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Kan ke pade fatt gaye hai. [My ears are ringing.]

Shubman wonders how he's ever going to listen to Diljit's songs again now that his sister's voice has likely damaged his ears beyond repair.

Her shout is still bouncing around inside his head, refusing to settle, like an unwanted echo that's impossible to ignore.

He rubs his temples, massaging the tension that seems to have set up permanent residence there, but there's no relief in sight.

If Di had her way, he'd be trending on Twitter with some ridiculous hashtag like #DisappointedBrotherGoesViral.

He shifts in his chair, letting out a long, defeated sigh. The ringing in his ears finally begins to fade, but the aftereffects of Shahneel's yelling linger like a post-match hangover, the kind that sticks around no matter how much water you drink.

Great. Bas yehi bacha tha zindagi mein. Ab Diljit ka concert bhi mute pe suna padega. [Great. This was the last thing I needed in life. Now I'll have to listen to Diljit's next concert on mute.]

"Shubman, tenu akal kado aayi gi? Ghode vangu inna lamba ho gaya, par akal teri gode aa chi baithi aa!" [Shubman, when are you going to get some sense? You've grown as tall as a horse, but your brain's still sitting in your knees!]

The words stab at him in the way only an older sister's scolding can. It's the perfect combination of irritation and love, and the worst part? She's always right—that's the part that stings the most.

Shubman pictures her pacing back and forth, probably one hand on her hip, the other clutching the phone so tightly that it's a miracle it doesn't snap in half.

Her eyebrows are likely furrowed, the same way they used to be when he'd sneak off to play gully cricket and come home with ripped jeans and scraped knees.

"Shahneel Didi, main—" [Shahneel Didi, I—]

"Didi?!" she snaps, cutting him off before he can even attempt to form a full sentence. "Ab tujhe matlab hai toh didi bol raha hai? Shubman, tujhe pata hai kya ho raha hai? Tune apna Insta khola hai?!" [Now that you need something, you're calling me Didi? Shubman, do you even know what's going on? Have you checked your Instagram?!]

He hesitates, already knowing where this is headed. Kyun kholoon apna Insta? [Why should I check my Insta?]

He's not ready to see his face plastered all over social media, especially with captions that make it sound like he's starring in some over-the-top drama.

Not to mention the flood of comments that are sure to follow—most of them, he imagines, will either be trolling or worse, people offering unsolicited advice on "how to fix his image."

"Di, sun toh—" [Di, listen—]

"Sun toh?! Main kya sunnu? Tu khud jaake dekh apne Insta pe!" [Listen?! What should I listen to? You go check your Insta!] Shahneel snaps, cutting off any attempt Shubman makes to defend himself.

Her voice is the kind of loud that could probably reach him even without the phone pressed against his ear. "Poora internet pagal ho gaya hai! Mujhe nahi pata. Tu abhi apna Insta khol." [The whole internet's gone mad! I don't care—just open your Instagram now.]

Shubman rubs his face, feeling the weight of the phone in his hand like it's the heaviest thing in the world. He stares at the screen, knowing full well what's waiting for him on the other side.

He's been here before—caught in some embarrassing mess and now forced to face the consequences, courtesy of the internet's favorite pastime: trolling cricketers who get themselves into trouble.

"Shubman," Shahneel snaps again, her voice like an alarm clock he can't switch off, "main abhi bol rahi hoon, Insta khol warna main khud tujhe tag kar ke sab dikhati hoon." [I'm telling you right now, open Insta or I'll tag you and show you everything myself.]

He sighs deeply, his fingers hovering over the Instagram app like it's a bomb he's about to defuse.

His thumb hesitates for a second longer—because honestly, once he sees what's waiting for him, there's no turning back.

Ignorance really is bliss, but then again, Shahneel di isn't exactly the type to let him hide under the covers and pretend the world isn't burning.

He finally swipes to open the app, muttering under his breath, "Bas kar, Di, khol raha hoon..." [Okay, Di, I'm opening it...] He scrolls down, his heart sinking as the notifications begin flooding in like a tidal wave he can't outrun.

And there it is. His worst nightmare.

PINKVILLA @pinkvilla

liked by: karanjohar, kareenakapoorkhan, sidharthmalhotra, vickykaushal09, and others

@Shubmangill caught in a steamy moment with a mystery girl! Is the Prince of Cricket, the new playboy?

3.8M likes | 59K comments

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@OyeeMeera

@BollywoodKaDalal: Karan Johar ab tere ghar phone karega. Student of the Year 4 mein kaam karne keliye? 😎 [Karan Johar is probably calling your house right now to work on Student of the Year 4]

↳ @SouthKaSimp: Karan Johar toh apni coffee ke saath ready hai bhai. [Karan Johar is already ready with his coffee, bro.]

@ViratKi81Century: Keh raha hoon, next match se pehle bhabhi ke haath ka paratha khaa ke aana. Power boost milega. [I'm telling you, eat your sister-in-law's paratha before your next match. Power boost incoming]

↳ @MautSeTakkar: Main toh bas aloo lene gaya tha, wapas aake yeh dekha. Aloo saare gir gaye. 😭 [I just went to get some potatoes and came back to see this. Dropped all my potatoes.]

@ChholeBhatureLover: BHAI, galat fine leg pe focus kar diya! [BRO, you're focusing on the wrong fine leg!]

@ChintaPakDumDumie: Bhai ab Sara bhabhi ka kya?... #Kaand [What about Sara bhabhi now?... #Scandal]

↳ @DekhBhaiDekhh55: Yeh sab dekh ke soch raha hoon, kalesh toh kaafi bada hone wala hai! 😬 [ I feel like this is going to turn into a huge mess!]

@MeraChashmaKahanHai: Bhabhi toh kaafi sundar hai, tujhe pakka pata hai yeh tere se hi pati hai? 😏 [Bhabhi is really beautiful, are you sure she's yours?]

SPOTBOYE @spotboye

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liked by: karishmaktanna, bharti.laughterqueen, kapilsharma, zakirkhan_208, aupmanyu, thetanmay and others

Shubman Gill's New Controversy: Who's the Mystery Girl? See why the cricket heartthrob is making headlines for all the wrong reasons! 😳🔥 #ShubmanGill #CricketRomance #CaughtOnCamera

1.3M likes | 26K comments

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@I.knowHalf_Kala_jadoo: Bhai, Sachin sir ko pata chala na toh bat ka grip nikal ke.... [Bro, if Sachin sir finds out, he's gonna....]

@GaramChaiAurSutta: Ishan ko bulao, uska banda kisi aur bandi ke saath pakda gaya. [Call Ishan, his guy got caught with another girl.]

@Pant_ka_Chodahuabat: Mummy ne bola tha "Shubman se seekho, kitna focused hai cricket pe"... ab mummy ko kaise samjhaun? 😭 [My mom used to say, "Learn from Shubman, he's so focused on cricket"... how am I supposed to explain this to her now?]

@Thanos.KiGaand: Shubman: "Aaj mere paas gaadi hai, bangla hai, biwi hai..." Log: "Yeh kab hua bhai?!" [Shubman: "Today I have a car, a house, a wife..." People: "When did that happen, bro?!"]

