▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Rohit Sharma was in the midst of a dream so deliciously indulgent that it bordered on sinful. He was savoring a vada pav—the golden, crispy vada tucked snugly inside the soft pav, its edges spilling out just enough to promise the perfect bite.

The chutney was tangy and spicy, dripping ever so slightly, teasing his taste buds without making a mess. In his dream, Rohit held the vada pav like a trophy, basking in the cheers of an imaginary crowd.

But this wasn't just any vada pav; it was the kind you could only get at that small stall near Dadar station, where the aunty behind the counter somehow knew the exact, magical ratio of chutney, vada, and pav.

It was a small piece of heaven that made you forget every worry, every bad ball, and even that last-minute lbw everyone couldn't stop talking about.

Rohit could almost feel the warmth of the freshly fried vada against his fingertips, hear the slight crunch as he bit into it, the flavors bursting in his mouth in a medley of spice, salt, and everything nice. It was pure joy, untainted and uninterrupted.

But just as he was about to take another bite, a faint, annoying buzz started to intrude on his dream. He tried to swat it away, tried to focus on his vada pav, but the buzz grew louder, more insistent, until it was impossible to ignore.

Suddenly, the vada pav faded away, the chutney slipping through his fingers, the pav dissolving into thin air. The crowd's cheers died out, replaced by the harsh, incessant sound of his phone ringing on the nightstand.

Suddenly, the vada pav began to fade, the chutney slipping through his fingers like sand, the pav disintegrating into nothingness. The cheers of the crowd dimmed, replaced by the harsh reality of his phone going off like it was the middle of a press conference.

His eyes snapped open, the blissful aroma of his dream replaced by the dim light of his bedroom and the relentless buzzing of his phone on the nightstand.

Rohit groaned, rolling over with the sluggishness of someone who had just been cruelly yanked from paradise, and reached out for his phone, still half-lost in the lingering haze of his dream.

Rohit squinted at the screen, trying to focus through the fog of sleep that still clouded his mind. The bright light of the phone felt like an assault on his senses, and he cursed under his breath again, this time with even more conviction.

"Kya yaar," he muttered, dragging a hand over his face as if that would somehow help him wake up faster.

"Abe saale, behenchod, subha subha koun phone karta hai," [Damn it, who calls this early in the morning?] Rohit cursed, his voice still thick with sleep, hoping that whoever was on the other end would have the decency to drop dead—or at least sort out whatever mess this was without dragging him into it.

"Shut up, Panda! And uth ke news laga." [Shut up, Panda! And turn on the news.]

Only Virat Kohli had the guts to call him this early and bark out orders like he was conducting a net session at dawn.

The fog of sleep cleared in an instant, replaced by the low hum of irritation. Rohit didn't need to check the caller ID—there was only one person who could get away with this.

"Virat, tujhe zinda nahi chhodunga. Subah ke paanch baje hain, yaad hai?" [Virat, I'm not going to leave you alive. It's five in the morning, remember?] Rohit grumbled, but he was already sitting up, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, knowing that there was no way out of this now.

When Virat called, especially at this ungodly hour, it meant something serious—or at least serious in Virat's world, where even a misplaced shoe could turn into a crisis.

"Panda, tu jaldi se TV on kar, channel change kar, and watch what's happening. Trust me, you'll want to see this," [Panda, just turn on the TV, change the channel, and watch what's happening. Trust me, you'll want to see this] Virat insisted, his voice a mix of urgency and tension that was impossible to ignore.

Rohit groaned again, louder this time, but he dragged himself out of bed, the cool floor jolting him awake as he stumbled towards the living room.

"Virat, agar yeh koi prank hua na, toh tujhe mein kheench ke maarne wala hoon," [Virat, if this is some prank, I swear I'll come over and punch you] Rohit muttered, more to himself than to Virat, who was still yammering on the other end of the line, probably pacing around his own living room like a caged lion.

With one hand holding the phone to his ear and the other fumbling for the TV remote, Rohit finally managed to turn on the news, the familiar jingles and headlines blaring through the speakers, filling the room with a sudden burst of energy that contrasted sharply with his still half-asleep state.

