Shubman sat slouched in a chair at the clinic, groaning inwardly as his dietician paced in front of him, waving a report in his face. The bright, sterile room felt suffocating after the wild night of celebration, and the glare from the morning sun outside only made his headache worse.

"Ridiculous! Unbelievable! How could you??" the dietician's voice cut through the silence, sharp and stern, a far cry from the cheery atmosphere of the previous night. His face was flushed with frustration, eyes narrowed as he stared down Shubman like a disapproving parent.

Shubman rubbed his temples, the pounding in his head persistent as he tried to make sense of the barrage of questions. "How could you drink so much, Shubman?" the man snapped again, waving the report for emphasis.

Shubman let out an exaggerated sigh, raising his hands defensively. "Come on, it's just one time!" he argued, leaning back in his chair as if trying to distance himself from the scolding.

The dietician didn't seem to buy it. "One time is more than enough when you drink that much," he replied, flipping through the report with an annoyed huff. "Enough damage for a couple of years, to be honest."

Shubman rolled his eyes, though he was well aware the dietician wasn't entirely wrong. The night had been a blur of drinks, laughter, and more drinks. Even his memories of calling Ishan were foggy at best. "Okay, okay," Shubman muttered, raising his hands in surrender, "No alcohol for the rest of the year. Deal?"

The dietician raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "There are only three months left in the year, Shubman," he said plainly, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Shubman sighed dramatically, pushing himself up straighter in the chair. "Fine, no alcohol till October 2025. Now happy?"

The dietician gave him a withering look, shaking his head as he closed the file with a sharp snap. There was a moment of silence, the tension hanging in the air. Shubman, ever the joker, couldn't help but throw in a smirk.

"Unless," he began, the mischievous glint in his eyes unmistakable, "we win the Champions Trophy."

The dietician shot him a glare so intense that Shubman could almost feel the heat from it. He chuckled to himself, enjoying the brief moment of levity, though the humor did little to ease the weight that hung on his shoulders.

"Shubman," the dietician said in a low voice, all traces of amusement gone, "this isn't a joke. Your body is your career. You can't afford to be reckless."

Shubman sobered at that, the grin fading as he nodded. "I know," he muttered, his tone more serious. "I know. I'll be careful."

But as the dietician launched into yet another lecture about maintaining a healthy lifestyle, Shubman's thoughts began to wander. His mind drifted back to last night, to the phone call with Ishan, to the way he had woken up thinking about him. The uncomfortable feeling from earlier began to resurface, gnawing at him as the dietician's voice faded into the background.

"Shubman?" the dietician's voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he blinked, realizing he'd been staring off into space.

"Yeah, sorry. I got it," Shubman mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. But even as he said the words, his mind was elsewhere—on a question he wasn't quite ready to confront.

What was happening to him?

***

After the long, guilt-ridden lecture from his nutritionist, Shubman hit the gym with renewed determination. His muscles burned from the weightlifting session, but it was a pain he welcomed—a distraction from the swirling thoughts in his head. Afterward, he spent a good few hours on the pitch, practicing drills, the familiar sound of the bat against the ball grounding him. By the time evening rolled in, the physical exhaustion was beginning to set in, and he was ready to just crash for the night.

But then, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, wiping the sweat from his brow as he checked the message.

Ishan: Hey... are you okay?

It was such a simple message, but Shubman couldn't help the way his heart seemed to settle, like something had clicked into place. The tension that had been gnawing at him all day loosened just slightly. Why? he thought, frustrated with himself. Why does it feel like something's complete now, just because of a text?

He didn't even realize how fast he was typing back.

Shubman: Yeah, I'm good. You?

Almost immediately after hitting send, his phone buzzed again—this time, an incoming call. Shubman stared at the screen for a beat, Ishan's name flashing brightly. His thumb hovered over the answer button for a moment before he swiped to pick up.

"Hi! Guess you drank too much, huh?" Ishan's voice came through, casual, but there was an unmistakable edge to it, like he was a bit on edge himself. Maybe even nervous.

Shubman blinked, surprised by the tone. He was embarrassed enough already after the whole drunk-dialing episode, but hearing that slight unease in Ishan's voice only made him feel worse.

"Umm... yeah. Sorry about last night," Shubman chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Got a bit too drunk."

There was a brief pause on Ishan's end before he replied. "Happens," he said, trying to sound breezy, but Shubman could tell there was something unspoken there. They both knew last night hadn't just been a regular night of drinking, but neither wanted to bring it up directly.

"So, how's everything going?" Ishan asked after a beat. "Sara? You've been busy with her, I guess."

Shubman felt a sudden discomfort at the mention of Sara. His relationship with her had been strained lately. With cricket, events, and everything else, they had barely spoken. He wasn't even sure where they stood anymore.

"Uh, I've gotten a bit busy these days, actually..." Shubman muttered, trying to sound casual but knowing how flimsy the excuse sounded even to his own ears. "I'll speak with her soon."

There was a slight pause on the other end of the line, but Ishan didn't push the subject. Shubman frowned, guilt gnawing at him again. He wasn't sure why he felt the need to explain things to Ishan.

As the silence between them stretched for a few moments, his mind drifted back to that kiss—the one he'd witnessed between Ishan and Mayank. It had been gnawing at him ever since. He had to ask, even if he didn't want to.

"You're happy na, Ishan? With everything?" Shubman's voice was soft, almost hesitant.

There was a pause on the other end, long enough that Shubman started to wonder if the question had been too intrusive. Finally, Ishan spoke, and his voice was quieter than usual. "Yeah," he said, "I am."

Shubman could hear the doubt in his words, though Ishan tried to cover it up quickly. It was clear that something was off, but again, neither of them wanted to bring it up. A few more moments of silence passed, the awkwardness hanging between them like a fog neither knew how to navigate through.

Suddenly, Ishan broke the silence, his voice a bit rushed, "Shubman, can you... can you stay on the call for a while?"

Shubman furrowed his brow, not quite catching the request due to a sudden crackle of interference in the signal. "Hmm? What was that?" he asked.

There was a pause before Ishan's voice came back, sounding hurried. "No, nothing," he said quickly, his tone suddenly distant.

And just like that, the moment passed, leaving Shubman with a lingering sense of some words unsaid.

***

Ishan had nothing to do, so he decided scribble something on his diary....

I love him.

***