@ParantheAndNeend: Shubman bhai, zyada practice ho gayi lagti hai. 😜 [Bro, looks like you've been practicing too much]

↳ @ZindagiJhandKaSauti: Humare yahan aisa hi hota hai. 😉[This is just how it goes around here.]

Shubman slumps in his chair, his eyes glued to the phone as if the screen holds the key to escaping this disaster. It's like watching a train wreck happen in slow motion—no matter how hard he tries, he can't tear his eyes away.

And then Shahneel's voice cuts through the madness like a fire alarm that refuses to shut up. "DEKHA?!" [SEE?!]

She practically yells through the phone, as if Shubman hasn't been subjected to enough trauma already.  "Maine tereko bola tha. Aacha hua abhi tak Agam ne yeh photo nahi dekhi hai." [I told you. It's a good thing Agam hasn't seen this photo yet.]

Agam.

Shubman's heart does a somersault, and not the good kind. Kaise bhool gaya main? [I told you. It's a good thing Agam hasn't seen this photo yet.]

His soon-to-be jija, practically a living manual on discipline and self-control, someone who could conduct a TED Talk on "The Right Way to Live" without blinking.

And, of course, Agam's a professor—one who's actually passionate about explaining the life cycle of cells to students who barely stay awake. He finds joy in things like "staying grounded" and "early morning mindfulness."

The man thinks a 5 a.m. jog is refreshing, for crying out loud.

After his father, Virat bhai, and Rohit bhai, if there's anyone whose disappointment could make Shubman want to dig himself a hole and vanish, it's Agam.

And the thing is, Agam doesn't believe in shouting. No, that would be far too common.

Agam's technique is far worse—he'll calmly sit him down, adjust his glasses with that calculated, slow movement, and then hit him with a single, disarming question: "So, Shubman, what exactly were you thinking here?"

It's a polite form of interrogation, but that question alone would unravel Shubman's resolve. But the thing is, Agam's not even a bad guy. Far from it, actually.

Shubman would never admit it openly, but somewhere, deep down—and only when he's absolutely forced to think about it—he knows that Agam is kind of... impressive. Annoyingly so.

Agam is the whole package—successful, respectable, and the kind of polite that has grandmothers swooning.

He's the guy who remembers anniversaries, brings flowers for no reason, and probably even writes thank-you notes.

He's practically a hero out of some overly idealistic novel, one that Shubman would've never read willingly.

And as much as he hates to admit it, Agam's actually been nothing but nice to him. He's not one of those intimidating future brothers-in-law who act like they're too cool to bother with the younger brother of their wife-to-be.

Instead, Agam treats Shubman like an equal, always asking him about his cricket career, listening to him ramble about the IPL, and even going out of his way to attend his matches when he can.

He's the type who never forgets to wish him good luck before a big game, and he even remembers details about Shubman's friends, always asking with that curiosity of his, "Aur, Ishan aur Abhishek kaise hain?" [So, how are Ishan and Abhishek?]

Shubman knows it's not easy finding someone like Agam—someone who treats you like a kid brother without treating you like an actual kid. And that's exactly what makes this entire situation a thousand times worse.

"Di, please jiju ko mat bata," [Di, please don't tell Jiju,] Shubman whispers, as if saying it louder might somehow summon Agam out of thin air, ready to deliver the lecture of a lifetime.

The desperation in his voice is unmistakable, a blend of pure panic and the faint hope that maybe—just maybe—his sister will cut him some slack this once.

But, of course, Shahneel lets out that laugh—the one laced with just enough amusement and mischief to make him realize he's doomed.

"Shubhu," she says, drawing out his nickname as if each syllable is its own piece of comedy, "tujhe lagta hai main bataungi? Samajhta nahi hai tu, woh khud dekh lega. Aur phir, uska 'What were you thinking, Shubman?' lecture sunne ke liye ready reh." [you think I'm going to tell him? Don't you get it? He'll figure it out on his own. And then, get ready for his 'What were you thinking, Shubman?' lecture.]

"Di," he tries one more time, his voice tinged with a desperation he hopes might actually work this time, "main sab manage kar lunga... bas jiju ko abhi mat bata. Please." [I'll manage everything... just don't tell Jiju yet. Please.]

But even as he says it, he knows deep down that he's only fueling her fire. If Shahneel's a lioness, this is practically him handing her a fresh piece of meat.

"Shut up!" she snaps back, though her voice carries that teasing edge, like she's savoring every second of his panic.

"Aur ek baat bata," [Tell me one thing,] she says, as if suddenly overcome with pure curiosity, "yeh soni kudi tere haath lagi kaise? Kya jugad lagaya tune? Mujhe toh yeh samajh nahi aata, tu aur Jugnu kaise randomly itni soni kudiyaan dhoond lete ho? Jugnu ko Sara mil gayi, aur tu toh..." [how did you land such a pretty girl? What trick did you pull? I just don't get how you and Jugnu manage to randomly find such stunning girls. Jugnu got Sara, and you...]

She trails off, as if contemplating the cosmic unfairness of it all, and then hits him with her classic dose of elder-sibling disbelief. "Bhai, kaisa naseeb leke paida hua hai!" [Bro, what kind of luck were you born with?]

Shubman's face flushes deeper, his mind racing for a response that doesn't sound like complete nonsense. "Di, woh..." [Di, she's...] he starts, but the words tumble out in a way that's far from convincing. She doesn't even let him finish.

"Arre, jaldi bol na!" [Hurry up and spit it out!] Her tone sharpens, insistent, as though this scoop is something she absolutely has to crack before sunrise. "Kal subha Panvel nikalna hai! Zyada time nahi hai, bhai!" [I have to leave for Panvel tomorrow! I don't have much time, bro!]

Shubman takes a deep breath, the kind you take before diving into freezing water, knowing full well there's no graceful way out of this. The words tumble out quietly, like he's confessing to a crime he doesn't entirely regret.

"Teri honewali bhabhi hai..." [She's your future bhabhi...] His voice is barely louder than a whisper, like maybe, just maybe, if he says it soft enough, it won't feel real.

For a second, there's a dangerous pause on the other end—silent, but sharp, like the moment right before a pressure cooker lets off steam. And Shubman thinks, Okay, maybe I got away with it. Maybe miracles happen.

Then the explosion hits.

"Kya bola?! Abey ghar pe toh sher banke dhaad ta rehta hai, yahan kya ho gaya? Shubh chup chap bata, yeh soni kudi hai kaun?" [What did you say?! You're always roaring like a lion at home, what happened now? Shubh, just tell me quietly—who is this pretty girl?] Shahneel's voice rises with the same force as if she just caught him red-handed sneaking out of the house at 2 AM.

It's rapid-fire, relentless, like she's trying to corner him with pure decibel levels.

Shubman winces, gripping the phone a little tighter. "Di, yeh teri honewali—bhabhi hai," [Di, she's your future—bhabhi,] he repeats slowly, dragging each word out as though they're covered in spikes.

The sentence feels heavier with every syllable, like it's a piece of furniture he's trying to carry up a flight of stairs.

