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Something was definitely off with Shubman.

Ishan could feel it deep down in his gut, like the unsettling sensation of eating too much spicy chaat before a match.

He'd been trying to get Shubman's attention for a good ten minutes now, but it was like talking to a statue—a very good-looking, cricket-obsessed statue, but a statue nonetheless.

At first, Ishan figured Shubman was just in one of his typical zones, where he'd get lost in thoughts about cricket, running through strategies like Virat Kohli runs through centuries.

Or maybe he was thinking about that new Netflix show everyone and their chachu had been recommending. But this was different.

There was a stillness to Shubman that Ishan couldn't quite put his finger on, like the calm before a thunderstorm in a monsoon.

Shubman was sprawled out on his bed, staring at the ceiling with such intensity that Ishan half expected him to start finding hidden meanings in the patterns of the plaster.

It was as if he was trying to decode the universe through the swirls of the fan above. Ishan tried to snap his fingers in front of his face, even waved a hand over his eyes, but Shubman didn't so much as blink.

"Isse ho kya gaya hai?" [What's happened to him?] Ishan questions himself, half-expecting Shubman to snap out of it and give him a sheepish grin.

But there was nothing. Zilch. Nada. Shubman was still lost in his own world.

Ishan tried a different approach, flopping down on the bed next to Shubman with the kind of exaggerated sigh that usually got his attention.

When that didn't work, he resorted to poking Shubman in the ribs—a move that had never failed to get a reaction.

This time, though, Shubman just flinched slightly, like a mosquito had buzzed past him, and continued his intense ceiling-staring competition.

"Bhai, kya kar raha hai? Mars par chala gaya kya?" [Bro, what are you doing? Have you gone to Mars or what?] Ishan finally asked, half-joking, trying to shake Shubman out of whatever trance he was in.

He expected Shubman to crack a smile, maybe even throw a pillow at him for being so annoying, but there was no response.

Shubman's eyes remained glued to the ceiling, as if it held the secrets to life, the universe, and cricketing glory all at once.

"Yeh toh serious ho gaya," [He is serious.] Ishan muttered under his breath, now genuinely worried. Shubman's mind wasn't just wandering, it had packed its bags and gone on a full-blown vacation.

And the way his lips were slightly parted, like he was on the verge of saying something profound or perhaps just letting out a sigh that could deflate a hot air balloon—it all made Ishan wonder if he'd missed something huge.

Did Shubman get bowled out in the nets today? Nah, that wasn't it. The guy bounced back from cricketing failures like a rubber ball on a concrete pitch.

Maybe it was a girl? Ishan frowned. As far as he knew, Shubman was married to the game, and there wasn't a 'Mrs. Gill' on the horizon. But then again, this was India. Things happened. Fast.

Ishan's eyes narrowed as he leaned back against the headboard, trying to piece together the puzzle that was his best friend. Something had clearly knocked Shubman off his axis, and Ishan was determined to figure out what it was.

He hadn't seen him this out of it since that one time they got caught binge-watching K-drama instead of sleeping—Rohit bhai had walked in, and they'd both frozen like deer in headlights.

But this was different; this wasn't just a momentary lapse in focus—this was like Shubman had been yanked out of reality and plopped down into some otherworldly dimension where cricket scores didn't matter and Ishan's jokes didn't even get a flicker of a reaction.

Mrignaini

Those doe eyes were all Shubman could think of. The word kept looping in his mind like a catchy Bollywood song chorus that refused to let go. It was ridiculous, really.

Here he was, the guy who could focus on the ball with laser precision even when the crowd was roaring, and yet now he was stuck thinking about a pair of eyes.

Just eyes! But those eyes had taken over his brain, and no amount of cricket stats or match highlights could shake them off.

He sighed, still staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what was happening to him. This wasn't like getting out on a duck where you can curse yourself for a few minutes and then move on.

This was different.

It was like he'd been hit by a bouncer he hadn't seen coming, and now he was flat on his back, trying to catch his breath.

