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Sher bhi aise hi chalta hai. [Even a lion walks like this.]

Shubman stands frozen near the doorway, watching Rohit pace like a lion ready to pounce. His every step is heavy, deliberate, the kind of pacing that says something big is about to happen, and it's not going to be good.

Rohit's arms are crossed so tight across his chest it's a miracle his muscles haven't ripped his shirt yet. His jaw is clenched, a hard line of frustration that looks like it could crack any second, and Shubman's pretty sure even the walls of the flat are a little afraid right now.

Great. Rohit's in full-on Gabbar Singh mode.

Shubman swallows nervously. Gabbar Singh, but worse—because this is real life, and Rohit, like any protective brother, would probably go full daku on him if he makes one wrong move.

Desperate for some kind of distraction, Shubman scans the room. That's when he spots him—Ishan.

Of course. Ishan's sprawled out on the couch, one leg hanging off, like this is just any other chill afternoon. No tension, no stress. What's he doing? Eating bhakarwadi. Shubman blinks, baffled.

Bhakarwadi?

The air in the room is thick with tension, and here's Ishan, casually popping snack after snack into his mouth, completely unfazed by the storm brewing just a few feet away.

It's as if he's watching a cricket match on TV, not witnessing Shubman's life hang in the balance.

Shubman mutters under his breath, "Gadhaar." [Traitor.]

How is Ishan so calm? But of course, Ritika bhabhi's baby boy would be. The golden child. Why would he be worried? If things actually start to go south, Ritika bhabhi will swoop in like a superhero and sort it all out.

Ishan could probably just smile at Rohit bhai mid-bite, and Rohit would just ruffle his hair and smile.

Shubman stifles a sigh. Why can't his life be that easy?

Shubman can't shake the nerves. Virat bhai ka first baby hoon main, he reminds himself, repeating it like a mantra.

Everyone knows he's Virat's kaka, his baby. That means head pats, bro hugs, and motivational scoldings that still feel more like compliments. It's a Get Out of Jail Free card in the cricket world. If something goes wrong, Cheeku bhai will fix it.

But can even Virat save him from this? Because, let's be real, this is Rohit Sharma—Virat's right-hand man, his partner-in-crime, the guy who shares biryani secrets with him. Their bond is tighter than an Ambani budget.

Shubman glances at Virat, silently pleading, like a kid who just broke a window and needs his older brother to talk Dad down before the belt comes out.

For a moment, it looks like Virat understands. He gives a tiny nod, barely noticeable, but enough to say, Don't worry. I've got you.

Relief floods Shubman, and he exhales a little too loudly. Thank God. He's already making plans in his head—he's going to buy Virat as much chole bhature as he can eat after this.

Maybe throw in some lassi for good measure. Cheeku bhai deserves the works.

"Rohit, aise chalega toh bachhe nervous honge," [Rohit, if you keep acting like this, the kids are going to get nervous] Virat says, his voice cutting through the room with the casual ease, like he's trying to defuse a bomb.

Rohit freezes mid-step, his eyes locking onto Virat. The room collectively holds its breath. You don't just tell Rohit Sharma to calm down. Not when he's pacing like a lion on the verge of exploding. But if anyone can get away with it, it's Virat.

Rohit's not backing down easily, though. His frustration is practically seeping through the air, and he runs a hand through his hair, making it stand up in even wilder spikes.

"Tu janta hai na... Khargosh ne... woh, yeh..." [You know... Khargosh... this, that...]

Rohit's voice trails off, his hand slicing through the air as he struggles to find the words.

Shubman's lips twitch, and he quickly presses them together, trying not to laugh. It's always like this. Right when things are at their peak,

Rohit's brain will betray him, and words will just disappear. He'll stand there, waving his hands around, as if trying to catch the missing syllables mid-air.

"Woh... yeh..." Rohit mutters again, one hand on his hip, the other making increasingly wild gestures, as if that will somehow make the right word pop into existence.

Shubman's throat burns from holding in his laughter. Shubman hasna mat—especially not when Rohit looks like he could crush him with a single glare.

"Fitte muh tera, Rohit! Yahan bhi bhool gaya?" [Shame on you, Rohit! You forgot here too?]

Yuvi Paaji's voice rumbles through the room, deep and steady, cutting through the tense atmosphere.

Shubman silently thanks his mummy for all those extra ardaas she must've done at the gurdwara while she was pregnant with him.

Honestly, if it weren't for Yuvraj's perfectly timed interruption, Shubman knows he would've burst into one of those awkward, uncontrollable fits of laughter, the kind that only happens when you're terrified.

And laughing in Rohit Sharma's face? That would've been the equivalent of jumping into a fire, fully aware you'll get burned. Rohit's anger is legendary—nobody messes with the Hitman when he's fuming, especially when it's about his sister.

But now, thanks to Yuvi paaji's well-placed jab, the tension that had been smothering the room like a heavy blanket has eased. Shubman feels like he can breathe again, the knots in his stomach loosening just a bit.

For the first time in what feels like hours, he dares to hope he might actually survive this with all his bones intact. He steals a glance at Rohit, who, to his surprise, isn't glowering quite as much. The scowl is still there, but it's lost some of its edge, like a storm passing over.

Then there's Yuvi Paa, sitting back with that satisfied smirk, like the big brother who knows exactly when to step in and save the day. Shubman owes him —anything to say thank you for stopping him from signing his own death warrant.

