The next morning, as the alarm blared at 7:30 a.m. Shubman groaned and shut it off as soon as the first sound rang, not wanting to wake Aryaman and Pashmina. Rubbing his face, he turned around and saw a pair of innocent eyes staring back at him, their thumb in their mouth.

Shubman sighed with a smile and cuddled closer to Aryaman. "You're up so early. Don't you want to sleep a little longer?"

Aryaman waddled his little body into Shubman's strong embrace, clutching onto his t-shirt with one hand while still sucking on his thumb with the other.

Shubman gently sat up and held Aryaman's small figure in his arms, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "Hmm, it looks like you won't be going back to sleep anytime soon," he murmured with a smile. "How about you come to Daddy's practice?"

Aryaman blinked up at him, his thumb still in his mouth, before slowly nodding. 

"Hmm, that seems like a yes," he murmured before taking in his son's appearance. Aryaman was still in his night suit, his hair tousled from sleep. He needed a bath and a diaper change—something Shubman wasn't entirely sure he could handle alone.

His gaze shifted to Pashmina, still sleeping peacefully after what felt like ages. He didn't want to disturb her, not when she finally had the chance to rest. That left only one person who was likely to be awake at this hour—his mum.

Shubman let out a quiet sigh and kissed Aryaman's head again. "Alright, buddy. Let's go see Grandma, shall we?" He adjusted his grip on Aryaman, who clung to him sleepily and made his way out of the room, walking softly so as not to wake Pashmina.

He walked toward the kitchen, knowing she would be there making her morning tea. The familiar scent of cardamom and ginger filled the air as he stepped inside, Aryaman still nestled against his chest.

As expected, his mother stood by the stove, stirring a pot of simmering tea. She turned at the sound of his footsteps, a warm smile spreading across her face when she saw them.

"Up so early, Shubhi?" she asked, her eyes twinkling as she took in Aryaman's sleepy form.

"Mum, he needs a bath and a diaper change," Shubman said, lifting Aryaman slightly into the air.

Aryaman let out a small whine in protest, his tiny fingers reaching out for Shubman again.

"Okay, okay, sorry," Shubman murmured, quickly pulling him back into his embrace and cuddling him close. Aryaman sniffled softly before nestling his face against Shubman's neck, his warmth seeping into Shubman's skin.

Mumma Gill's eyes softened at the sight, her heart swelling as she watched her son—once hesitant, once unsure—now holding his little one with such care and affection. It had taken time, but she could see it now. Shubman was finally opening his heart to Aryaman, finally embracing fatherhood in a way she had always known he would.

Switching off the stove, she reached out and gently smoothed Aryaman's messy curls. "Looks like someone is getting quite attached to his daddy," she said with a smile.

Shubman let out a small smile as he gently swayed Aryaman in his arms, feeling the little boy's warmth against him.

"He doesn't give me a choice, does he?" Shubman murmured, his voice soft with amusement.

Mumma Gill chuckled, watching the way Aryaman clung to his father. "That's how it starts," she said knowingly. "Before you know it, you won't be able to imagine a day without him running to you first thing in the morning."

Shubman glanced down at Aryaman, who was now blinking sleepily, his thumb finding its way back into his mouth. His little fingers still clutched onto Shubman's t-shirt as if afraid to let go.

"Yeah... I think I'm already there," Shubman admitted quietly, pressing a kiss to Aryaman's soft curls.

"So, let's clean him up together, shall we?" Mumma Gill said, pulling Aryaman into her arms.

Aryaman responded by poking his tongue out in a playful smile at his grandmother, making her laugh.

Shubman, however, stared at her with wide, almost horrified eyes. "Us?" he asked, pointing at himself. "I mean... I don't know how to—" His face twisted in disgust as the thought of changing a dirty diaper fully sank in.

Mumma Gill rolled her eyes, amused. "Oh, come on, Shubman. You're his father. You'll have to learn at some point."

Shubman groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, but does it have to be today?" he muttered under his breath.

"Yes, today," his mother said firmly, already walking toward the bathroom with Aryaman. "Now, come on, let's get to it."

Shubman sighed dramatically but followed behind, grumbling, "This was not part of my morning plan."