The way she had looked at him, with a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and something he couldn't quite name, had thrown him completely off balance.

It was as if those eyes had reached out and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into a world where nothing else mattered. Not cricket, not his training regimen, not even Ishan's nonstop banter. Just those eyes.

And the worst part? Shubman wasn't even sure if he wanted to break free.

He knew he should be thinking about the upcoming series, focusing on his footwork, or maybe even planning his next post on social media.

But instead, he was here, lying on his bed like some lovesick hero from a 90s film, lost in a daydream. The kind where the hero's thoughts are full of violins playing in the background, and all he can do is sigh dramatically.

Shubman closed his eyes, trying to shake off the hold those eyes had on him, but it was useless. The more he tried to push them away, the clearer they became in his mind.

It was like trying to swat away a mosquito in the middle of a summer night—no matter how hard you tried, it kept coming back, buzzing right in your ear, refusing to leave you alone.

He could see it all so vividly, like a scene straight out of one of those old Yash Raj movies his mom loved watching on Sunday afternoons.

There he was, the dashing young cricketer, fresh off the field, and there she was—Radhika, with her soft, doe-like eyes that seemed to hold the entire universe in them.

They'd lock eyes across a crowded room, and suddenly the world would fall away, leaving just the two of them bathed in a golden glow.

Shubman groaned and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow. This was insane. He was Shubman Gill, the guy who was supposed to be the future of Indian cricket, not some filmi hero lost in the throes of first love.

What would his teammates think if they could see him now? Ishan would never let him hear the end of it—he could already imagine the endless teasing, the winks, the not-so-subtle jabs about "finding his sapno ki rani."

And yet, the thought of those teasing remarks didn't bother him as much as it should have. Maybe it was because, deep down, Shubman knew he was in trouble.

Not the kind of trouble that comes with facing a fast bowler on a green pitch, but the kind of trouble that could mess with his head, make him forget the simplest of things, like what time he needed to show up for practice, or whether he'd remembered to take his kit bag.

The truth was, no amount of focus, no amount of disciplined training could prepare him for this. It was like trying to practice for a match with no playbook, no coach, just pure instinct—and right now, his instinct was telling him that he was completely, utterly, hopelessly lost.

'O Sud-Budh Khoyi, Hai Khoyi Maine..

Haan Jaan Gavayi, Gavayi Hai Maine..

Haan Tujhko Basaya Hai Dhadkan Mein..

Saawre..

Tose Naina Jab Se Mile..

Tose Naina Jab Se Mile..'

The song was like a direct commentary on the emotional dhobi ghat inside Shubman's head. He was officially gone—completely lost.

And it wasn't the kind of lost you get when Google Maps bails on you in some narrow galli.

No, this was the type where even the legendary Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus with its millions of signs wouldn't be enough to guide him out.

He was still replaying the scene in his head, like some sappy montage. Radhika's shy glance, the way she fiddled with her kurti, and the soft 'Thank you' she'd written on that notepad.

Even the smell of her perfume—jasmine with a hint of vanilla—was stuck in his brain like sticky gum on a new sneaker.

It didn't matter that he was a cricketer with nerves of steel or that he'd faced bouncers that could knock a helmet off—this was different. It was like he'd been clean bowled, not by a 150 km/h delivery, but by a girl with eyes that could launch a thousand romantic numbers.

"Yeh kya ho raha hai yaar?" [What is happening, man?] Shubman finally muttered, running a hand through his hair, exasperated. "Mujhe toh batting aur bowling ke alawa kuch nahi sochna chahiye. Lekin yeh sab—yeh toh bilkul Virat bhai ki innings ke beech mein Sunny Deol ke dance karne jaisa hai." [I should be thinking about batting and bowling, not this. But all this—this is like Sunny Deol dancing in the middle of Virat bhai's innings.]

And the song... oh, that song. It was playing on an endless loop in his head, refusing to let go. For a moment, he wondered if he was actually losing it, because the music was so clear, so loud, it was like someone had cranked up the volume in his brain.