Just as Shubman's heart rate starts to return to something resembling normal, he notices Radhika stepping forward. And just like that, the atmosphere shifts again.

But this time, it's not the tense, prickling kind of shift—it's something softer, more subtle, like the moment right before the rain when everything gets still.

Shubman watches her, his heartbeat speeding up for entirely different reasons now. There's something almost surreal about her calmness, like she's the only one who knows how to handle this situation, and the rest of them are just trying to keep up.

Haye, meri Radhika Teyan naal viyah toh pehla hi randwa na ho jawa. [Oh, my Radhika, be careful, I hope I don't become a widower before we even get married.]

What if Rohit snaps again? What if Radhika gets too close and the lion's protective instincts flare up, making him lash out at her in his frustration? The last thing Shubman wants is for Rohit to turn that simmering anger on his sister.

Without even thinking, Shubman's body reacts. His hand reaches out almost on its own, fingers lightly wrapping around Radhika's elbow, gently pulling her just behind him.

He positions himself like a shield, as if he's about to take a ball aimed straight at her, the instinct to protect her kicking in so strongly that he doesn't even realize what he's doing until it's done.

"Bhaiyya, please, Radhika pe gussa mat hona," [Bhaiyya, please don't get angry at Radhika.] he blurts out, his voice filled with more emotion than he intended.

There's a beat of silence that follows, a moment where everyone seems to stop and look at him. Rohit freezes mid-breath, his eyes widening slightly, and Shubman suddenly becomes hyper-aware of the fact that every single person in the room is watching him with varying degrees of confusion.

He feels Radhika stiffen behind him, probably just as surprised as everyone else by his sudden act.

But the thing is, Rohit wasn't even going to say anything to Radhika. In fact, the lion had already calmed—his anger was ebbing, not growing. Shubman, in his panic, had misread the situation completely.

Rohit's brow furrows in a way that says I wasn't going to shout at her, you idiot, but his mouth stays shut, the confusion still evident on his face.

An awkward silence stretches out, and Shubman can feel the heat creeping up his neck, embarrassment flooding him. He glances back at her, sheepishly, but she's looking at him with a soft expression—something that makes his chest tighten in the best possible way.

Before Shubman can dwell too much on her reaction, Rohit bhai's voice slices through the silence, a teasing edge to his tone that only makes Shubman's nerves jump back into action.

"Tu sure hai tujhe iss sust murge se shaadi karni hai?" [Are you sure you want to marry this lazy rooster?] Rohit tilts his head, his gaze sliding over to Radhika, his expression one of mock disbelief.

He raises an eyebrow, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he nods towards Shubman, who is currently standing between them, awkward and unsure, trying to act like he's still got some semblance of dignity left.

Radhika, who's almost hidden behind Shubman's broad frame, steps slightly to the side so Rohit can see her properly. Shubman feels like he's been caught in the middle of something, like a kid who's wandered into the adults' conversation.

Shubman watches nervously as Radhika raises her hands and begins to sign something to Rohit, her movements calm and steady, like she's done this a thousand times before. The way she communicates with her brother, silently but effectively, feels like a language only the two of them understand.

There's a quiet intensity in their exchange, and it's clear that, whatever Radhika is saying, it's meant to defuse the tension. But Shubman can't help feeling like he's standing on thin ice, unsure of what's coming next.

Rohit shakes his head slightly, his lips pressing together in that way they do when he's not quite convinced but is too tired to argue. Then, with a deep sigh, he crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing as he turns his attention to Shubman.

The way he looks at him, scanning him from head to toe, makes Shubman's spine straighten instinctively, as if someone just barked "attention" in his ear.

Rohit's gaze lingers on him for a few seconds longer, his expression unreadable, before he lets out a low hum. It's not exactly approval, but it's not outright disapproval either. It's more like he's still deciding.

Shubman stands there, feeling the weight of Rohit's scrutiny like he's being evaluated for a life-or-death situation. In a way, maybe he is. After all, this is Rohit Sharma, the fiercely protective brother who treats Radhika like she's made of glass.

Everyone knows how close they are, how much Radhika means to him. And standing in front of Rohit now, Shubman can practically feel the unspoken threat hanging in the air—Don't you dare mess this up.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Rohit speaks. His voice is calm, but there's a sharpness beneath the surface, a lingering edge that tells Shubman this conversation isn't over. "Shubman," Rohit says, each word measured, "mere study mein aa. Baat karni hai." [Come to my study. We need to talk.]

Shubman's heart skips a beat and he's pretty sure the temperature in the room drops by a few degrees. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Yuvi paaji, Sachin sir, and Virat bhai all glance over at him, their expressions shifting to serious in an instant.

It's as if they've just realized that Shubman is about to walk into a storm and, for once, no one's laughing. (except the readers)

Even Virat looks like he's bracing for impact. Sachin sir's brow raises, but there's concern there too. And Yuvi paaji? The one man in the room who lives for these awkward moments? He's just sitting back, eyes wide, no grin in sight.

Shubman, tere lawde lag gaye. [Shubman, you're screwed.]

It's like watching someone step into a lion's den, and everyone in the room is just waiting to see if Shubman comes out in one piece or ends up getting mauled.

He can practically hear the dramatic background score in his head, like one of those old Bollywood movies where the hero is walking into certain doom, except this time, there's no slow-motion or heroic music to save him.

"Bhai..." Shubman starts, trying to find his voice, but it's as if it's gone into hiding, buried deep in his throat.

His mouth feels like someone poured sand in it, his tongue suddenly too heavy to form coherent words.