Another sharp pause. This one feels worse. Like the universe is giving Shahneel just enough time to reload. When she finally speaks, there's this weird disbelief wrapped in her words, as if her brain is buffering but the Wi-Fi signal's weak.

"Shubh... tu pagal ho gaya hai kya? Yeh kya bol raha hai? Pehle Sara wala mess, aur ab yeh? Tujhe pata bhi hai Jugnu ko massi ji se manwane mein kitni mehnat lagi thi! Sara ke paas fashion designing ki degree thi, aur, bhai, uske papa... Sachin Tendulkar! Tere wale ka kya scene hai?" [Shubh... have you gone mad? What are you saying? First the mess with Sara, and now this? Do you even realize how much effort it took for Jugnu to get Massi ji on board! Sara had a fashion designing degree, and, dude, her dad is Sachin Tendulkar! What's the deal with your girl?]

Shubman shifts his weight, crossing his arms as he tries to look anywhere but at Shahneel, who, by now, is a volcano of expression waiting to erupt.

He manages, "MBBS hai meri wali, Di. Padhi-likhi hai. Rohit bhai ki behen bhi hai." [My girl is an MBBS, Di. Educated. She's also Rohit bhai's sister.]

It all rushes out in one breath, each word tumbling over the next, coated in an odd mix of pride and pure nerves, as if he's just dropped the juiciest secret he's ever had the misfortune of confessing.

The silence that follows stretches out for one intense beat and he can imagine Shahneel's eyes practically double in size.

She sucks in a gasp, loud and exaggerated—honestly, the neighbors three doors down might've felt that one. "MBBS? Matlab... educated aur Rohit bhai ki behen?" [MBBS? That means... educated and Rohit bhai's sister?]

Her voice hikes up in disbelief, brimming with a mixture of joy and sheer wonder. "Ab toh main tujhe bina kisi kaale teekay ke chhodne wali nahi hoon! Shubh, tu toh—yeh pehli baar hai tujhe koi smart decision lete hue dekha hai, sach mein! Galat shots toh waise bhi teri specialty hain, par ab lagta hai kuch sahi shots bhi maar sakta hai tu!" [Now, there's no way I'm letting you go without a black mark for protection! Shubh, this is the first time I've seen you make a smart decision! Wrong shots are usually your specialty, but it seems like you can hit a good shot once in a while!]

Shubman clears his throat, pouting as he interrupts, "Ho gaya tera, Di?" [Are you done, Di?] His tone is dry, with just a hint of amusement slipping through, though he's visibly holding back a grin that's teetering at the edge of his composure.

But Shahneel's nowhere near finished. She's on a roll, her laughter loud and unapologetic, spilling over like she's just hit the jackpot of sibling revelations. "Mujhe toh pata tha ek din tu koi kaand karega, par MBBS ladki ko phasayega, yeh toh socha hi nahi tha, Shubh!" [I always knew you'd cause some chaos, but trapping an MBBS girl? I never saw that coming, Shubh!]

She clutches her stomach, still laughing, like the very idea of her little brother ending up with an actual doctor is some wild plot twist.

Shubman sighs, rolling his eyes in that familiar, long-suffering way, but there's a hint of pride sneaking through, barely concealed beneath the layers of exasperation. "Yaar, tu bas maan hi nahi sakti, hai na?" [You just can't admit it, can you?] he mutters. "Apne bhai ka bhi koi standard hai, okay?" [Your brother has standards too, okay?]

Shahneel catches her breath, eyes still glinting with that wicked, teasing spark. Shahneel delievers her line with the ease of someone who's been rehearsing it for years.

"Arrey, acha standard?" [Oh, really? Standards?] she says, barely holding back her laughter. "Aur pehle jab tu chipkali ko date kar raha tha? Tab kahan gaya tha tera yeh so-called standard?" [And what about when you were dating that lizard girl? Where were your so-called standards then?]

Shubman's cheeks burn instantly, memories of that thoroughly regrettable phase rushing back as he grimaces, as if just the thought is enough to make him break out in hives.

"Haan, theek hai," [Yeah, okay,] he mutters, the barest hint of a grin tugging at his lips, "baat toh teri sahi hai... par meri Radhika ji unse bohot better hai." [you've got a point... but my Radhika ji is way better than her.]

And before he knows it, he's letting out a soft, almost involuntary sigh, his face melting into a dreamy expression as he thinks of her—his Mrignaini, as he's taken to calling her in the quiet corners of his mind.

There's a pause on the other end, then Shahneel's voice rings through the line, dripping with delight. "Kake, tu toh blush kar raha hai! Achha, yeh toh bata," [Kake, you're blushing! Come on, tell me.] she continues, leaning in for the kill, "bhabhi kaisi hai?" [How's bhabhi?]

That word—bhabhi—lands differently this time, cushioned in the warmth of Shahneel's playful teasing.

Usually, it makes him want to roll his eyes and crawl into his helmet, especially when it's chanted from the stands by those rowdy fans with their relentless chants of, "Humari bhabhi kaisi ho? Sara bhabhi jaisi ho!"

Every single time, he wishes he could blend right into the crease, pretend he hasn't heard a thing. And the fact that Sara—of all people—isn't even remotely his in the first place only makes it worse.

She's Jugnu's fiancée, his cousin's future wife, but somehow, that's a detail no one's paying attention to, and he's got to deal with it every match.

But this—coming from Shahneel—it feels different. This bhabhi doesn't sound like a cheap line or some recycled joke. This time, it sinks in, soft but steady, as if it's meant to nestle there, feeling unexpectedly right.

Bhabhi suits Radhika—no, his Radhika—with that gentle, breathtaking smile and those wide, dreamy eyes that seem to slip past all his defenses, straight through to the places he doesn't always remember exist within himself.

And somehow, whenever he catches her gaze, he feels himself melt, slipping into a nervous, hopeless state he hasn't felt since, well, ever.

"BHABHI!"

The word rings through the house with the force of a cannon, and Shubman stiffens, heart thudding as he realizes just how far his mom's voice can carry when it's got the fire of discovery behind it.

That single, charged word probably bounced off the walls of every room, vibrated through the neighbors' walls, and possibly down the street to anyone who might've missed it.

Shubman grits his teeth, already bracing for what's coming. "Di, tu na... bas chhod," [Di, you're just... too much,] he hisses, knowing there's no way out now.

Shahneel's never one to back off, especially when she knows she's got him right where she wants him. And now, with their mom practically at his throat, she's managed to strike the perfect sibling jackpot.

"Kake!" His mom's voice, sharp as a whistle, rings out so loud he almost jumps. Of course, Shahneel's gone and put the phone on speaker, giving both herself and their mom unrestricted access to this little "bhabhi" bomb she's just detonated.

"Uss TV wali ladki ki baat ho rahi hai, hai na?! Shahneel ki bhabhi! Matlab, Shubhi, tune toh ladki bhi pasand kar li aur mujhe bataya tak nahi? Tera bhi Hardik ki tarah bacha hone ke baad hi shadi karne ka plan hai kya?" [Is this about that TV girl? Shahneel's bhabhi? Shubhi, you picked a girl and didn't even tell me? Are you planning to marry like Hardik, only after a baby?]