Shubman shook his head, trying to snap out of it, but then paused. Wait a minute... Where was the music actually coming from?

Slowly, he turned his head to the side, half expecting some mystical explanation for the auditory hallucination.

But instead, he saw Ishan lying on the bed next to him, grinning like a Cheshire cat, his phone in hand, playing Tose Naina on full blast.

"I knew it!" Shubman groaned, rolling his eyes dramatically, but unable to suppress a laugh. "Tu bhi na, Ishan! Seriously? This is what you've been up to?" [You, Ishan! Seriously? This is what you've been up to?]

Ishan shrugged, still grinning, clearly pleased with himself. "Arre, kya karoon? I had to get your attention somehow! Tu bas ceiling ko hi dekhe jaa raha tha, mujhe laga ki gaana laga ke tera mood set kar doon." [What could I do? I had to get your attention somehow! You were just staring at the ceiling; I thought playing the song would set your mood right.]

Shubman grabbed the pillow from his side and swung it at Ishan with a dramatic flourish, his aim more playful than vengeful. "Tu mere haathon se maar khayega, Ishan!" [You'll get hit by my hands, Ishan!]

Ishan, ever the quick wicketkeeper, ducked just in time, the pillow whizzing harmlessly past his head. He burst out laughing, a full, hearty laugh that filled the room. "Arey yaar! Kya kar raha hai?!" [What are you doing?!] he managed to say between fits of laughter, expertly dodging another half-hearted pillow swipe from his best friend.

Finally, Shubman gave up on the pillow assault, collapsing back onto the bed with a loud, frustrated groan. "Bhai, tu na, kabhi serious nahi ho sakta," [Bro, you just can't be serious, can you?] he muttered, though the hint of a smile playing on his lips gave away his half-hearted attempt at annoyance.

"Serious? Aur main?" [Serious? And me?] Ishan shot back, flopping down on the bed beside him, still catching his breath from the impromptu pillow fight.

"Wah, kya baat kar raha hai, Shubman Gill. Bhai, yeh jo tu ceiling ke taraf aise dekh raha tha jaise koi khoi hui cheez dhoondh raha ho, woh bata. Did you see a spider up there or what? Kyunki main ghar chhod ke chala jaunga agar yahaan spider hua!" [Wow, look who's talking, Shubman Gill. Bro, the way you're staring at the ceiling like you're searching for something lost up there, tell me. Did you see a spider or what? Because I will leave the house if there's a spider here!]

Shubman rolled his eyes, but he couldn't suppress the chuckle that bubbled up at Ishan's relentless ribbing. "Nahi yaar, kuch nahi tha. Bas... soch raha tha," [No, man, there was nothing. Just... thinking.] he said, trying to sound casual, but the way his voice trailed off betrayed that he wasn't just lost in some random thought.

"Arre, sochne mein kya hai? Aaj practice bhi achhi gayi, kal match hai, aur tu yahaan aise soch raha hai jaise humko ghaas katni hai!" [What's there to think about? We had a good practice today, the match is tomorrow, and you're lying here as if you've have to cut grass!] Ishan teased, nudging him in the ribs with his elbow.

Then, with a sly grin spreading across his face, Ishan adds, "Mujhe lagta hai tu kisi ladki ke baare mein soch raha hai. Bata na, Bhabhi kaun hai? Main toh tujhe pehle se hi bol raha tha, kab tak cricket ke saath hi shaadi kar ke baithega? Ek din toh ladki ke saath bhi engagement karni padegi, Gill saab." [I think you're thinking about some girl. Tell me, who's the Bhabhi? I've been telling you for a long time, how long are you going to stay married to cricket alone? One day, you'll have to get engaged to a girl too, Mr. Gill.]