"Woh... yeh..."

The words tumble out awkwardly, and for a second, he's reminded of Rohit himself, the way he fumbles for words when he's angry or frustrated.

Except this time, it's not funny—it's terrifying. Shubman's the one on the chopping block, not Rohit.

But before Shubman can gather enough courage to complete his thought, Rohit has already turned toward the door, his silent command crystal clear—follow me.

Rab ji, apne Gill nu bacha leo. [Dear God, please save your Gill.]

With a reluctant sigh, he straightens his shoulders, trying his best to look brave, even though his insides are twisting into more knots than a pair of brand new cricket shoes. It's a losing battle.

As he begins to follow Rohit, Shubman casts one final, desperate glance toward Radhika, hoping for some kind of lifeline. She stands there, blinking softly, her eyes calm—maybe even a little amused.

Shubman can't quite figure it out. Is she reassured because she knows her bhaiya won't actually kill him? Or is she just entertained by how much of a mess he's become in the last five minutes?

Whatever it is, in that brief moment, she gives him the smallest of nods. It's the kind of nod that seems to say, Don't worry, it'll be okay.

Easy for you to say, Shubman thinks as he trudges after Rohit. You're not the one about to get grilled by the Hitman in a closed room.

Pray karna apne hone wale pati ke liye, meri Radhika. [Pray for your future husband, my Radhika.]

Shubman disappears into the hallway behind Rohit, knowing full well that no amount of nods or reassurances will save him from what's about to happen.

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Click.

The study door closes behind him with a soft thud that feels way too final for his liking. It's like he's sealed his own fate.

For a second, he just stands there, staring at the back of Rohit's head, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

The room is unnervingly quiet, apart from the steady tick-tick of the clock on the wall. The air smells faintly of aftershave and something like freshly polished wood, the kind of clean, precise smell that only makes him more nervous.

Shubman stands there, feeling awkward. Should he sit? Wait for permission? He can't even tell if Rohit's about to scold him or offer him chai.

It's that kind of tension where nothing's happening, but everything feels like it's about to explode.

Rohit walks to the desk, pulls out the chair, and sits down without a word. Shubman watches, palms already sweaty, as Rohit leans back, elbows on the armrests, fingers steepled together in front of him like some mafia don waiting to pass judgment.

His expression is calm, and that calmness is somehow more terrifying than if he'd just started yelling.

"Shubman," Rohit says finally, his voice deep, steady, and a little too calm.

Shubman flinches slightly, snapping to attention like a cadet caught slacking during parade. "Ji, bhaiyya?" His voice cracks slightly, and he inwardly winces at how young he sounds.

Rohit raises an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing just a bit, but he doesn't comment on the nervous squeak. "Tujhe pata hai na ki tu yahan kyun hai?" [You know why you're here, right?]

Shubman swallows hard, nodding a little too quickly. "Ji... matlab, haan, I mean..." [Yes... I mean, yeah, I mean...] He trails off, his mouth going dry.

Rab ji, please help.

Rohit gives him that blank, unreadable look, the kind that coaches give when you've dropped the easiest catch of your life.

He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, still waiting. "Toh... kya socha hai?" [So... what have you thought?]

Shubman blinks. "Kiske baare mein?" [About what?]

Toh Prakash sir ka yeh matlab tha pairon pe kulhadi marna se? [So this is what Prakash sir meant by 'shooting yourself in the foot?']

Shubman thinks as he mentally kicks himself. He knows exactly what Rohit's asking about, but in the panic, his brain and mouth have clearly stopped coordinating.

He's always been good under pressure on the field, but this? This is a whole different ballgame.

Rohit's eyebrow arches a little higher, and Shubman can feel the temperature in the room drop a few degrees.  Shubman shifts awkwardly, trying to recover. "I mean, haan, socha hai... thoda." [I mean, yeah, I've thought... a little.]

Rohit still doesn't speak, but his silence is like a countdown. Shubman clears his throat, trying to gather whatever courage he has left. "Main... main ready hoon, bhaiyya," [I... I'm ready, brother.] he blurts out, his voice sounding way too loud for the stillness of the room.

"Shaadi ke liye. Radhika ke liye." [For the marriage. For Radhika.] The words tumble out in a rush, and he cringes at how desperate he sounds.

Rohit doesn't flinch, doesn't move, but his eyes are locked on Shubman, assessing, judging. After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks, his tone as calm as ever. "Shaadi ke liye ready ho? Yeh koi cricket match nahi hai, Shubman." [Ready for marriage? This isn't a cricket match, Shubman]

"I know, bhaiyya." [I know, brother.] Shubman rubs the back of his neck, suddenly feeling like a schoolboy again. "Par... jo ho raha hai, uske baad... it just seems like the right thing to do. For Radhika... for uski izzat." [But... after everything that's happened, it just seems like the right thing to do. For Radhika... for her honour.]

He isn't even sure if that made sense, but he's grasping at anything that will keep Rohit from kicking him out of the study—or worse, out of Radhika's life.

Rohit leans forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, his eyes narrowing with a quiet intensity. "Aur Radhika ke liye kya socha hai?" [And what have you thought about for Radhika?] His voice is low, but the weight of the question hangs heavily in the air. "Yeh sab, trolling, media... tu handle kar lega?" [All this, trolling, media... can you handle it?]

Shubman meets Rohit's steady gaze, feeling the gravity of the moment press down on him. The room feels smaller now, as though the space around them is tightening with the significance of what's being asked.