He winces, trying to force the words out, but they barely make it past his throat. "Mummy, yeh kya...woh..." [Mummy, this... that's not...] he stammers, only to hear her sharp intake of breath through the phone, the kind that signals she's had it.

Even through the line, he can practically see her raising her eyebrows, giving him that look she reserves for only the gravest offenses, the kind that makes him feel like he's just lobbed a ball straight through the neighbor's window and into their living room.

"Woh kya, Shubman? Main kya? Saare news channel pe teri hi news chal rahi hai. Sabne photo dekha hai, ab kya bole hum unne. Tere papa toh itne gusse mein baithe hai, main kya bataoon. Bichari ladki. Saare tv pe uski hi photo chal rahi hai." [What? Now every news channel is talking about you! Your dad is so furious. That poor girl—her picture is everywhere!] she snaps, her voice brimming with both frustration and a kind of incredulous disbelief, like she can't quite process that this is the latest drama he's roped the family into.

Shubman feels a twinge of guilt as his mom's tone sharpens, tipping into that territory where his usual mess-ups cross the line into something more serious.

He pictures her sitting there, probably clutching her forehead, wondering how she ended up raising a son who's managed to turn the entire country's attention onto his love life.

The weight of it hangs on him like one of those unshakeable hangovers after an all-nighter—except instead of a headache, it's Shahneel's laughter trickling out of the phone, doing absolutely nothing to help the situation.

"Arrey, Mumma, apna Kaka toh poore desh ka lover boy ban gaya," [Mumma, Shubhi's turned into the country's lover boy!] Shahneel says, her voice practically oozing delight, clearly thrilled to be adding fuel to the fire.

She's not even trying to hide her amusement, her voice all sing-song as she delivers the punchline, as if she's announcing his new title as "Public Enemy Number One."

"Di, tu chup ho ja," [Di, shut up] he mutters, trying to keep the irritation in check but failing miserably. His hand goes to his forehead, but there's no blocking out her laughter, which only seems to get louder.

He can practically see her smirk, that knowing, older-sister smirk that just says, this is exactly what I live for.

Before Shubman can gather himself, his Chachi ji, Navjot, swoops in, her voice already in high gear like she's been waiting for this exact moment her entire life.

"Maine pehle hi kaha tha, Keart di, Shubman ko sambhalo! Ab dekh lo, chala gaya naa uss ladki ke chakkar mein!" [I told you before, Keart di, get a hold of Shubman! Now see, he's gotten involved with that girl!]

The words come fast, biting, each one layered with a kind of satisfaction that only someone who's been stockpiling judgments for years can unleash.

Her tone grates on his nerves, each accusation feeling like a jab aimed straight at his chest. He can practically see her smug expression from miles away, as if her tirade is justified by some unspoken duty to always, always be right.

Aa gayi Komolika. [Here comes Komolika.]

"Yeh ladkiyan cricketeron ke peeche padti hain, bas naam aur paisa ke liye! Shakal pe masoomiyat, andar se chalak. Tum jaise bholon ko toh pata bhi nahi chalega kab maar kar nikal legi!" [These girls chase cricketers just for fame and money! Innocence on the outside, cunning on the inside. And people like you won't even realize when they'll strike and leave!] Her voice rises, unrelenting, her words tumbling out without even taking a breath, like she's rehearsed this speech a hundred times in her head, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to deliver it.

"Pata nahi kis ghar ki hai yeh, par tameez toh sikhaayi nahi gayi hogi. Aise hi ladkiyan toh parivaaron mein fasaad laati hain!" [Who knows what kind of household she's from, but clearly, she wasn't taught any manners. Girls like her bring trouble to families!]

Heat crawls up the back of Shubman's neck, his hands tightening into fists at his sides. The sting of her words hits sharper than it should, the casual disrespect towards Radhika—someone she hasn't even met—gnawing at him.

Radhika isn't just some random person, she's someone important, someone real, and hearing his chachi throw careless accusations at her feels like watching someone toss mud at a clean canvas just because they can.

And yet, he knows, saying anything back will only make things worse. Navjot won't stop. She never does.

Before he can decide whether to defend Radhika or hold his tongue, his mother steps in, her voice cutting through the tension like a straight drive on a tough pitch.

"Navjot, bas kar ja. Zyada bol rahi hai tu," [Navjot, stop it. You're saying too much,] she says, the authority in her tone unmistakable. It isn't loud, but it carries weight, the kind that usually brings conversations to a halt. Usually.

But Navjot isn't one to back down easily. She's like one of those bowlers who keeps coming back for more, no matter how many boundaries you've hit off them.

"Keart di, main toh bas aapke bete ke bhale ki soch rahi hoon!" [Keart di, I'm only thinking of your son's best interests!] she continues, her voice slipping into that syrupy, fake-concerned tone that Shubman has learned to recognize as a warning sign.

"Tumhe nahi pata, par yeh ladkiyan bas apne matlab ka sochti hain. Aaj Shubman ke saath, kal kisi aur ke saath. Fame aur paisa hi sab kuch hai inke liye. Tumhare doston ke scandals nahi dekhe kya? Pehle pyaar ka naatak karti hain, aur phir naam kharab karke nikal jaati hain." [You don't understand, but these girls only think of themselves. Today with Shubman, tomorrow with someone else. For them, fame and money are everything. Haven't you seen scandals with your friends? First, they pretend to be in love, and then they leave after tarnishing your name.]

Shubman presses his palm against his forehead, rubbing his temples as if the pressure might somehow block out the rising frustration in his chest.

He exhales slowly, feeling the heat of his irritation build like a wave he's struggling to hold back. Navjot's words swirl around him, twisting the truth into something ugly and grotesque, and for a moment, the urge to snap back is almost unbearable.

But he knows better. He knows that feeding into her drama will only give her more fuel to keep going.

"Navjot, bas," [Navjot, stop,] Keart speaks again, this time firmer, the edge in her voice unmistakable now, signaling the end of her patience. "Tu uss ladki ko jaanti bhi nahi. Kya zarurat hai itni baatein banane ki? Aur teri khud ki beti hai-" [You don't even know this girl. Why are you creating so many stories? And you have a daughter yourself—]

"BAS!" [ENOUGH!] Shubman's voice rings through the phone, sharp and unyielding, cutting through the air like a bouncer aimed straight at the helmet.

For a split second, there's a stunned silence on the other end, and Shubman can hear nothing but the rush of his own breath, heavy and fast, his heart thudding against his chest.

He's never spoken to his family like this, but right now, none of that matters. Something inside him has snapped.

His patience has run out, and he's done watching Radhika's name being dragged through the mud by people who know nothing about her.

Navjot's rant comes to an abrupt halt, and for a moment, he imagines her sitting there, her mouth open in shock, unsure of how to respond. It doesn't matter. This isn't about her anymore.

This is about Radhika—his Radhika—who's done nothing to deserve this scrutiny, this judgment from people who haven't even met her.

