The reception day had finally arrived, and Khushi was already over it. The endless smiling, greeting, and posing for pictures had drained her energy, and it wasn't even halfway through the evening. She sat in the bridal suite, her intricately embroidered lehenga weighing her down both physically and mentally.

"Why did we think this was a good idea?" she muttered to herself, leaning back in her chair. The faint hum of the reception hall outside felt more like a distant chore than a celebration.

Just as she was contemplating sneaking out for a breather, the door creaked open. She didn't even need to look up to know who it was.

"Hey, beautiful," Shubman said, leaning against the doorframe, looking infuriatingly relaxed in his sharp suit.

Khushi groaned, her head lolling back dramatically. "I'm so done. Can we cancel the rest of this and just eat cake in peace?"

He chuckled, crossing the room to kneel beside her. "You're the bride. You can do whatever you want."

She cracked one eye open. "Really? Then tell everyone to go home. Right now."

"Hmm," he said, pretending to think. "Tempting. But then I wouldn't get to show off my ridiculously gorgeous wife to everyone."

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

"Not even a smile?" he teased, reaching out to gently tilt her face toward him.

"Shubman," she warned, though her tone lacked any real bite.

"I mean it," he said, his voice softer now. "You've been incredible through all of this, Khushi. Just a little longer, okay? Then it's just us."

She sighed, letting her shoulders relax. "Fine. But only because you're cute."

"I know," he replied smugly, standing up and offering her his hand.

She took it, letting him pull her to her feet. "Let's get this over with," she said, slipping her arm through his.

As they made their way back to the reception, he leaned down to whisper, "By the way, you're stuck with me forever now, so you better get used to these compliments."

Khushi smirked, her earlier exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "You're lucky I like you, Gill."

"And you're lucky I love you, Mrs. Gill."

With that, they stepped into the reception hall together, ready to tackle the final leg of their wedding journey—because no matter how tiring it got, they knew they'd have each other through it all.

After a whirlwind of greetings, photos, and forced small talk with distant relatives, Khushi finally managed to sneak out of the reception hall with Shubman. She was practically dragging him by the arm toward the parking lot.

"Where are we even going?" he asked, laughing as she tugged him along.

"Your car. I can't do this anymore. I need food, and I need it now," she declared.

Once they reached his car, Shubman unlocked it, and they both climbed in. He leaned back in the driver's seat, watching as Khushi kicked off her heels and sighed in relief.

"God, those heels were a death trap," she muttered.

Shubman chuckled. "You're so dramatic."

"Don't even start," she shot back. "You didn't have to smile at every distant uncle who kept going on about how they remember me as a baby. Like, sir, I don't even know who you are!"

He reached into the back seat and pulled out a bag of food he'd stashed earlier. "Okay, okay, here. Eat something before you combust."

Khushi's eyes lit up as she peeked into the bag. "You got me samosas and chaat? Bless your soul, Gill."

"Yeah, yeah, now stop talking and eat," he said, grabbing a samosa and holding it up to her mouth.

She took a bite, her eyes closing in exaggerated bliss. "This is so much better than that reception food."

"You mean the food you pretended to like in front of everyone?" he teased, popping a piece of papdi chaat into his mouth.

"Exactly. Oh my god, and did you see that one auntie who kept asking when we're having kids? Like, ma'am, can I breathe first?" she said, her words tumbling out in rapid-fire.

Shubman laughed, shaking his head. "You really can't hold back, can you?"

"Nope," she said, grabbing a piece of samosa from his hand. "And you love it."

"Unfortunately, yes," he replied, smirking as he fed her another bite.

They sat there, eating and laughing, the hum of the reception hall fading into the background. Khushi leaned her head against the window, still yapping about a relative who'd mispronounced Shubman's name three times.

"Gillman? Seriously?" she snorted.

"Hey, at least they didn't call me Shubhankar," he said with a grin.

Khushi doubled over laughing. "Stop, I'm going to choke!"

"Good," he deadpanned, handing her a bottle of water.

By the time they were done, the food was gone, and Khushi was slouched in her seat, content and full.

"We should probably head back before someone notices we're missing," she said reluctantly.