It's not just about words anymore—it's about proving, through action, that he's worthy of Radhika's trust, and Rohit's too. The silence stretches between them, charged with an unspoken urgency, as though the next few moments will define everything.

For the first time, Shubman truly understands the depth of Rohit's concerns. This isn't simply about agreeing to marry Radhika; it's about stepping into a role far larger than that.

It's about becoming her protector, her partner, her constant. It's about being the person she will turn to when life feels overwhelming, the one who stands by her side through every storm, no matter how fierce.

Shubman takes a deep breath, feeling his heart steady as his mind races. His words are careful, deliberate, each one carrying a new weight.

"Bhaiyya," he begins, his voice soft but certain, "Mujhe pata hai, Radhika sirf aapki behen nahi hai. Woh aapka pehla bacha hai, jise aap hamesha ek baap ki tarah protect karte aaye ho." [Brother, I know, Radhika isn't just your sister. She's your first child, the one you've always protected like a father.]

His gaze never falters, locked on Rohit's, as he speaks with a sincerity that's unshakeable. "Aur main yeh bhi jaanta hoon ki aapne kabhi yeh zimmedari kisi aur ko nahi di hai. Lekin aap mujhpe bharosa kar rahe ho, aur main aapse yeh vaada karta hoon—jo aapne apni behen ke pati ke liye socha hai, main wahi banunga." [And I also know that you've never entrusted this responsibility to anyone else. But you're trusting me, and I promise you—I'll become the husband you've envisioned for your sister.]

Shubman pauses for a moment, letting the words settle between them, waiting for any sign from Rohit—an interruption, a question, anything—but when none comes, he feels the courage to go on. "Main uske liye woh pati banunga, jisse woh hamesha apne aapko safe mehsoos karegi. Jahan chahe duniya kuch bhi bole, usse hamesha pata hoga ki main uske saath hoon." [I'll be the kind of husband to her that will always make her feel safe. No matter what the world says, she'll always know that I'm with her.]

The room seems to hum with the weight of his promise. Rohit listens in silence, his face unreadable, but Shubman can feel the intensity of his attention, as though every word is being measured, weighed.

"Radhika ka khayal rakhna mera farz hoga," [Taking care of Radhika will be my duty] Shubman continues, his voice growing stronger, more resolute with each word. "Main unka saathi banunga, aur chahe duniya kitni bhi mushkil ho jaye, main hamesha unke saath khada rahunga. Yeh zimmedari hai, kyunki ab woh meri zimmedari hain." [I'll be her partner, and no matter how difficult things get, I'll always stand by her. This is my responsibility, because now she is my responsibility.]

For the first time since the conversation began, something in Rohit's expression softens slightly. There's no smile, but the tension that's been gripping his features loosens a little.

He watches Shubman closely, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leans forward just a bit more. "Zimmedaari ka matlab samajhta hai tu?" [Do you understand what responsibility means?] Rohit asks quietly, though his voice still holds that firm edge.

Straightening his back, Shubman feels a deeper sense of seriousness settle over him. He isn't fidgeting anymore, not second-guessing his words.

"Haan, bhaiyya," he replies with certainty, his voice steady. "Main samajhta hoon. Radhika... woh mere ghar ki Lakshmi hai. Lakshmi sirf paiso ki devi nahi hoti, woh ghar ki roshni hoti hai. Jo sabko ek saath bandhke rakhti hai. Radhika meri zindagi mein wahi roshni banegi." [I understand. Radhika... she is the goddess Lakshmi of my home. Lakshmi isn't just the goddess of wealth, she's the light of the house. The one who keeps everyone together. Radhika will become that light in my life.]

There's a moment of silence that feels even heavier this time. Shubman can feel Rohit's eyes on him, weighing the sincerity of his words. It's a lot to take in, but Shubman knows this responsibility isn't something to fear.

It's something he's ready for, something he's willing to grow into, even if the shoes he's stepping into seem far too big right now.

Rohit leans forward slightly, his elbows still resting on his knees, but his gaze fixed on Shubman, unwavering. "Yeh sab bolna asaan hai," [This is easy to say,] he says, his voice calm but low, the weight of years of experience behind it. "Lekin zimmedaari nibhaani mushkil hoti hai. Trolls hamesha ready rahenge, media ka kaam hai teri zindagi aur mushkil banani. Jab sab mere Khargosh ke khilaf honge, tab tu kaise sambhalega?" [But fulfilling responsibility is difficult. Trolls will always be ready, the media's job is to make your life even more difficult. When everyone is against my Khargosh, how will you handle it?]

The question hangs between them like a challenge. It's not something Shubman has fully prepared for, but he knows this feeling. He knows pressure, the way it creeps up on you, unexpected and relentless.

He's faced it on the cricket field a hundred times, felt the weight of expectations pressing down from every direction. But this? This is different. It's personal.

"Bhaiyya," Shubman begins, taking a moment to gather his thoughts, to make sure he's speaking from the heart. "Jo bhi hoga, main uska saamna karunga. Log kuch bhi bolein, main Radhika ka naam kabhi badnaam nahi hone doonga. Main hamesha uske saath dunga. Main usko protect karunga, jaise aapne hamesha kiya hai." [Whatever happens, I'll face it. No matter what people say, I will never let Radhika's name be tarnished. I will always be with her. I will always protect her, like you always have.]