"Aur aaj ki Breaking News, Shubman Gill ki photo hui leak, kaun hai unke saath yeh ladki?" [And today's breaking news: a leaked photo of Shubman Gill has surfaced, and speculation is rampant about the identity of the girl with him.]

The image on the screen was a snapshot that told a thousand stories, none of them true, yet each one more damaging than the last.

Shubman, shirtless, his expression a mix of nervous concentration and something else—something unguarded, caught in a moment that wasn't meant to be seen by anyone but the two of them.

And then there was the girl, standing with her back to the camera, her silhouette petite compared to Shubman's tall frame. But it was the full-length mirror that gave it all away.

His heart sank. It was Radhika.

Radhika's face was reflected clearly, a look of surprise mingled with vulnerability, her eyes wide, lips slightly parted as if caught mid-breath.

The doree of her kurti hung loosely in Shubman's hand, frozen in the act of tying, but captured in such a way that it looked far more intimate than it was. To anyone watching, it looked like something scandalous, something secret, the kind of moment that fueled endless gossip and salacious headlines.

Rohit's stomach twisted into a knot as he watched the scene play out on repeat, each slow-motion zoom feeling like a punch to his gut. He knew exactly what it looked like, and he knew exactly what people would think. This wasn't just some random girl caught in a private moment with a cricketer; this was his Khargosh.

The girl no one knew existed in his world, the sister he'd kept away from the cameras and the chaos of his public life, the one person he'd never wanted dragged into the spotlight, fueled even more after what happened with Anushka.

The media was already in a frenzy, tearing apart every pixel of the image with red arrows and speculative captions that screamed of scandal. Words like "secret romance" and "hidden affair" flashed across the screen, each one more ridiculous and invasive than the last.

The anchors were practically salivating over the footage, talking over each other in their rush to be the first to break the story.

Rohit's stomach twisted as he watched the scene loop on the screen, each slow-motion zoom feeling like a punch to his gut. This wasn't just any girl caught in a scandal with a cricketer; this was his Khargosh—his fiercely private sister, the one he'd kept sheltered from the public eye.

The media was already in a frenzy, dissecting every pixel of the image with salacious speculation. Rohit slamms his fist down on the table, the sound echoing through the empty room, but it did nothing to ease the frustration that was building inside him.

Rohit's thoughts were a mess, tangled between the need to protect Radhika and the anger he felt toward whoever had leaked this photo in the first place. How had it even happened? Who had been careless enough to let this moment slip through the cracks?

"Rohit? Rohit!"

Virat's voice blared from the phone, snapping Rohit out of his furious haze. But all Rohit could hear was the thumping of his own heartbeat, a rapid, angry rhythm that matched the storm brewing in his chest. His mind raced, replaying the image of Radhika and Shubman again and again, each time making him feel more powerless, more enraged.

Rohit ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots as if he could physically pull the frustration out of his head.

The room felt smaller, suffocating, and he struggled to catch his breath as he tried to piece together how things had spiraled so quickly.

There was supposed to be a line—a barrier between their lives on the field and their personal moments—but that line had been crossed, and now Radhika was caught in the crossfire.

"I just know ki tu panic kar raha hai," [I just know that you're panicking] Virat said, his voice softening, a rare hint of concern seeping through.

He knew Rohit's moods better than most—knew that behind the calm, joking exterior was a fiercely protective brother who would do anything to shield his family.

Rohit slumped on the edge of the bed, his head buried in his hands as he tried to keep it together. But it was hard, so damn hard, to hold it together when everything felt like it was falling apart. He squeezed his eyes shut, the darkness behind his lids doing nothing to quiet the storm raging inside him.

Virat hesitated on the other end, sensing the fragile state of his usually unshakeable friend. "Dekh, sab theek ho jayega. We'll figure it out. But you need to calm down first," [Look, everything will be fine. We'll figure it out. But you need to calm down first.] he urged, but Rohit could barely hear him over the whirlwind of his thoughts.