Shubman couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head at Ishan's relentless teasing. "Ladki? Kahan se aayi ladki? Tu toh aise bol raha hai jaise main pehli baar kisi se mila hoon." [Girl? Where did a girl come from? You're talking like I'm meeting someone for the first time]

But Ishan was having none of it. He raised an eyebrow, the smirk on his face only growing wider. "Toh phir yeh jo tu itna lost ho gaya tha, woh kya tha? Aise toh main tujhe sirf tab dekhta hoon jab tu apne centuries ka strategy bana raha hota hai, ya phir kisi khatarnak bouncer ka jawab soch raha hota hai." [Then what was all this lost-in-thought stuff? I've only seen you like this when you're strategizing for centuries or figuring out how to handle a dangerous bouncer.]

For a moment, Shubman was silent, his thoughts flickering back to the memory of those soft, doe-like eyes that had thrown him completely off balance earlier that day.

It was ridiculous, he told himself—how could someone he barely knew have this much of an effect on him? Yet here he was, lying on his bed, unable to get that brief, intense moment out of his head.

"Nahi yaar, bas... ajeeb sa din tha," [No, man, just... it was a weird day.] Shubman finally said, trying to brush it off. "Kuch socha nahi tha, bas thoda zoned out tha." [Wasn't thinking of anything, just a little zoned out.]

Ishan wasn't buying it, but he let it slide, deciding to lighten the mood instead. "Theek hai, Gill saab, jo bhi bolna hai bolo. Lekin yaad rakhna, koi ladki-shadki ka scene ho toh sabse pehle mujhe batana. Waise bhi, tu itna seedha hai, ladkiyon ke matter mein thoda tricky hota hai, samajh raha hai na?" [Alright, Mr. Gill, say whatever you want. But remember, if there's any girl stuff, you have to tell me first. Anyway, you're so straightforward, it's a bit tricky with girls, you know what I mean?] he added with a wink.

Shubman laughed, the tension in his shoulders easing off a little. "Tu apni advice apne paas rakh, Ishan. Main theek hoon." [Keep your advice to yourself, Ishan. I'm fine.]

But deep down, Shubman knew something was different. He couldn't put his finger on it, but that brief encounter had stirred something in him that wouldn't easily fade away. For now, though, he was content to let Ishan's antics and their usual banter distract him from the confusing whirlwind of emotions swirling in his mind.

Ishan watched Shubman closely, still wearing that trademark cheeky grin that could drive anyone up the wall. But underneath all the jokes and playful jabs, there was genuine concern.

He had known Shubman long enough to recognize when something was really bothering him, and no amount of laughter or friendly ribbing could shake that feeling from his gut.

It wasn't just about cricket today; it was something more personal, something that had Shubman staring at the ceiling like he was waiting for divine inspiration to strike—or at least for a tube light to flicker on with a solution.

"Ajeeb sa din, huh?" [Weird day, huh?] Ishan said, feigning disinterest as he pulled out his phone, pretending to scroll through Instagram. "Lekin aaj toh kuch alag hi scene lag raha hai. Matlab, tu wahi Shubman hai na jise 'off form' ke naam pe bhi khopdi kharab ho jati hai?" [But today seems different. I mean, you're the same Shubman who gets annoyed even at the mention of 'off form,' right?]

Shubman couldn't help but snort at that one. Only Ishan could manage to compare his deep thoughts to a random binge-watching session gone wrong.

It was classic Ishan—turning every serious moment into a comedy sketch. But maybe that's why Shubman enjoyed his company so much; Ishan knew how to turn the pressure down when it was needed, and right now, Shubman was grateful for the break from his own overthinking.

"Arey, bas yaar," [Come on, man] Shubman said, letting out a heavy breath, "kuch bhi toh nahi, bas thoda... you know, tired tha." [it's nothing, just a little... you know, tired.]

Ishan, sensing the shift in Shubman's mood, decided to lighten the atmosphere further. "Chal, pizza order karte hain. Waise bhi, tumhe kuch khaas sochne ka time nahi milega jab tumhara pet bhar jaayega." [Alright, let's order pizza. Anyway, you won't have much time to think when your stomach's full.]