Rohit's face doesn't change, but there's a flicker in his eyes—something that might be approval, or maybe just recognition. "Aur agar sab tere khilaf ho gaye? Agar log tujhe target karne lage?" Rohit presses, his voice growing sharper, his gaze more intense. [And if everyone turns against you? If people start targeting you?]

Shubman feels the weight of the question settle deep in his chest. He knows what Rohit is really asking. Can he stand firm when the world turns against them? Can he protect Radhika when it feels like everything is falling apart? But then again, Shubman isn't one to back down when it matters most.

"Toh hone do, bhaiyya," [Then let them, bhaiyya.] he says firmly, his voice unshaken. "Main har din cricket ke ground pe pressure face karta hoon. Yeh alag hai, par main lad lunga. Radhika ke liye, main unn sab se lad loonga." [I face pressure on the cricket field every day. This is different, but I will fight through it. For Radhika, I will fight them all.]

For the first time, Shubman sees a shift in Rohit's expression—something small, but noticeable, like the armor he's been wearing all these years softens, even if just slightly.

But he knows this conversation isn't over yet. Rohit isn't the kind of person to let go of something so important without being absolutely sure.

Rohit leans in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper, the kind of voice you use when you're sharing something that's been held close for a long time, something personal. "Tu jaanta hai? Jab meri Khargosh paida hui thi, uski saansein nahi chal rahi thi." [Do you know? When my Khargosh was born, she wasn't breathing]

His words are heavy with emotion, each syllable thick with a vulnerability that feels almost too intimate to be spoken out loud.

Shubman stiffens slightly. This isn't the Rohit he knows—the fiercely protective brother who never shows weakness. This is something else, something deeper.

It's as if a part of Rohit is being laid bare, a side of him that's almost sacred, too fragile for the world to see.

Shubman listens, his throat tight, as Rohit continues, his voice cracking just a little. "Mera bacha... woh maari hui paida hui thi." [My baby... she was born dead.]

The image hits Shubman like a blow. Rohit, standing in a hospital room, watching his sister enter the world without breath, without life. The fear, the helplessness—Shubman can hardly imagine it, but he feels it all the same, like a shadow pressing down on his chest.

Rohit's voice softens, his eyes distant, lost in the memory. "Doctor keh rahe the... shayad woh nahi bach paayegi," [The doctors said... she might not survive.] he murmurs, shaking his head as though the words still don't feel real. "Uss din pehli baar laga tha ki main haar gaya hoon." [That day, for the first time, I felt like I had lost.]

The admission lands between them with a heavy finality. Rohit—the man who never loses, who always finds a way to fight back—felt defeat for the first time, not on the field but in that moment when he thought he might lose Radhika before she ever had a chance to live.

Shubman can only listen, his heart heavy with the weight of Rohit's pain. He's never been in that kind of situation, never been that close to losing someone who means everything.

But he understands the fear—the way it grips you, consumes you, takes over every thought. Rohit's voice lowers further, almost as if he's afraid the memory itself might break him if spoken too loudly.

"Tujhe pata hai ki mujhe harna accha nahi lagta," [You know that I don't like losing.] Rohit says quietly, his eyes dark with the memory. "Jab main game mein harna nahi seh sakta, toh apne bache ko kaise haar jaata?" [When I can't tolerate losing in a game, how could I lose my baby?]

Rohit pauses, his voice strained with emotion, the silence that follows almost unbearable in its weight. "Maine Khargosh ko apne haathon mein liya," [I held Khargosh in my hands,] he continues, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with the memory of that moment, "aur jaise hi maine usse apne haathon mein liya... usne apni pehli saans li." [and as soon as I took her in my hands... she took her first breath.]

The image is vivid, almost too real. Shubman can see it in his mind's eye—Rohit, cradling his newborn sister, her tiny body lifeless until that single breath brought her back to him.

"Jaise woh bas mera intezaar kar rahi thi," [As if she was just waiting for me.] Rohit murmurs, and for the first time, Shubman feels the depth of the bond between them.

It's not just the bond of an older brother—it's something more primal, something closer to a father and daughter. Rohit's love for Radhika is built on that fragile, life-altering moment when he held her for the first time, and it has shaped him ever since.

Shubman feels the gravity of it all settle deep inside him, the understanding that this isn't just about being Radhika's husband. This is about stepping into a role where love, protection, and unwavering commitment are non-negotiable. It's about being the one person who can make her feel safe, no matter what the world throws at them.

"Us din se," [From that day,] Rohit continues, his voice quieter now, as if the memory has drained him, "Radhika meri zindagi hai. Woh meri pehli jeet thi, Shubman. Meri Khargosh. Aur agar uske upar kabhi ek bhi aanch aayi... main sab barbaad kar doonga." [Radhika is my life. She was my first victory, Shubman. My Khargosh. And if any harm ever comes to her... I will destroy everything.]

The declaration is fierce, and Shubman feels its intensity wash over him like a wave. Rohit isn't just saying this—he means it, with every fiber of his being. His love for Radhika isn't just protective, it's absolute, all-encompassing.

The world could crumble, but Rohit would fight to the last breath for his sister. And now, as Shubman sits in front of him, he realizes just how immense this responsibility is. It's not something to be taken lightly.

"Uska dard mera dard hai. Uski khushi meri khushi. Woh duniya ki sabse pyari muskaan deti hai, Shubman, lekin agar us muskaan ke peeche kabhi dard ho, main usse nahi dekh sakta. Isliye main itna overprotective hoon." [Her pain is my pain. Her happiness is my happiness. She has the sweetest smile in the world, Shubman, but if there's ever pain behind that smile, I can't bear to see it. That is why I am overprotective.] Rohit's voice sharpens again, the tenderness giving way to something more intense, more focused.