"Calm down? Yeh bhosdike news wale meri behen ki photo ko tamasha bana rahe hain! Unko kya pata, yeh ladki kaun hai? Yeh kya samajhte hain, saale!" [Calm down? These damn reporters are making a spectacle of my sister's photo! What do they know, who this girl is? What do they think, those idiots!] Rohit exploded, his anger hot and raw, each word tearing out of him like a wound that wouldn't heal.

"Main jaanta hoon. Main samajh sakta hoon," [I know. I understand] Virat's voice softened, Virat's voice softened, trying to reach through the phone and pull Rohit back from the edge.

It was rare to hear Virat this calm, this empathetic, but he knew that in this moment, Rohit didn't need a captain or a teammate—he needed a friend who understood the pain of watching someone you love being dragged through the mud.

The TV's volume was turned low, but Rohit could still make out the shrill voices of the news panelists as they dissected the leaked photo like it was a national issue, each trying to outdo the other with their ridiculous theories.

It was the kind of round-table discussion that turned petty gossip into a full-blown trial, and they were picking apart every single frame of the photo, circling Shubman and Radhika like they were prime suspects in a crime.

The TV continued to blare, the anchors and panelists ripping apart every frame of the leaked photo, treating it like a national crisis.

One panelist, an older man with the kind of self-righteousness that came from years of shouting on TV, was mid-rant. His voice was dripping with a condescending tone that turned innocent moments into sordid scandals.

"Yeh aise ladki hoti hai, jo paisa aur shaurat ke peeche bhaagti hain! Aaj Shubman Gill ke saath hai, kal kisi aur ke saath hogi. Yeh ladkiyan sirf cricketers ke aas paas ghoomne ke liye janmi hain, aur kuch nahi!" [This is the kind of girl who chases money and fame! Today she's with Shubman Gill, tomorrow she'll be with someone else. These girls are born just to hover around cricketers, nothing more!]

Rohit's fists clenched as he listened to the vile words being spoken about his sister, each one twisting the knife deeper. The panelist went on, his voice full of venom.

"Yeh ladkiyon ki strategy hoti hai—pehle inka photoshoot hota hai, phir news mein headline ban jaati hai, aur dheere dheere inki entry cricketers ke bedrooms tak ho jaati hai!" [This is their strategy—first, they get a photoshoot, then they become headlines in the news, and slowly, they make their way into cricketers' bedrooms!]

Rohit could barely contain his rage. His sister wasn't some nameless, faceless girl out to ruin someone's career. He felt the phone tremble in his hand, his anger pushing him to the edge as he watched these vultures tear into Radhika's character without a shred of decency or truth.

A hand on his shoulder stopped him from launching the phone across the room. It was Ritika, her face full of concern but her grip steady and reassuring.

She had been standing at the doorway, silently watching Rohit's frustration boil over as the panelists dissected Radhika's life with the kind of baseless arrogance only TV debates could muster.

Ritika's presence was the only thing keeping Rohit from completely losing it. She didn't need to say anything; she knew the storm raging inside him all too well. Rohit's breath hitched, and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rein in the fury that was threatening to burst out.

Grabbing the phone from Rohit, Ritika put it on speaker and, Ritika's voice had that no-nonsense edge, the kind that could quiet an entire room without needing to raise a decibel. "Hello, Virat, tumne Shubman se baat ki?" [Hello, Virat, have you talked to Shubman yet?}

Rohit could hear the frustration in Virat's sigh on the other end of the line, and he imagined him running a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth, probably cursing Shubman under his breath.

"Nahi, practice ke baad woh itna thak gaya tha ki seedha room mein ghus gaya, aur ab phone uthane ka naam hi nahi le raha." [No, after practice, he was so tired that he went straight to his room and now isn't even picking up the phone.]

Ritika's brow furrowed as she listened, clearly not liking where this was going. She could see the way Rohit was shaking in visible frustration, his fists clenched at his sides, the muscles in his jaw tensing with every word.

The situation was spinning out of control faster than any of them had anticipated, and Shubman's absence was only making it worse. She knew that Rohit's temper, once ignited, was a force of nature, and right now, it was burning dangerously close to the surface.