Shubman's hands tighten around the phone as he straightens up, the anger still simmering in his chest but controlled now, sharpened into something precise and deliberate.

"Chachi ji," he says, his voice low but edged with steel, "Aapko uss ladki ke baare mein kuch bhi nahi pata. Radhika—" [You know nothing about her. Radhika—] he pauses, her name leaving his lips softer than he expected, "—woh waise nahi hai jaise aap samajh rahi ho." [—she's not like you think.]

He closes his eyes for a second, steadying himself, but his words carry the kind of conviction that doesn't waver.

He knows Navjot is ready to throw something back at him—he can hear the slight intake of breath, the way her mind is already gearing up for another round. But before she can speak, Shubman's voice cuts through again, firmer, more resolute.

"Aapko lagta hai aap mere liye achha soch rahi ho?" [You think you're looking out for me?] His words flow now, quick, each one heavier than the last. "Kaise soch leti ho aap aise? Kaisi aurat ho aap, jo har ladki ko itni asaani se galat samajhti ho? Radhika jaisi ladki ke baare mein aise bolne ka haq kisi ko nahi hai, aur aap toh usse mile bhi nahi. Woh farq hai." [How do you think like that? What kind of woman are you that you judge every girl so easily? No one has the right to speak about a girl like Radhika that way, especially when you haven't even met her. That's the difference.]

The final words land hard, not because he's shouting, but because of the way they carry his absolute belief in her.

He can feel the tension rise in the silence that follows. He doesn't care anymore if it makes Navjot uncomfortable, if it's making everyone else on the call shift uneasily.

This is about protecting someone who's been kind, selfless, and has shown more strength than most people he knows.

Someone who has always stood by her family, her brother—without ever uttering a word. And he's not about to let someone tear her down based on wild assumptions or some misplaced sense of superiority.

"Radhika," he says, voice softening just a fraction as he continues, "woh apne bhai ke liye, apne parivaar ke liye kitna kuch kar rahi hai, bina shabd bole. Aap jaante bhi nahi ho usse." [she's been doing so much for her brother, for her family, without saying a word. You don't even know her]

His voice holds steady, but there's an unmistakable softness when he talks about her. In his mind, he can see her—her wide, calm eyes, the way she communicates so much without ever speaking.

She never asks for anything, never complains, and yet here she is, silently bearing the weight of a storm she didn't create.

Shubman shakes his head, frustration simmering beneath the surface, but his voice remains controlled. "Kya aapko lagta hai, aisi ladki kisi ko nuksaan pahunchayegi?" [Do you think a girl like that would ever harm anyone?]

His words are sharp but not harsh, filled with a determination that refuses to bend. "Aapko lagta hai woh waise ladki hai jaise aap keh rahi ho?" [You think she's the kind of girl you're describing?]

There's a pause on the other end—no quick retort, no biting comment from Navjot ji this time—and he takes that silence as his moment to push forward, his tone unwavering, each word landing like a carefully placed stroke.

"Nahi, Chachi ji," Shubman says, the fire in his voice unmistakable now, "Meri Radhika ji mere liye woh hai jo aap soch bhi nahi sakte." [My Radhika ji is someone you can't even imagine.]

The words hang heavy in the air, weighty and full of meaning, as if he's peeled back a layer of himself he rarely reveals.

He doesn't care if they understand it or not; this isn't about making them see reason—it's about letting them know where he stands. And where he stands is with her.

There's a thick silence on the line, the kind that vibrates with unspoken tension. Navjot doesn't respond, and neither does anyone else, but Shubman isn't waiting for their approval.

His loyalty to Radhika doesn't need their validation. This isn't about winning an argument or proving a point anymore—this is about protecting someone who's come to mean everything to him, someone who's silently stood by his side without ever asking for anything in return.

He takes a breath, the fire in his chest still burning but tempered now, more controlled. "Main usse jaanta hoon," [I know her,] he says, his voice firm yet warmer, every word wrapped in a fierce protectiveness.

"Aur main yeh jaanta hoon ki agar kisi ne Radhika ko galat bola, toh main chup nahi rahunga." [And I know that if anyone ever speaks wrongly about Radhika, I won't stay silent] There's no malice, no anger—just the steady certainty of a man who's made a promise to himself and to her.

It isn't a threat, but an unbreakable truth. Radhika is his in a way that runs deeper than words, and he'll protect her from whatever storm may come, no matter who stands in his way.

Before he can say anything else, his chacha's voice cuts through, sharp and defensive. "Shubman, tu apni chachi, meri biwi se aise baat nahi kar sakta!" [Shubman, you can't talk to your aunt, my wife, like that!] Chacha ji's tone is stern, the weight of years of family authority behind it. But Shubman doesn't even flinch, not now.

Shubman's jaw tightens. His eyes harden, but his voice remains steady, unshaken. "Aur woh meri biwi ke baare mein aise baat nahi kar sakti," [And she can't talk about my wife like that,] he replies, his tone calm but loaded with the kind of finality that leaves no room for debate.

He doesn't raise his voice—it doesn't need to be loud to be heard. The words carry their own weight.

"Main apki izzat karta hoon, Chacha ji," [I respect you, Chacha ji,] Shubman says, his voice low but resolute, every word deliberate. "Lekin aap apni izzat tabhi bana kar rakh sakte ho jab aap dusron ki izzat karte ho. Aur yeh baat meri biwi ki izzat ki hai. Uske baare mein koi galat baat nahi sununga, chahe voh koi bhi ho." [But you can only hold onto respect when you give it to others. And this is about respecting my wife. I won't stand for anyone disrespecting.]

His words strike like a well-timed shot—calm, precise, and full of intent. There's no wavering in his stance. He isn't just defending Radhika; he's fulfing his promise to Rohit bhai.

He knows what this means, and he's ready for it. Because it's not just about the argument anymore—it's about protecting her, standing by her side, being the shield she's never asked for but has always deserved.

Chacha ji tries again, a slight waver in his voice now, as though searching for the upper hand he feels slipping. "Shubman, yeh family mein baat karne ka tareeka nahi hai—" [Shubman, this isn't the way to talk in a family—]

"Family mein izzat se baat karna sikhaaya gaya hai, na?" [We were taught to speak with respect, right?] Shubman cuts in, his tone firm but not unkind. "Toh yeh izzat Radhika ke liye kyun nahi ho sakti?" [Then why can't that respect be given to Radhika?]

His words aren't loud, but they carry the full weight of his conviction, each syllable hitting like a well-placed bouncer that leaves no room for a response. "Woh meri zindagi ka hissa hai, aur main uske liye kabhi piche nahi hatoonga." [She's a part of my life, and I'll never step back for her.]

There's a thick, tense silence on the line now, one that feels heavier with each passing second. Shubman doesn't fill it.

He lets it linger, lets them understand that this isn't just an outburst or a passing moment of anger.

This is him, standing in front of them, declaring what they should've already known—Radhika is his future, and he will guard that future fiercely.

His breath steadies as the silence stretches, and he imagines his chacha, his family, on the other end, finally realizing that the boy they've always seen as just another part of the household has grown into someone who will fight for what matters to him.