Each word feels heavy, soaked in years of unspoken worry, unexpressed fears, and a love that has always been both fierce and gentle.

Rohit's eyes search Shubman's face, as if trying to gauge whether he truly understands the depth of what's being said. The silence that follows feels like it's pulling them both deeper into the weight of this moment.

Shubman, for the longest time, just listens. There's nothing he can say that will fully match the intensity of Rohit's words, nothing that can erase the years of responsibility Rohit has carried alone.

But when he finally speaks, his voice is steady, clear, and filled with a sincerity that goes beyond just words.

"Main samajh gaya, bhaiyya. Main aapse yeh vaada karta hoon ki main kabhi Radhika ka saathi nahi chhodunga. Jo zimmedaari aapne ab tak uthayi hai, ab main uthaoonga. Main hamesha uska khayal rakhunga, jaise aapne kiya hai." [I understand, bhaiyya. I promise you that I will never leave Radhika's side. The responsibility you've carried until now, I will take over. I will always take care of her, just like you have.] Shubman says, and this time, it's not just a promise—it's a commitment.

The room falls into silence again, but this time, it feels different. There's a shift, a subtle easing of tension as if Rohit is finally allowing himself to believe in Shubman's words.

His expression remains serious, but the hardness around his eyes softens, just slightly. It's as though, for the first time in this conversation, Rohit is willing to consider that maybe—just maybe—Shubman can take on this responsibility.

"Khargosh ko andhere se dar lagta hai," [Khargosh is afraid of the dark] Rohit says suddenly, his voice quieter, almost as if he's sharing a secret only a few people know.

The tenderness in his tone catches Shubman off guard. It's a glimpse into a part of Rohit that few ever see—the gentle protector, the brother who has been Radhika's safe place for as long as she can remember.

"Woh kabhi nahi maanti," [She never admits it,] Rohit continues, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his lips, "lekin main jaanta hoon. Jab bijli chali jaati thi, woh chup chaap mere paas aa jaati thi. Kuch nahi bolti thi, bas aake mere saath baith jaati thi." [But I know. When the electricity would go out, she would quietly come to me. She wouldn't say anything, just sit next to me.]

His eyes are distant now, lost in the memory of a younger Radhika, her small figure curling up next to him, silently trusting that her big brother would keep the darkness away.

Shubman listens, his heart full as he absorbs the depth of this bond. Rohit has always been more than just an older brother to Radhika—he's been her protector, her shelter, the person she turns to when the world feels too overwhelming.

And now, Shubman understands the gravity of what's being asked of him. This isn't just about love—it's about becoming Radhika's sanctuary, the person she can always rely on, no matter what.

"Jab main uske saath hota hoon, usse pata hota tha ki andhera usse kuch nahi karega. Woh mujhmein apni light dekhti hai." [When I'm with her, she knows the darkness can't harm her. She sees her light in me.] Rohit says softly, his voice taking on that protective edge again.

Rohit's eyes lock onto his, serious and unwavering. "Kya tu meri Radhika ke liye woh sab ban sakta hai? Kya tu usse itna hi safe mehsoos karwa sakta hai jaise main karta hoon?" [Can you be all that for my Radhika? Can you make her feel as safe as I do?]

The question lingers in the air, heavy with meaning. Rohit isn't just asking if Shubman can be a good husband. He's asking something far deeper—if Shubman can be the one Radhika turns to when everything around her feels overwhelming, the person who makes her feel safe no matter what.

Can he be her rock, the one place where she'll always find light, even in the darkest of times?

Shubman swallows, feeling the enormity of the moment settle deep in his chest. His throat tightens, but when he speaks, there's no hesitation, no uncertainty.

"Haan, bhaiyya, main Radhika ke liye woh sab banunga. Jo aapne uske liye kiya hai, wahi main karunga. Main uska saathi banunga, uska apna insaan. Jab bhi usse andhera lagega, main hamesha wahan rahunga. Aap jaise hamesha uske liye rahe ho, main bhi waisa hi rahunga." [Yes, bhaiyya, I will be all that for Radhika. I will do what you've done for her. I'll be her partner, her person. Whenever she feels the darkness, I'll always be there. Just like you've always been there for her, I'll be the same.]

The room falls silent once again as Shubman's words hang in the air. He's never been more serious about anything in his life.

This is more than just a commitment—it's a promise, one that he knows he must live up to, not just in the big moments, but in the small, quiet ones too. He's ready to step into this role, to be the person Radhika can rely on, just as she has always relied on Rohit.

Rohit studies him for a long moment, his face unreadable, but there's something different in his eyes now. It's not quite approval, but it's not doubt either. The silence between them feels heavy, meaningful.

Shubman knows this is a big step—earning Rohit's trust isn't something that happens easily, especially when it comes to someone as precious as Radhika. But this moment, this exchange, is a start.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime, Rohit gives a single nod—just once, but it's enough. His expression softens, the sharp edges of his protectiveness easing slightly, like he's starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, Shubman can be the person Radhika needs.

"Vaada mat kar, Shubman," [Don't make promises, Shubman] Rohit says quietly, his voice still firm but less harsh now. "Bas nibha. Yeh jo tu keh raha hai, yeh sirf shabdon mein nahi hona chahiye. Agar tu meri Khargosh ka saathi banne ka irada rakhta hai, toh yaad rakh—zimmedaari kabhi aasan nahi hoti." [just fulfill them. What you're saying shouldn't be just words. If you intend to be my Khargosh's partner, remember—responsibility is never easy.]