"Or we could just sit here and let them fend for themselves," Shubman suggested, leaning back with a sly grin.

Khushi rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. "You're such a bad influence."

"And you're still here," he quipped, starting the car to drive them back to the chaos they'd momentarily escaped.

Two years later, their lives were even more chaotic and full of love. Shubman and Khushi had welcomed a baby girl into their world—a tiny bundle of energy with Khushi's big, expressive eyes and Shubman's mischievous grin.

Khushi was sprawled out on the couch, scrolling through her phone, while Shubman was on the floor with their daughter, Meera. The little girl was giggling uncontrollably as her dad made silly faces and peekaboo noises.

"Meera, you know Mommy's funnier than Daddy, right?" Khushi teased, looking over at them.

Meera didn't even glance her way, too busy tugging on Shubman's cheeks and babbling incoherently.

"Guess that's a no," Shubman said smugly, scooping Meera up into his arms. "Tell Mommy who your favorite is."

"Dada!" Meera squealed, clapping her tiny hands.

Khushi gasped dramatically. "Excuse me? After everything I went through to bring you into this world, this is the thanks I get?"

Shubman chuckled, leaning back against the couch with Meera on his lap. "Face it, Khushi. She's a daddy's girl."

Meera babbled again, patting Shubman's face as if to agree.

Khushi rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. "Fine. You win this round. But one day, Meera, you're going to need someone to bake you cupcakes or sneak you an extra samosa, and you'll come running to me."

"Or she'll call me to take her out for ice cream," Shubman countered, grinning.

Khushi threw a pillow at him, which he effortlessly dodged. Meera giggled even more, clearly enjoying the banter between her parents.

As the evening wore on, Meera eventually dozed off in Shubman's arms, her tiny hand clutching his shirt. He looked down at her with so much love it made Khushi's heart ache.

"She's lucky to have you," Khushi said softly, leaning against his shoulder.

"We're lucky to have her," he replied, his voice just as gentle.

Khushi nodded, resting her hand on Meera's little back. "Yeah, we are. But don't think I'm not keeping score. She's going to love me more someday."

"Keep dreaming, wifey," he said, planting a kiss on her forehead.

Khushi smiled, knowing deep down that their daughter had the best of both of them—and that was all that really mattered.

At Shubman's matches, Khushi and little Meera were his biggest cheerleaders, both literally and figuratively.

Khushi would always show up decked out in team colors, her enthusiasm unmatched. Meera, on the other hand, wore a tiny jersey with "Daddy's No. 1 Fan" printed on the back, complete with a matching cap that barely stayed on her curly hair.

As Shubman walked onto the field, his eyes instinctively searched for them in the crowd. It wasn't hard to spot them—Khushi was waving a massive sign that read, "Hit a six for Meera!" while Meera clumsily clapped her hands, yelling something that vaguely sounded like "Dada!"

"Look at him!" Khushi would gush to the other wives and fans in the stands, her eyes glued to the field. "That's my husband right there."

"Dada!" Meera would chime in, even if Shubman wasn't on screen.

When he scored a big run or took a brilliant catch, Khushi and Meera would erupt into cheers. Khushi would lift Meera up, spinning her around as if they'd won the match themselves.

During breaks, Shubman would glance toward their section, and Khushi would blow him an exaggerated kiss while holding Meera up like a trophy.

After the match, if he'd had a particularly good game, Khushi would tease him mercilessly. "Was it Meera's jersey or my sign that did the trick?"

"Definitely Meera," Shubman would say, scooping his daughter into his arms. "But I guess you helped a little."

"Excuse me?" Khushi would feign offense, but her laughter would give her away.

For Meera, these matches were like her playground. She'd toddle around the team area after the game, tugging on cricket bats and playing with spare balls. The team adored her, calling her their little mascot.

"She's going to take after me one day," Shubman would say proudly, watching Meera attempt to mimic his stance with a toy bat.

"Or she'll be the next big sports journalist," Khushi joked. "She's already got the charisma for it."

No matter what, their little family made every match day unforgettable—a perfect blend of love, laughter, and endless cheering for their favorite cricketer.

THE END :)