Mumma Gill laughed as she set Aryaman down near the sink. "Welcome to fatherhood, beta. Nothing ever goes according to plan."

As Mumma Gill started changing Aryaman's diaper, Shubman stood beside her, his face contorting in sheer horror. The moment the diaper was opened, a foul smell hit him, and he immediately gagged, turning his head away.

"Oh God," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to breathe through his mouth. "This is disgusting. How do people do this every day?"

Mumma Gill chuckled, completely unfazed as she wiped Aryaman clean with practised ease. "You get used to it," she said, shaking her head at her son's dramatic reaction.

Shubman peeked out from between his fingers, only to instantly regret it. "Nope, nope—too much," he mumbled, stepping back. "Mum, I love him, I do, but I don't think I'm built for this part."

Aryaman, completely amused, giggled at his father's distress, kicking his tiny legs.

Mumma Gill glanced at Shubman and smirked. "Oh, don't worry. You'll be doing this on your own soon enough."

Shubman's eyes widened in alarm. "Wait, what?"

"Yes," Mumma Gill said matter-of-factly, adjusting Aryaman in her arms. "Pashmina does this every day without complaining."

Shubman blinked, feeling a pang of guilt. He knew Pashmina handled most of Aryaman's needs, but hearing it out loud made him realize just how much effort she put in, all without a single complaint.

Mumma Gill looked at him knowingly before turning toward the bathroom. "Come on, Aryaman. It's time for your bath," she said cheerfully, carrying the little boy toward the tub.

Shubman followed behind, still processing her words. "I mean... I could try, but I don't think I'd be as good at it as Pashmina," he admitted hesitantly.

His mother chuckled as she started filling the tub. "No one is perfect at the start, Shubman. But the more you do it, the easier it gets. And trust me, Pashmina will appreciate the help."

Shubman watched as Aryaman splashed happily in the warm water, giggling as Mumma Gill gently poured water over his head. A small smile tugged at Shubman's lips. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it was time he stepped up a little more.

"Alright," he sighed, rolling up his sleeves. "Teach me how to do this properly."

Mumma Gill beamed. "That's my boy."

After a whole lesson on how to bathe and change a diaper, Shubman finally took some time to shower himself. As the warm water ran down his back, he found himself wondering—how did Pashmina do all this every single day without complaining?

Shaking his head in quiet admiration, he quickly changed into his practice clothes and headed downstairs. But before leaving, he paused by the bed where Pashmina was still fast asleep.

A soft smile played on his lips as he gently pulled her into his arms, pressing a lingering kiss onto her cheek. She stirred slightly but didn't wake, only sighing softly and nestling deeper into the blankets.

With a contented sigh, Shubman finally made his way downstairs, only to be greeted by the cheerful sound of Aryaman's laughter.

There he was, sitting in his high chair in his favourite Pokémon onesie, his tiny legs kicking excitedly as he giggled with his grandparents. Mumma Gill was feeding him small bites of breakfast while his grandfather made funny faces, earning delighted squeals from the little boy.

Shubman leaned against the doorway, watching the scene unfold with a warmth spreading through his chest. This—this right here—was everything.

Shubman took small, quiet steps toward his family, his eyes soft with affection. As he reached Aryaman's high chair, he leaned in and began peppering small kisses on his chubby cheeks.

Aryaman squealed in delight, his tiny hands flailing as he giggled uncontrollably. His legs kicked even faster, making the chair wobble slightly as he tried to grab onto his father's face.

Mumma Gill chuckled, watching the sweet interaction. "Looks like someone is in an extra good mood this morning," she remarked, wiping a bit of food from Aryaman's lips.

Shubman grinned, finally pulling back just enough to look into his son's twinkling eyes. "How can he not be? He's got the best seat in the house, getting spoiled by his grandparents."

Aryaman babbled something incoherent before reaching out for Shubman's face, his tiny fingers patting his father's cheeks.

Shubman chuckled as Aryaman's tiny hands smacked against his cheeks with surprising enthusiasm. Holding the high chair steady, he gently pushed his nose against Aryaman's, whispering, "Calm down, you little powerhouse."