Shubman nods, his throat tightening again, but this time it's not from nerves—it's from something else, something closer to relief. Rohit isn't asking him to be perfect.

He's asking him to be present, to be solid, to understand the weight of truly caring for someone. And Shubman is ready for that. He's ready to be the person who will stand by Radhika, through whatever comes.

"Main samajh gaya, bhaiyya," [ I understand, bhaiyya.] Shubman says once more, his voice quieter but filled with even more determination. "Aapko kabhi yeh mehsoos nahi hone doonga ki aapne galat insaan ko choose kiya." [I'll never let you feel like you chose the wrong person.]

Rohit studies him for another long moment, and then, slowly, he steps back. His gaze remains locked onto Shubman's, but there's a softness there now, a quiet acknowledgment.

There's no grand gesture, no dramatic speech, but there doesn't need to be. In that simple nod, in the way Rohit steps aside, Shubman knows he's taken one step closer to earning the trust that matters most.

The tension in the room finally begins to loosen, like a knot slowly unraveling after being pulled too tight for too long. Rohit leans back in his chair, the heavy atmosphere lifting slightly, though the weight of everything they've just talked about still lingers in the air.

His eyes stay on Shubman, that intense older brother gaze not quite fading, but there's something softer in it now—something that wasn't there before.

It's as if they've crossed some unspoken threshold, reached a place of mutual understanding, even if Rohit's trust hasn't been completely won over just yet.

Shubman feels a quiet wave of relief wash over him, as if he's passed an invisible test, though he knows this is only the beginning. Rohit might have loosened up, but Shubman can tell there's still a long road ahead before he fully earns the role Rohit is asking him to step into.

Yet, for the first time since the conversation began, the weight doesn't feel quite so heavy. The room feels lighter, quieter, and even though the serious emotions from earlier still hang between them, they're softened now by a shared respect.

"Chal ab. Bahar sab tera matam mana rahe honge. Unko bata de ki tu zinda hai," [Come on now. Everyone outside must be mourning for you. Go tell them you're still alive.] Rohit says with a mischievous grin, jumping up from his seat.

The heaviness of the conversation starts to fade, replaced by his playful tone, and Shubman can't help but smile.

As they walk towards the door, Shubman notices the way the tension slowly seeps out of his body. Rohit's tone shifts further, no longer the protective, watchful brother but more the teasing, playful elder.

There's a familiar glint in Rohit's eyes now, the same one Shubman has seen before when Rohit's about to pull someone's leg.

"Ab bata," [Now tell me,] Rohit says, grinning wider as he elbows Shubman playfully. "Rohit Sharma ka hone wala jija banke kaisa lag raha hai?" [How does it feel to be Rohit Sharma's future brother-in-law?]

Shubman lets out a laugh, shaking his head, trying to find a response but finding the situation too absurd to be serious. "Mujhe laga tha aap sirf mere captain aur bhaiyya ho, yeh 'jija' ka promotion free mein milega, yeh nahi pata tha," he jokes, his tone light. [I thought you were just my captain and bhaiyya; I didn't know I'd get this 'brother-in-law' promotion for free.]

Rohit bursts into laughter, his deep chuckle filling the study room, the tension between them dissolving completely. "Captaincy ka promotion milne se pehle tujhe life ka sabse bada test mil gaya, Gill. Cricket ground pe jitna marzi acha ho, ghar ke ground pe tikna alag baat hai." [Before you got promoted to captaincy, you've already faced life's biggest test, Gill. No matter how good you are on the cricket field, staying steady in the home ground is different.]

Shubman shakes his head, still grinning, the ridiculousness of the situation hitting him. "Arre bhaiyya, yeh toh ab samajh mein aaya," [Arre bhaiyya, now I understand] he says, his grin widening. "Ek boundary maarna easier hota hai than yeh sab manage karna." [Hitting a boundary is easier than managing all this.]

Rohit claps him on the back, his laughter echoing down the hallway. "Bhai, ab toh boundary ke saath puri innings sambhalni hai," [Bhai, now you have to handle the whole innings, not just hit a boundary.] he says, his tone still teasing but layered with meaning. "Lekin tension mat le, main teri team mein hoon." [But don't worry, I'm on your team.]

He winks, the edge of his voice playful, but Shubman knows there's sincerity behind the joke. Rohit may tease, but deep down, he's always got his back.

Rohit laughs, that familiar, mischievous glint now dancing in his eyes. He sits up straighter, clearly enjoying how the conversation has taken a lighter turn.

"Arre," he says, waving his hand like he's brushing off everything that happened before, "tu abhi tak hum Sharmas ko jaanta hi nahi hai. Pressure toh ab shuru hua hai, bhai." [You don't really know us Sharmas yet. The pressure is just starting, bhai.]

Shubman chuckles, shaking his head in mock disbelief, as if trying to stay composed. But deep down, he knows exactly what's coming.

Rohit's love for teasing, especially when it involves family, is legendary. And right on cue, the glint in Rohit's eyes says he's just getting started.

"Waise, Shubman," Rohit leans back, smirk plastered across his face, voice dropping as if he's about to let the biggest secret slip. "Tune yeh socha hai... agar yeh photo news channels pe headline ban gayi hai, toh yeh news Punjab tak bhi ponchi hogi?" [By the way, Shubman, have you thought about this... if this photo has become a headline on the news channels, then this news has probably reached Punjab too?]