For Radhika. For their life together.

"Bas." [Enough] Shubman's father's voice carries through the line, steady and deep, settling over the tension like the first drops of rain after a storm.

It's calm, but there's a strength in it that commands every last voice to stillness. His tone is the same one that has diffused family squabbles and mischief-filled messes for years, but today, there's something new—a firmness, an unwavering edge that quiets the lingering tension in the room.

"Kafi ho gaya, Navjot," [That's enough, Navjot,] he continues, his words deliberate, each one landing like a firm hand on a restless shoulder. "Mera putt galat nai aa." [My son isn't wrong.]

There's a quiet pride in his voice, an unmistakable certainty. His tone is neither apologetic nor hesitant, but protective, an elder standing tall, not just for his son but for what he knows is right.

Shubman's mother's voice cuts through, gentle but unwavering, carrying the kind of warmth that only a mother can summon while delivering a reminder that holds more weight than any reprimand.

"Te, Navjot, oh kudi de baare galat bolan da haq kine dita tenu?" [And Navjot, who gave you the right to speak wrongly about that girl?] Her words are calm, but there's no room for misunderstanding.

Her tone carrying that firm yet protective quality that Shubman has always felt in her presence, a shield he's known his entire life but rarely heard so clearly.

Shubman listens, the tension he's been holding onto slowly easing under the steady rhythm of her voice. He stays silent, a sense of gratitude filling him, a realization taking root—that this isn't just about defending him, it's about standing by him, recognizing his choices, affirming his place and the decisions he's made.

In a final attempt to reassert herself, Navjot speaks again, her voice softened but still searching for some foothold. "Lakhwinder veer ji?" she calls out, a tone seeking alliance, but Shubman's father is already there.

His voice steady and carrying that familiar strength that has always guided their family through storms, both big and small.

"Na, Navjot," [No, Navjot,] he says, each word firm and resolute, the cadence like the slow, deliberate beat of a drum. "Shubman ne jo keha sahi keha hai. Oh kudi meri hon wali nooh aa, te main apni nooh de bare ek vigalat shabd nahi sunuga." [Shubman said the right thing. That girl is my future daughter-in-law, and I won't hear a single wrong word about her.]

His words carry a weight that's impossible to dismiss, his tone grounded, the kind of authority that doesn't come from volume but from years of consistency, from a life spent standing by the values he believes in.

There's no malice in his voice, only a certainty that makes clear that in matters of family respect, he does not waver.

His gaze falls to his son, a look filled with an understanding that needs no words. Shubman's father isn't just taking his side; he's recognizing Shubman's right to defend someone he cares about.

And when he continues, his voice softens only slightly, the shift meant more to calm than to concede. "Samjan di koshish kar, Navjot," [Try to understand, Navjot,] he says, and his words hold an unspoken kindness, like a hand extended but firm in its purpose.

"Apne bache hun apne faisle khud le sakde ne, te unna da saath dena apni zimmedaari hai. Koi vi apne ghar di izzat da bura nai sochega, te Shubman vi sirf apne rishte da samman kar reha hai." [Our children now make their own choices, and it's our duty to stand by them. No one would think poorly of their family's respect, and Shubman is just respecting his relationship.]

The words settle over the room, as though the very air has shifted, the once-tense atmosphere settling into something deeper.

Navjot, for once, doesn't respond, her words caught somewhere between her thoughts and the palpable respect in her brother's voice.

Whatever resistance she had seems to fade, her sharp edges softened by the weight of his words and the quiet, steady support that Shubman's parents have extended to him.

Shubman feels the pressure in his chest ease as the realization settles—his parents aren't merely defending him, they're standing by him, fully and without hesitation.

There's a kind of strength in that, a reassurance that feels like a compass aligning, guiding him with an unspoken certainty.

"Navjot," his mother speaks again, gentler this time, but each word still firm, grounded in the calm authority of a woman who knows where she stands and what she values. "Yeh samajhna zaroori hai ki izzat dene se badhti hai." [It's important to remember that respect grows by being given.]

Her tone is kind but clear, a reminder that needs no justification. "Shubman ne koi galat kaam nahi kiya; woh sirf uske liye bol raha hai jo uska hai." [Shubman hasn't done anything wrong; he's simply standing up for what's his.]

Shubman stays silent, letting the moment unfold, his heart steadying, the subtle warmth of his mother's words reinforcing the foundation that his father has laid.

Suddenly, there's a sound from the other side of the room—a loud, irritated sigh, and then, "Navjot, meri gal te sun!" [Navjot, listen to me!] His chacha ji's voice echoes through the house as he tries to catch up with Navjot, who has clearly stormed off.

There's the distinct sound of a door slamming, and Shubman can picture her in their room, fuming, her arms crossed, ready to shoot off one-liners of indignation if anyone dares interrupt her.

Just then, his father clears his throat, and Shubman can sense a kind of pride that the cricketer can feel in his bones. "Puttar ji, tu bas kuch galat nahi kita," [Puttar ji, you did nothing wrong.] he says, his voice calm and steady.

"Tu Radhika layi jo kuj keha, oh sahi aa. Assi tenu aehi sikhaya hai. Te je tu kehnda hai ke Radhika tera ghar wali aa, taan fer aasi vi teyaar aa. Oh bache ne keh de ki tera parivaar hun ohda parivaar ban gaya." [What you said for Radhika is right. This is what we taught you. And if you say Radhika is your future wife, then we are ready too. Tell the girl her family is now our family.]

Shubman feels a deep warmth swell in his chest, a soft grin spreading. He nods, staring at his phone, feeling as if he's looking right at his father, the man who's always been his anchor, his hero.

His mother's voice breaks in, her tone playful yet firm. "Hun mainu das, meri nooh nu kado milwa reha aa tu?" [Now tell me, when are you bringing my daughter-in-law to meet me?] There's a hint of excitement, like she's already picturing Radhika in their home, fussing over her daughter-in-law.

"Haan, Kake," [Yes, Kake,] Shahneel chimes in, her tone full of teasing warmth. "Hun jado tere kol inni himmat aa, te sade toh ae sab kyun lukanda fir reha? Nanan-bhabhi nu milan da ek chance te de, hai na?" [Since you're so brave now, why keep it from us? Let us meet the sister-in-law, hmm?]

Their laughter crackles through the line, filling the room around Shubman with a warmth that feels like home, even over the phone. He's just about to answer, when a shadow appears in the doorway.

Virat's standing there, one hand casually propped against the frame, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he's clearly been listening for at least a minute.

He waits, then steps into the room with that signature grin, looking like he's already in on the joke.

"Aunty ji, Uncle ji, Shahneel, tussi tension bilkul na lo," [Aunty ji, Uncle ji, Shahneel, don't worry at all!] Virat announces in his typical full-volume style, his voice booming through the room like he's rallying a crowd. "Aasi saare Punjab aa rahe aa!" [We're all coming to Punjab!]

Shubman whips around, half-startled, but Virat's already grinning as he throws an arm around Shubman's shoulders like he's just declared his life's mission. "Cheeku bhaiyya, yeh kab decide hua?" [Cheeku bhaiyya, when was this decided?]