Aryaman only giggled louder, kicking his legs with even more excitement. His bright eyes sparkled with pure joy as he babbled something incomprehensible as if trying to tell his father a very important story.

Mumma Gill shook her head, amused. "He's going to be just as energetic as you were at his age," she mused, passing Aryaman another bite of food, which he eagerly chewed.

Shubman groaned playfully. "Great. That means I'm in for years of running after him, doesn't it?"

His father, who had been watching the scene with a smile, chuckled. "Oh, absolutely. And just wait until he starts talking non-stop."

Shubman sighed dramatically but couldn't hide his grin. He reached out and ruffled Aryaman's messy curls. "Guess I better start training extra hard—both for cricket and for keeping up with you, champ."

Aryaman clapped his hands together, as if approving of his father's words, making everyone laugh.

Once breakfast was done, Shubman and Papa Gill made their way to the car, ready to introduce Aryaman to the world of cricket.

Shubman carefully perched Aryaman into his car seat, ensuring he was snug before fastening the belts securely. He double-checked the straps, gently tugging them to make sure they weren't too tight or too loose.

"There we go, all safe and ready," he murmured, brushing a hand over Aryaman's soft curls.

Aryaman blinked up at him, kicking his tiny legs in excitement. Though he had no idea where they were headed, the energy around him was enough to make him giddy.

Papa Gill watched from the driver's seat, a proud smile on his face. "You're turning into quite the responsible father, Kaake."

Shubman glanced at him, a little surprised by the compliment. He let out a small chuckle, shutting the car door carefully before sliding into the passenger seat. "Well, I have good teachers."

As the car pulled out of the driveway, Aryaman let out a happy squeal from the back, making both men laugh. The little boy was about to witness his father's world—the cricket field, the adrenaline, and the love for the game. And Shubman couldn't wait to share it with him.

As the car cruised through the streets, Shubman occasionally glanced back at Aryaman through the rearview mirror. The little boy was busy kicking his legs, his fingers curiously exploring the straps of his car seat. Now and then, he would let out a delighted squeal, babbling excitedly as if he already knew he was about to experience something special.

Papa Gill chuckled. "He's already restless. Looks like he's got the spirit of a cricketer in him."

Shubman smirked. "Well, let's see if he enjoys being on the field first. Right now, he just looks happy to be on an adventure."

When they finally pulled up to the cricket stadium, Shubman stepped out and quickly opened the back door, unfastening Aryaman from his car seat. "Alright, champ. Ready to see Daddy's world?" he murmured, lifting the little boy into his arms.

Aryaman blinked up at him, then looked around, taking in the vast open space and the unfamiliar surroundings. The stadium stretched wide before them, the green field glistening under the morning sun. Some of Shubman's teammates were already on the ground, warming up, stretching, and chatting as they prepared for practice.

Shubman handed Aryaman to Papa Gill, making sure he was secure in his grandfather's arms before stepping back. "Be good for Grandpa, okay, champ?" he said with a wink before grabbing his gear and heading toward the field.

Papa Gill settled into a chair near the boundary, adjusting Aryaman comfortably on his lap. The little boy sat upright, his big, curious eyes following his father's every movement. He watched in fascination as Shubman joined his teammates, stretching and warming up, the rhythmic sound of cricket balls hitting the bats echoing across the field.

Papa Gill observed his son closely, occasionally offering advice and corrections when needed. His deep understanding of the game made him an invaluable mentor, and Shubman, despite being a seasoned player, still valued his father's insights.

Meanwhile, Aryaman sat still—unusually still for such an energetic little boy. His tiny fingers clutched onto his grandfather's arm tightly, his tongue poking out slightly in concentration. But while everyone assumed he was mesmerized by Shubman's batting, his wide eyes were actually locked onto something else entirely—the bowler.

Papa Gill noticed the intense focus on Aryaman's face and followed his gaze. "Oh? So you're not watching your daddy, little one?" he murmured, amused. "You've got your eyes on the bowler instead?"

Aryaman babbled something under his breath, his grip tightening each time the bowler ran forward and released the ball. He watched the way the ball spun, the way it bounced off the pitch, and the way it reached his father's bat. His tiny brows furrowed as if he were trying to understand it all.