Rohit's patience, always a thin thread when it came to matters involving those he loved, was fraying quickly. "Of course, he's not answering," [Of course, he's not answering.] he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else, the words thick with irritation. "Jab iski zaroorat hoti hai, tu yeh woh ho jata hai." [Whenever he's needed, he just disappears]

Ritika reached out, placing a calming hand on his arm, but even her touch couldn't completely steady the storm brewing inside him.

She knew Rohit well enough to understand that his frustration wasn't just with Shubman—it was with the entire situation, with the way things had spiraled out of control so quickly, and with his own helplessness in the face of it all.

The anger was a mask for the deeper worry that had taken root in his heart, the fear of what this could do to Radhika, how it could hurt her in ways that he couldn't protect her from.

Rohit's head snapped toward Ritika with a speed that matched the fire in his eyes. For a split second, she saw the raw anger flickering behind his gaze, but it softened almost immediately when he met her steady, concerned expression.

"Khargosh kahan hai? Usse pata toh nahi chala na?" [Where's Khargosh? She hasn't found out, has she?] Rohit's voice, though edged with anxiety, carried a rare vulnerability he seldom allowed anyone to see.

Ritika met his gaze, her calm presence enveloping him like a protective shield, grounding him in a way only she could. She let a moment of silence pass, letting her reassurance seep into him before finally speaking, her tone measured and soothing.

"Ridhu aur Sammy abhi tak so rahe hai Ridhu ke room mein. Aai Baba bhi flight mein honge, so unko abhi tak kuch pata nahi chala hoga," [Ridhu and Sammy are still sleeping in Ridhu's room. Aai and Baba are likely on their flight, so they probably don't know anything yet] she said, her words carefully chosen to ease his worry and give him a sense of control over the spiraling situation.

Rohit nodded, feeling a slight release of the tension coiled tightly in his shoulders, though the storm brewing within him was far from quelled. "Yeh sab kaise ho gaya, Ritika? How did things get so out of hand?" [How did it come to this, Ritika? How did things get so out of hand? ]

Ritika sighed softly, her breath carrying the weight of the situation, as she moved closer to him, gently guiding him to sit down on the edge of the bed. "We'll figure it out," she promised, her voice steady, a rock in the chaotic sea they were navigating.

Then, shifting her focus to the phone still in Rohit's hand, she spoke with quiet authority. "Virat, ek kaam karo—tum aur Nushkie yaha aa jao. Sachin paaji already aa rahe hai, aur Mahi bhai ka bhi phone aaya tha. Yuvi Paa bhi gusse mein Shubman ko call laga rahe hain." [Virat, listen—you and Nushkie should come over. Sachin Paaji is already on his way, Mahi bhai called too, and Yuvi Paa is furious and trying to get through to Shubman.]

Virat's voice on the other end crackled with tension, the urgency in his tone mirroring the gravity of the moment. "We're on our way," he said, the sound of a car starting and the faint murmurs of kids being moved while half-asleep in the background.

Ritika's eyes never left Rohit's as she continued, "It's good that everyone's coming together. We need to be a united front for Ridhu and Shubman. Jo bhi baat hui hai, we'll get to the bottom of it, but right now, our priority is to protect them, to make sure this doesn't escalate any further." [It's good that everyone's coming together. We need to stand united for Ridhu and Shubman. Whatever's happened, we'll get to the bottom of it, but right now, our priority is to protect them and make sure this doesn't escalate further.]

Rohit nodded again, the fierce protectiveness he felt for his sister simmering beneath the surface. He could feel the storm inside him being tamed slightly by Ritika's unwavering presence, but the anger and frustration were still there, churning just below the surface, waiting for an outlet. "Shubman ka phone ab tak nahi laga?" [Has Shubman's phone connected yet?]

Ritika shook her head, her expression thoughtful. "Virat tried, but he hasn't picked up. He's probably sleeping, Rohit. The kid's got the weight of the world on his shoulders right now, usse bhi rest karna chahiye." [Virat tried, but he hasn't picked up. He's probably asleep, Rohit. The kid's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders right now; he needs his rest too.]