Shubman's about to open his mouth to answer, but Virat's got his own momentum now, gesturing as though he's drawing out a master plan right then and there.

"Arre abhi decide kiya maine! Dekh, Shubman—uncle, aunty, Shahneel sab milenge Radhika se, aur upar se poori team Punjab bhi ghoom legi. Rohit ki tu tension na le; usko toh main khud handle kar lunga," [I just decided! See, Shubman—uncle, aunty, Shahneel will all meet Radhika, and the whole team will tour Punjab! I'll handle Rohit; don't worry,] he adds with a wink, as if handling Rohit is a quick day's work.

Ishan ambles in, looking as relaxed as ever, chewing with his snack, "Lekin bhaiyya," [But bhaiyya,] he begins, speaking around his half-eaten snack with a look of mild confusion. "Baarat toh hamesha ladki walon ke ghar jaati hai, hai na? Aur idhar toh lagta hai hum ne ekdum ulti planning banayi hai—jaise bhabhi ki baarat lekar seedha dulhe ke ghar jaa rahe hain." [Doesn't the groom go to the bride's house? Feels like we've flipped it—like we're taking bhabhi's wedding processional to the groom's house.]

Shubman, who's been following this entire back-and-forth with growing exasperation, gives Ishan a look that could stop a truck.

His eyebrow arches just enough to show he's reached the end of his patience, and he sighs. "Tu har time kuch na kuch chabata hi rehta hai kya, ya yeh snack ka stock tu khatam kar ke hi dum lega?" [You're always eating something, aren't you? Or are you finishing all the snacks?]

Before Ishan can retort with yet another quip, a loud voice bursts from the phone speaker on the table, interrupting them with the perfectly timed drama of an entrance cue.

It's Keerat, sounding every bit the protective mother as she calls out, "Shubhi! Nazar mat laga mere bache ko!" [Shubhi! Don't jinx my baby!]

And then, right on cue, Shubman's father chimes in, voice deep and easygoing as ever, "Ishu puttar, kaisa hai tu?" [Ishu, my boy, how are you?]

With his usual child-like grin, Ishan perks up, the bhakarwadi now forgotten as he leans toward the phone, practically glowing under the attention. "Bau ji, Mummy, Neel di—main theek hoon! Aap kaise ho?" [Bau ji, Mummy, Neel di—I'm good! How are you all?]

Shubman shoots Ishan a glance, trying to suppress a groan, knowing full well that his parents and sister practically light up whenever they hear Ishan's voice, as if they'd finally found a long-lost son. A thought sneaks into Shubman's mind, an amused grumble he keeps to himself.

Kahi main hi adopted toh nahi? Aur kya pata, Ishan hi inka asli bacha ho. [Am I the adopted one? And is Ishan their real son?]

Virat turns to Ishan with an exasperated smirk, his eyes glinting with a mix of irritation and amusement, and announces, "Oye Chote Pandya-Sharma, tu yahan kya kar raha hai? Bahar sab tension mein latak rahe hain, aur tu subha se bas khaa raha hai! Sari bhakarwadi saf kar ke hi maanega lagta hai." [Oye, little Pandya-Sharma, what are you doing here? Everyone's tense outside, and you've been munching all morning! Are you really gonna finish off all the bhakarwadi?]

Ishan's eyes widen with an exaggerated pout, his cheeks still full of bhakarwadi as he looks around, genuinely puzzled. "Vi bhai, aap mujhe bol rahe ho kya? Main toh bas... khud ko thoda busy rakha hua hai, apko pata hai na main stress eat karta hoon." [Vi bhai, are you talking to me? I was just... keeping myself busy, you know I eat when I'm stressed.]

Shubman crosses his arms, unable to resist the opening. "Stress eat ya snack hoarding, Ishu? Kyun saari bhakarwadi tu hi khatam kar raha hai?" [Stress eating or snack hoarding, Ishu? Why are you finishing all the bhakarwadi?]

Ishan barely pauses, tilting his head with a theatrical innocence as he leans toward the phone, voice overflowing with dramatic helplessness. "Mumma... Shahneel di... Bau ji..." he whimpers, clutching his bhakarwadi stash protectively, his wide eyes a masterclass in the art of persuasion.

He glances around the room, layering his expression with just enough puppy-dog charm to soften even the toughest heart— Shubman and Virat.

For a moment, there's stunned silence—then the room erupts with laughter, each person letting out a chuckle that echoes with an affectionate exasperation.

They've all been here before, witnessing their "innocent" Ishu and his relentless snack-hoarding ways, and there's no denying they're all just a little charmed by it every time.

From the other end of the line, Shahneel's attempt at sounding stern dissolves as her laughter slips out, her voice laced with unmistakable fondness. "Arre, sab usko tang mat karo! Kitna masoom lagta hai hamara Ishu, bas bhook hi toh lagi hai mere baby ko! Let the poor guy eat in peace!" [Hey, don't tease him so much! He looks so innocent, our Ishu, he's just hungry, my baby! Let him eat in peace!]

And just like that, Ishan is back in his element, basking in the warmth and defense coming his way.

He clutches his bhakarwadi stash closer, now playing the role with all his heart, eyes shining with a dramatic innocence. "Dekha, dekha!" [See, see!] he exclaims, throwing a victorious glance at Shubman and Virat. "Mujhe toh bas bhook lagi thi, yaar! Yeh bhi koi badi problem thodi na hai!" [I was just hungry! Is that such a big problem?]

Just then, Lakhwinder's deep chuckle comes through the speaker, his words brimming with the easy affection of someone who's watched Ishan grow up and knows all his quirks by heart.

"Koi na Ishu puttar, tu bas yahan aa ja, main bhi dekh ta hoon Shubman tujhe kaise rokta hai!" [It's okay, Ishu my boy, just come here, I'd like to see how Shubman tries to stop you then!] he declares, voice full of warmth and pride as he adds, "Apna Ishu toh hamare ghar ka star hai—VIP treatment toh hamare Ishu ko hi milega!" [Our Ishu's the star of the house—only VIP treatment for him!]

Ishan beams with pride, positively basking in his new title as "ghar ka star," turning to Shubman with an exaggeratedly smug expression, as if the universe itself has just granted him his rightful place.

"Suna na? VIP treatment milta hai mujhe! Tu bas jalte reh, bhai," [Did you hear that? VIP treatment for me! You can keep being jealous, bro,] he says, giving Shubman a wink as he clutches the bhakarwadi like a crown jewel.

Shubman sighs, crossing his arms with an exasperated grin, leaning back in his chair as he takes in Ishan's triumphant expression. "Haan, haan, star hai tu. Aur VIP treatment bhi le le." [Yeah, yeah, you're the star. Enjoy the VIP treatment.]

Lakhwinder continues, his tone laced with the kind of casual enthusiasm that can only come from a father genuinely enjoying the chaos his son's friends create.

