-deprecating guy who made her feel like she could be herself.

He didn't just tolerate her love for cricket; he shared it. When she sent him long messages dissecting match strategies, he didn't roll his eyes or change the subject. He engaged.

Supraja: I still think India should've played an extra spinner in that match.

Shubman: Agreed. I told the coach the same thing, but he didn't listen.

Her fingers froze over the keyboard.

Supraja: Wait... you actually told the coach?

Shubman: Of course. Your analysis was spot-on.

Supraja stared at her phone, her heart doing somersaults. Shubman Gill— a cricketer she'd idolized— valued her opinion.

Despite their growing camaraderie, Supraja's insecurities lingered. She had always felt like a supporting character in her own life—a little too loud, a little too awkward, a little too much. How could someone like her possibly fit into Shubman's world?

The doubts gnawed at her, especially during family gatherings where her aunties couldn't stop gushing about Shubman's fame.

"You're so lucky," one of them said, practically swooning. "He could have anyone, and he's marrying you!"

The words stung, even though they weren't meant to hurt.

Supraja forced a smile, retreating to a quiet corner of the house. She pulled out her phone and texted Shubman before she could second-guess herself.

Supraja: Do you ever feel like people only see the idea of you?

He replied almost immediately.
Shubman: All the time. Why?

She hesitated, then typed:
Supraja: I guess I just feel... out of my depth. Like I don't belong in your world.

There was a pause, then his name flashed on her screen. He was calling her. She took a deep breath before picking up. "Supraja." Shubman said gently. "You don't have to change yourself to fit into my world. If anything, I think you'll make it better."

The sincerity in his voice left her momentarily speechless. "You mean that?" Supraja asked quietly.

"Of course." he said. "Besides, I could use someone who'll keep me humble. And if you're as loud as you apparently say, I think you're perfect for the job."

One evening, Shubman called her out of the blue. "Hey." he said. "What's your plan for tomorrow?"

"Uh, nothing much." Supraja replied, caught off guard.

"Good." he said. "Because I need a break from wedding stuff, and I thought you might too. How about we grab a coffee? Just the two of us."

Supraja hesitated, her heart racing. "You want to... go out? With me?"

"Why not?" Shubman said lightly. "We're getting married, aren't we? Might as well get to know each other properly."

The casual confidence in his tone made her smile. "Okay. Coffee sounds good."

The coffee date turned out to be one of the most unexpectedly fun evenings of her life. They met at a quiet café tucked away from the city's hustle. Supraja arrived early, fidgeting with her watch and mentally coaching herself to stay cool. When Shubman walked in, wearing a simple white shirt and jeans, he looked more like a regular guy than a celebrity.

"Sorry I'm late." he said, flashing her an apologetic smile.

"You're not late." she said quickly.

They ordered their drinks and settled into a corner table. At first, the conversation was polite—updates about the wedding, comments about the weather. But soon, they fell into their usual rhythm, talking and laughing as if they'd known each other for years.

"You know..." Shubman said at one point, "I wasn't sure what to expect when our families set this up. But I'm glad it's you."

Supraja blinked, caught off guard. "Me? What do you mean?"

"I don't know exactly. There's just something about you that makes you, well... you. I like that."

Supraja turned to her glass of water, trying to hide her flushed cheeks as Shubman started narrating about how Ishan had annoyed him at practice that day.

Their growing connection didn't go unnoticed. At the next family gathering, Supraja caught Shubman watching her from across the room. He wasn't subtle about it, either—his gaze lingered, his lips curving into a small smile whenever their eyes met.

It sent her heart into a tailspin.

Later that evening, they found themselves alone on the terrace, the distant hum of conversation drifting up from below.

"Do you always stare at people like that?" she asked, folding her arms.

"Only when they're interesting," he replied, leaning against the railing.

Supraja rolled her eyes but couldn't hide the smile tugging at her lips. "Flattery will get you nowhere, Gill."

"Noted," he said with a grin. "But seriously, how are you holding up?"

She hesitated, then shrugged. "Better, I think. Still nervous, though."

"That's normal," he said. "But for what it's worth, I think we'll be okay."

There was that word again: we. Supraja clung to it like a lifeline, her doubts quieting just a little.

As the wedding day approached, Supraja found herself growing more comfortable with the idea of marrying Shubman. He wasn't just the cricketer she had idolized; he was kind, funny, and surprisingly down-to-earth.

She still had moments of doubt—moments when she wondered if she was dreaming, if she would wake up and find herself back in her old life. But then Shubman would text her, or call her, or catch her eye in a crowded room, and the doubts would fade.

By the time the big day arrived, Supraja felt ready. Nervous, yes, but ready.

And as she walked down the aisle, her heart pounding in her chest, she saw Shubman waiting for her at the mandap, his expression calm and steady.

When their eyes met, he gave her a small, reassuring smile.

And in that moment, Supraja realized something important: she didn't have to have it all figured out. She didn't have to fit into anyone else's world.

Because she and Shubman were building a world of their own— together.