Shubman chuckled, shaking his head. "Haan, bas yahi bacha tha—pizza therapy." [Yeah, that's all that's left—pizza therapy.] But he couldn't deny that Ishan's suggestion had a certain appeal. The idea of sitting down with some greasy comfort food and pushing all those confusing thoughts away, even if just for a while, sounded pretty good.

Ishan grabbed his phone and started scrolling through the pizza options like he was on some culinary mission. "Kya chahiye, bhai? Extra cheese, paneer tikka, garlic bread... Aur haan, coke toh mandatory hai." [What do you want, bro? Extra cheese, paneer tikka, garlic bread... And yeah, Coke is mandatory.] He rattled off the menu with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for planning a heist.

Shubman, still half-lost in his thoughts, glanced over. "Saara pizza khilake mujhse practice bhi karwayega, kya? Baad mein Gautam sir ground ke 50 run marwange." [You're going to make me eat all this pizza and then make me practice too, right? Afterward, Gautam sir will make us run 50 rounds of the ground.]

Ishan laughed, his fingers moving quickly on the phone screen. "Arey yaar, ek din mein kuch nahi hoga. Waise bhi, tere fitness levels ko kuch nahi hilega. Matlab, yaar, tu woh banda hai jo poori plate chole bhature khaa ke bhi net practice mein sixer maar sakta hai. Waise bhi, tere stress ki aisi-taisii karne ka yahi best way hai." [Don't worry, one day won't change anything. Anyway, your fitness levels are solid. I mean, you're the guy who can eat a full plate of chole bhature and still hit sixes in net practice. Anyway, this is the best way to deal with your stress.]

Shubman sighed, but a smile crept onto his face. "Fine, chal order kar le." [Fine, go ahead and order.] He knew Ishan was right. No matter how weird the day had been, sitting down and eating with Ishan would help take his mind off things—even if just for a moment.

Ishan placed the order, then flopped back on the bed, glancing over at Shubman. "Waise, bhai, pizza toh theek hai, lekin tujhe pata hai na, kabhi kabhi na, dimag se jo cheez nikal nahi rahi hoti, woh heart se related hoti hai?" [Bro, pizza is fine, but you know, sometimes the thing that doesn't leave your mind is related to the heart?]

Shubman rolled his eyes but couldn't help laughing. "Bas yaar, Dr. Kishan mat ban. Pizza therapy kaafi hai." [Come on, don't become Dr. Kishan. Pizza therapy is enough.]

Ishan smirked, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. But just saying, kabhi bhi feel kare, main idhar hoon. Warna kya hai, tu yahin ceiling ke upar life ke philosophy dhoondhta rahega." [Alright, alright. But just saying, whenever you feel like it, I'm here. Otherwise, you'll just keep staring at the ceiling, searching for life's philosophy.]

Shubman laughed, genuinely this time, feeling a little lighter. "Thanks, Ishan. Waise tu jaise bhi hai, achha hai. Kabhi serious nahi hota, par sahi banda hai." [Thanks, Ishan. However you are, you're good. You never take anything seriously, but you're a good guy.]

Ishan gave a mock bow. "Woh toh hai. Bas pizza aane de, phir dekh kaise tera mood theek kar deta hoon." [That's true. Just wait for the pizza, and see how I fix your mood.]

As they waited for the delivery, Ishan launched into a string of random stories—about everything from Rohit bhai's latest prank to the weird fan requests they'd been getting on social media.

And slowly, Shubman felt himself relax, the tight knot of thoughts in his head loosening a bit. Sure, the doe-eyed girl was still there in the back of his mind, but for now, he was content to let Ishan's antics and their familiar banter fill the room.

And as they dug into their pizzas, Shubman realized maybe this was enough for now—good food, good company, and the kind of friendship where even the silences felt comfortable.

Because sometimes, all you really needed was someone who could turn your off days into pizza nights, without asking too many questions.

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Apne Shubman bhaiya fas gaye Radhika Sharma ke chakkar mein. Ab kya hoga? Rohit bhai kya karenge?

Hey choozo, kaise ho?

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

Aur prem so bolo,

Radhe..Radhe 🙏🏻