"Ishu puttar, soch raha hoon ki Pranav paji aur Suchitra bhabhi ko bhi bula lete hain. Aur Raj aur Pallavi busy ho gaye kya? Milna chahe toh chhutti mil jayegi unhe bhi." [Ishu, my boy, I'm thinking of inviting Pranav and Suchitra as well. Are Raj and Pallavi busy? They could take some time off too.]

The casual suggestion is all it takes for Ishan's eyes to widen with a gleam of pure delight, excitement bubbling over as he bounces a little in his seat, unable to contain himself.

"Oho, bauji! Kya idea hai aapka! Bhaiyya aur Pallavi bhabhi ko main mana loonga. And maa aur papa toh Shubi ki shadi ka sun ke hi aa jayenge." [Bauji! That's a great idea! I'll convince bhaiya and Pallavi bhabhi. And Maa Papa will come running after hearing of Shubi's wedding!]

Shahneel's voice suddenly cuts through the chatter, excitement bubbling up in her own voice as she lets out a little squeal, clapping her hands like a child.

"Arey, Viraj bhi aayega! Mera chotu! Ab mazaa aayega poora," [Oh, Viraj will come too! My little one! Now it'll be real fun,] she says, her face lighting up at the thought of spoiling her nephew. "Samajh raha hai, Ishu? Tera mini-me bhi aa raha hai! Ab dekho kaise full on drama banega!" [Do you get it, Ishu? Your mini-me is coming! This is going to be full-on drama!]

Shubman watches the scene unraveling with a helpless laugh, shaking his head as the absurdity of it all sinks in deeper.

He tries, and fails, to suppress the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, imagining the absolute chaos a "mini-Ishu" would bring into the mix.

"Haan, finally!" he says, leaning forward with a gleam in his eyes, mirroring Ishan's infectious energy. "Koi toh meri side le hi lega. I'm sure Maa aur Baba bhi meri side lenge ab. Kab tak saare Ishu ke side hi lagenge?" [Someone will finally be on my side. I'm sure Maa and Baba will finally take my side. How much longer will everyone just take Ishu's side?]

But before the words have even properly left his mouth, Virat—who'd been lounging with that smirk, as if enjoying the madness—suddenly snaps into action, his entire posture shifting as he straightens up, his expression morphing into one of exaggerated outrage.

His brows knit together dramatically as he swivels towards Shubman with a look so pointed, it almost feels like a betrayal has taken place.

"Oye benstokes! Main humesha teri side leta hoon!" Virat declares, his voice dripping with indignation. [Oye benstokes! I always take your side!]

He folds his arms across his chest, the motion so deliberate and theatrical that it almost feels like he's preparing for a stage performance.

Shubman freezes for a split second, blinking in realization. Shit! Virat bhaiyya ko kaise bhool gaya? [How did I forget about Virat bhai?]

The thought darts through his mind faster than he can react. He quickly masks his panic with a sheepish grin, his eyes darting from Virat's exaggerated pout to Ishan, who's watching the scene unfold with barely concealed glee.

The weight of Virat's gaze is too much—those sharp eyes narrowing at him with all the force of King Kohli.

Shubman flounders internally, desperately clawing for some way out of this mess.

His thoughts are a jumbled mess, racing with nowhere to go, until—like a miracle—an idea strikes him, the sort of half-baked plan that feels too good to resist.

His voice shoots up an octave, loud and hurried, the kind of voice that says please, for the love of God, just let this work. "CHALO! Mummy, Papa, Neel Di—main baad mein call karta hoon, theek hai? Sab log yahaan wait kar rahe hain! Kaam hai, yaar! Bohot kaam!" [Okay! Mummy, Papa, Neel Di—I'll call you later, alright? Everyone's waiting here! Lots of work, really busy!]

His words tumble out in a rush, like he's a man on a mission, waving his phone in the air with a flourish that would make anyone think the thing was suddenly burning in his hand.

He's gesturing wildly now, throwing everything into the performance—his arm swinging around dramatically, eyebrows raised like he's trying to convince the universe itself that this phone call is the most pressing emergency he's ever had.

Anything, anything to divert attention from the human interrogation machine that is Virat Kohli, still sitting there, gaze as unflinching as ever, waiting for Shubman to stop flailing and actually answer the unasked question hanging in the room.

Just when Shubman thinks he might have pulled it off, might have managed to dodge the bullet, his moment of victory is sliced clean through by a voice—sharp, cutting, and entirely unimpressed.

"ARRE! Suno toh—" [HEY! Listen—]

It's Shahneel. Of course, it is. Her voice punches through the air like a referee blowing a whistle in the middle of a chaotic game.

Shubman's heart nearly leaps out of his chest. Without thinking, purely on instinct, his thumb shoots toward the screen faster than his brain can keep up, slamming the 'end call' button with the precision of a man diffusing a bomb.

He doesn't even have time to breathe before the call is cut off, the screen going mercifully black.

He freezes for a second, blinking at his phone like it's the only thing tethering him to reality. For a moment, there's an almost absurd stillness in the air, as if time itself is holding its breath.

Then, slowly, Shubman lowers his arm, placing the phone down on the table with the careful deliberation of someone handling a fragile artifact.

He chances a glance at Virat. Big mistake. Virat hasn't budged even an inch. The same stare, sharp and unblinking, the same crossed arms, the same unwavering expectation radiating off him like some immovable wall.

"Chalo bhai, chalte hai," [Alright, let's go,] Shubman blurts out, his voice suddenly loud in the stillness, as though saying it louder will somehow make it more believable.

His brain, now fully in panic mode, overrides any rational thought left. "Chal Ishu!" [Come on, Ishu!] he adds for good measure, without waiting for a response, his tone carrying the kind of urgency that suggests any place would be better than here right now.

Before anyone can react, Shubman's feet are already in motion, speed-walking out of the room with an intensity that borders on comical.

His strides are long, as if he's trying to physically outrun the awkwardness clinging to him like a second skin. He doesn't look back. Nope.

No glancing at Virat's probably nuclear-level stare, no checking if Ishan is actually following—just straight ahead, like a man determined to escape a sinking ship.

Ishan, still seated, is teetering on the edge of a full-blown laugh, his face scrunched up in the kind of expression that's seconds away from exploding into uncontrollable snickers.

He tries—really tries—to keep it together, but the sight of Shubman power-walking out of the room like his life depends on it is too much. His lips twitch, shoulders shaking slightly as he valiantly fights the losing battle against his own amusement.

Meanwhile, Virat's lips twitch into a smile. His crossed arms tighten ever so slightly, as though mentally calculating just how many laps Shubman should run for this blatant escape attempt.

"Shubman Gill..." Virat mutters under his breath, a small sigh escaping, his tone laced with both disbelief and the barest hint of a smirk. "One day..."

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Diwali ki hardik shubhkamnaye! Iss roshni ke tyohaar par, aapke jeevan mein khushiyon ke diye jalein, Maa Lakshmi apke ghar mein sukh, samriddhi aur sampannata le aaye.

Pyar bhare rishte aur apnon ka saath hamesha aapke saath rahe. Is Diwali par, aapke sapne sach hon aur har din naye rang lekar aaye.

Shubh Diwali!

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Aur prem so bolo,

Jai Maa Lakshmi 🙏🏻