He pauses dramatically, watching with obvious delight as Shubman's smile falters, his mind already spiraling into a panic.

Rohit is clearly having the time of his life watching the younger cricketer squirm. Shubman can feel the wave of anxiety rushing toward him like a bouncer he never saw coming.

He's already picturing the scene back home in Punjab—his entire family glued to the TV, expressions frozen somewhere between horror and disbelief, as an overzealous news anchor breathlessly narrates the "scandal" of their son, bare-chested, tying a girl's dori.

His heart sinks. He knows exactly how this will play out—it's like every melodramatic family soap opera ever, and the leading role of "disappointed son" is firmly his.

His mom will be the first to react, no doubt. He can practically hear her voice already, shrill and full of shock.

She'll probably gasp so loudly the neighbors might hear. She'll cry, hands flying up to her head like she's just witnessed the world's worst disaster unfold in her living room.

"Haye rabba! Cricket khelne bheja tha, aur ab yeh din dekhne pad rahe hain? Yeh kya ho gaya, Shubman?!" [Oh God! We sent you to play cricket, and now we have to see this? What has happened, Shubman?!]

Her voice will escalate with every word, going from disbelief to outright panic in record time.

And then, of course, the tears will follow—her face crumpling dramatically as she turns to his dad, looking for answers, like somehow it's his job to fix whatever catastrophe has just unfolded on national television.

Chachi ji, always ready with her well-timed remarks, will seize her chance, as usual. "Jethani ji, main tuhanu kini vaar keha. Tuhada munda haath se nikal gaya." [Sister-in-law, how many times have I told you? Your son is out of control.]

She'll make sure her words land with a sting, no comfort intended, just adding more fuel to the fire with that little smirk of satisfaction she always wears.

She'll watch the chaos with just a bit too much glee, happy to play her part as the family's self-appointed commentator on all things dramatic.

And Papaji—Shubman knows his father won't need to say much. He's the quiet kind, the type whose silence speaks louder than any shouting match ever could.

Shubman can already picture him, sitting in his favorite chair, shaking his head slowly, every inch of his face etched with disappointment.

He'll say something short, something that'll cut right to the bone. "Shub puttar," [Shub, my son,] he'll begin, voice calm but heavy with disapproval, "Tere toh ae umeed nai si. Tu te sada naa duba dita." [I didn't expect this from you. You've really disgraced us.]

Those words will hit like a yorker, low and unrelenting, and the guilt—the weight of letting his father down—will crush Shubman in ways no public scandal ever could.

And then there's Chacha ji. He won't jump in right away, but he'll sit there, arms crossed, his old wooden chair creaking as he watches everything unfold. He'll give Shubman's dad that look, the one that says it's all his fault for raising Shubman with too much freedom.

He'll take his time, let the silence drag out before finally muttering, "Veer ji, main tenu kini vaar keha si ki munde nu inni azadi na de." [Brother, how many times did I tell you not to give the boy so much freedom?] His voice will be filled with judgment, each word dripping with the certainty that he's been right all along.

And Tai ji? Oh, she won't miss her chance to drop her usual solution for every family crisis. She'll jump right in, confident as ever, with her one-size-fits-all answer to everything from minor disagreements to national-level scandals.

"Keart, main te kehni aa, munde da viah kar do. Sab pareshani khatam ho jaani hai. Main apni bhain di kudi naal gal chalani aa." [Keart, I'm telling you, just get the boy married. All the problems will be solved. I'll talk to my sister's daughter.]

She'll say it like she's offering the golden ticket to solve all of life's problems—a wedding, of course, is always the answer.

Shubman's head spins as he imagines the chaos unraveling at home—his mom's dramatic wailing, his dad's heavy silence, Chachi ji's side comments, and Tai ji already planning his wedding, all playing out in vivid detail in his mind like some bizarre reality TV show.

And just when he's sinking into the weight of it all, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

Shubman stares at his phone, every ounce of dread pooling in his stomach as the ringtone buzzes ominously in his hand.

Shahneel Di—of course she's calling now.

Of all times. The image of her voice rattling off questions at the speed of light is enough to make him wince. Because, let's be real, no one interrogates better than an older sister.

Rohit notices the contact name flashing on the screen and breaks into a grin that's way too gleeful for Shubman's liking.

With that usual older-brother swag, he pats Shubman on the shoulder, a mix of sympathy and amusement flickering in his eyes.

Rohit, captain of not just the Indian cricket team but apparently of Shubman's personal nightmare as well, casually saunters out of the study, leaving him to handle the ticking time bomb that is his sister. Typical.

Yeh bhai na paka badla nikala hai. [Bhai is definitely taking revenge.]

Behen hai. Kha thodi jaayegi? [She's your sister. She's not going to eat you alive, right?]

Shubman tries to reassure himself, though the knot in his stomach tells a different story. He sighs deeply, thumb hovering over the screen for a second longer than necessary before he finally swipes to answer the call. Might as well face the music.

"Hello?" His voice comes out tentative, a little too squeaky for his own liking.

"SHUBMAN SINGH GILL!

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BADI BEHEN SE DAANT PADEGI! NACHOOOOO!!!! Sorry. Mujhe bada maza aata hai jab Shubi ki lagti hai toh.

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

Aur prem so bolo,

Radhe..Radhe 🙏🏻