Papa Gill chuckled, ruffling Aryaman's curls. "Maybe we've got a little bowler in the making instead of a batsman," he mused.

Just then, Shubman hit a powerful shot, sending the ball racing across the field. The crowd of players let out an impressed cheer, but Aryaman barely reacted. Instead, he turned his head to watch the bowler again as the next delivery was prepared.

The ball crashed into the stumps, sending them tumbling in a perfect dismissal. The bowler pumped his fist in satisfaction, while the fielders clapped in appreciation. But the loudest cheer came from the tiniest spectator—Aryaman.

"Aaaahh!" he squealed, clapping his hands with pure excitement. His tiny legs kicked in delight, and he turned to Papa Gill with shining eyes, as if asking, Did you see that?

Papa Gill blinked in surprise before bursting into laughter. "Oh, so that's what gets you excited, huh?" he said, bouncing Aryaman on his knee. "Not Daddy's big shot, but the bowler taking a wicket?"

Shubman, who had turned to watch his son's reaction, raised an eyebrow in amusement. He walked toward the boundary, resting his bat on his shoulder. "Wait a minute," he called out, pretending to be offended. "I smash a beautiful shot, and you don't even blink. But the moment the bowler rattles the stumps, you start cheering?"

Aryaman, oblivious to his father's teasing, continued clapping and babbling happily, his little hands flapping with excitement.

Papa Gill shook his head with a knowing smile. "Looks like we really have a bowler in the making, Shubman."

Shubman placed his hands on his hips, looking down at his son with mock suspicion. "Traitor," he muttered playfully before leaning down to press a kiss on Aryaman's forehead. "Fine, fine. If you want to bowl, Daddy will make sure you become the best one out there."

Aryaman giggled, reaching out to grab his father's face. Shubman let out a dramatic sigh before scooping him up from Papa Gill's lap. "Alright, little champ. Let's see if those tiny hands can even hold a ball yet."

As Shubman walked back onto the field with Aryaman in his arms, his teammates grinned, already amused by the little one's enthusiasm. The love for cricket was clearly in his blood—just not in the way they had expected.

One of Shubman's teammates, noticing the adorable moment, playfully tossed a ball toward him. With effortless reflexes, Shubman caught it in his gloves, barely needing to look.

"Nice hands, Captain," the teammate teased with a grin.

Shubman smirked before shifting Aryaman in his arms. "Let's see if the little champ has any hands for this," he mused, holding the ball in front of Aryaman.

Aryaman's big eyes locked onto the bright red ball with fascination. His tiny fingers stretched out, trying to grab it, but it was too big for his small hands. He ended up smacking it instead, making it bounce out of Shubman's grip and onto the ground.

A round of laughter erupted from the team.

"Well, he's got the aggression, that's for sure!" one of the players chuckled.

Papa Gill, watching from his chair, smiled proudly. "Just wait till he learns how to grip it properly. Then you all better watch out."

Shubman crouched down, placing Aryaman on his feet while holding the ball steady in front of him. "Alright, champ. Let's give it another shot."

Aryaman wobbled slightly, then instinctively reached for the ball again. This time, his small hands managed to wrap around it—just barely. He gripped it tightly, his tiny fingers struggling to hold on, but determination shone in his eyes.

The sight made Shubman's heart swell.

"That's it," he whispered, encouragingly. "Hold it tight, just like that."

Aryaman let out a tiny grunt, then—without warning—flung the ball forward. It barely rolled a few feet before stopping, but the team still burst into applause.

"First official delivery!" someone called out.

Aryaman squealed with delight, clapping his own hands in excitement.

Shubman scooped him up, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "You're full of surprises, aren't you?" he murmured.

Papa Gill laughed. "Looks like we'll be setting up a bowling net for him sooner than expected."

Shubman held Aryaman close, looking down at the tiny future bowler in his arms. "Guess I better start training, then," he said with a proud smile. "I think we've got a real cricketer in the making."

While Shubman played with Aryaman, helping him toss the ball around, a comment hit his ear—one that made his entire body go rigid.