Rohit's jaw clenched tightly, the muscle in his cheek twitching as he struggled to process the storm of emotions raging within him.

Shubman was practically family, a kid he had watched grow up in the cricketing world, but nothing—nothing—came above his sister.

Radhika's safety and dignity were paramount, and the image of her being dragged into this mess made his blood boil. The need to protect her, to shield her from the ugliness of the world, was overwhelming, and it left no room for hesitation.

With a steely resolve, Rohit grabbed his phone again, scrolling through his favourite contacts until he landed on Ishan's number.

His thumb hovered over the call button for a brief moment as he took a deep breath, trying to temper the anger simmering just beneath the surface. When he finally pressed it, he knew exactly what he needed to do.

The phone rang for a few seconds that felt much longer, each tone grating against Rohit's already frayed nerves. When Ishan finally answered, his voice was thick with sleep, barely coherent. "Haan, bhai? Kya hua?" [Yeah, bro? What's up?]

Rohit didn't waste time with explanations. "Ishan, Shubman ke room mein ja aur usse utha. Abhi. Aur usko lekar seedha yahan aa," [Ishu, go to Shubman's room and wake him up. Right now. And bring him straight here.] he said, his tone hard and unyielding, leaving no room for argument or delay.

There was a groggy pause on the other end as Ishan processed the command, still half-asleep and trying to make sense of the urgency in Rohit's voice. "Bhai, subah ke paanch baje hain... sab theek hai na? Kya hua?" [Bhai, it's five in the morning... Is everything okay? What happened?] he asked, his concern beginning to seep through as he realized that this wasn't just Rohit being his usual demanding self.

Rohit's frustration bubbled over, and he struggled to keep his voice level. "Kuch theek nahi hai, Ishu. Tereko samajh nahi aa raha? Shubman ko lekar aa yahan. This is serious," [Nothing is okay, Ishu. Don't you get it? Bring Shubman here.] he snapped, the weight of the situation pressing down on him like a vice.

This time, there was no hesitation from Ishan. The sharpness in Rohit's voice cut through the last traces of sleep like a blade. "Theek hai, bhai. Main abhi usko lekar aata hoon," [Okay, bro. I'll bring him right away.] he replied quickly, his tone shifting to match the seriousness of the situation as the reality of it started to sink in.

Rohit didn't bother with pleasantries or a goodbye. He simply ended the call and let the phone drop onto the bed, his mind already racing ahead to what needed to be done next.

He could feel the frustration coursing through him, a palpable energy that made it hard to stand still, to breathe normally.

His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides as he took in the gravity of the situation, his protective instincts warring with the anger that was simmering just beneath the surface.

Rohit stared blankly at his phone, the screen now dark and silent, but the weight of the call and what it meant was heavy, pressing down on his chest like a leaden burden.

He ran a hand over his face, feeling the roughness of his stubble and the creeping fatigue that came not from lack of sleep but from the emotional toll of the morning.

As he glanced over at the screen, his jaw tightened. The footage was on an endless loop, dissecting the image frame by frame, with pundits speculating wildly about what it all meant.

Rohit's anger flared again, a hot, sharp surge that made his hands clench into fists. He wanted to shut it off, to throw the remote through the TV and silence the noise, but he knew that wouldn't change anything.

It wouldn't make this go away. Instead, he forced himself to watch, to absorb every second of it, because ignoring it wouldn't protect Radhika, wouldn't make the situation any less real.

Now, all he can do, is wait for Shubman. Wait for answers and wait for the one person who could shed light on how things had spiraled so disastrously out of control.

He needed to hear it from Shubman—what had happened, why it had happened. The minutes ticked by, each one feeling longer than the last, all Rohit could do was wait, grappling with the helplessness that gnawed at him.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

Shubman ke toh L lag gaye. Ab kya? Bada mrignaini mrignaini kar raha tha. Ab jehle.

Agar pasand aaya, toh vote and comment kar dena. Story mein kuch chahiye, toh bata dena.

Aur prem so bolo,

Radhe..Radhe 🙏🏻