His smile faded instantly, replaced by a sharp edge of fury burning beneath his skin. The words echoed in his mind, igniting something primal, something protective. His grip on Aryaman unconsciously tightened for a brief second before he snapped out of it.

Without a word, he scooped Aryaman up just as the little one grabbed the ball before it could roll away. Holding him securely, Shubman strode toward Papa Gill, his movements precise, controlled—but his eyes told a different story.

"Take him." His voice was clipped, barely concealing the storm brewing within.

Papa Gill, immediately sensing the shift in his son's demeanour, reached out and took Aryaman into his arms. The little boy continued babbling happily, blissfully unaware of the tension crackling around him.

"Shubman, let it go—" Papa Gill started, but Shubman was already walking away.

His strides were firm, unrelenting. His fingers curled into tight fists by his sides as he headed straight toward the source of the comment, his jaw locked, his chest rising and falling with steady but deep breaths.

The air around the field seemed to grow heavier, conversations dwindling as people took notice. Eyes followed him, players pausing mid-practice, murmurs passing through the group.

Then, without hesitation, Shubman reached forward, fisting their collar, yanking them close.

In a low, dangerously calm voice, he spoke.

"Say that again."

"I—I didn't mean—" the man stammered, his voice faltering.

Shubman's grip on the man's collar tightened, his knuckles turning white as he yanked him up onto his toes. Their faces were now inches apart, Shubman's dark, furious eyes locking onto the man's panicked ones.

"Didn't mean to?" Shubman's voice was a low growl, controlled yet seething with barely restrained rage. He made sure his tone didn't carry beyond the space between them—Aryaman didn't need to hear this.

The man swallowed hard, his hands instinctively grasping at Shubman's wrist, but Shubman didn't budge. His strength was unyielding, his stance firm.

Shubman's grip remained firm, his fingers digging into the fabric of the man's collar as his voice dropped even lower, more dangerous.

"Repeat it." His hot breath, laced with anger, fanned against the man's face, making him shiver.

"N-no, I—" the man stammered, shaking his head desperately.

Shubman's jaw clenched, his patience razor-thin. "I said, repeat what you said." His voice was eerily calm, yet it carried the weight of a brewing storm, a warning that he was only holding himself back for now.

The man's throat bobbed as he tried to shrink away, but Shubman's hold didn't allow him to move an inch. "I-I didn't mean it like that," he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper.

Shubman's eyes darkened further, his grip tightening just enough to make the man's breath hitch. His voice, dangerously quiet yet deafening in its intensity, came again.

"Repeat it."

The man's pulse pounded beneath Shubman's hold, panic flashing in his eyes. He shook his head wildly, his voice breaking. "P-please, I— I didn't mean—"

Shubman's grip turned ironclad, his fingers digging so hard into the man's collar that the fabric bunched up against his throat. His voice, sharp as a blade and laced with quiet fury, sliced through the air.

"Repeat it."

This time, it wasn't just a demand—it was a command, a force of nature that couldn't be ignored.

The man's breath came in short, frantic gasps, his entire body trembling under the weight of Shubman's fury. His knees wobbled, his vision blurred for a second, and for a terrifying moment, he thought he might actually pass out.

Shubman leaned in even closer, his presence suffocating, his next words like a storm ready to unleash hell.

"I said... repeat it."

It was no longer a request—it was a final warning

The sheer authority in his voice sent a cold shiver racing down the man's spine, his legs nearly giving out beneath him. The blood drained from his face, leaving him ghostly pale.

"I-I—" The man's voice cracked, barely able to form words. His lips parted, but nothing came out except a shaky breath. His entire body was betraying him, locked in fear.

Shubman's dark gaze didn't waver, his lips curling into something that wasn't quite a smirk—but it wasn't mercy either.

"That's what I thought."

And with that, he gave a sharp, final tug on the man's collar before shoving him backwards. The man stumbled, his feet fumbling to stay upright as he clutched at his chest, gasping for breath as though he had just been dragged from the depths of the ocean.

Shubman's eyes flickered with disdain as he straightened, rolling his shoulders. He had wasted enough time. Without another glance, he turned on his heel and walked away, his steps unfaltering, his focus shifting back to where it truly belonged—Aryaman, the only thing worth his time.