It had been nearly a year since Prapti and Shubman had officially started dating, and for the most part, things had been smooth sailing. 

They'd learned to navigate their busy lives together—his cricket tours, her modelling gigs, and their shared flat becoming a hub of laughter, late-night conversations, and quiet moments of love.

But even the most perfect relationships had their bumps, and today was one of those days.

The argument had started over something small—trivial, even. Prapti had casually mentioned over breakfast that she'd been invited to a high-profile fashion event in Paris next month, a dream opportunity that would put her on the radar of international designers. 

Shubman had nodded absently at first, but as the conversation progressed, his tone had shifted.

"You're really thinking about going?" he asked, setting his coffee mug down with a little more force than necessary.

Prapti frowned, her fork hovering over her plate. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just... I don't know, Prapti," he said, leaning back in his chair. "You're always flying off somewhere these days. First Mumbai, now Paris. Don't you think we're barely spending time together as it is?"

Her brows knit together, her tone turning defensive. 

"Shubman, this is my career we're talking about. It's a huge opportunity."

"I know that," he said, running a hand through his hair. "But it feels like you're putting everything else ahead of us."

"That's not fair," Prapti shot back, her voice rising. "You're gone half the year for cricket tours. Do I ever make you feel guilty for that?"

"That's different," he argued. "You knew what you were signing up for when you started dating me. Cricket's my job—it's not something I can say no to."

"And modelling isn't just a job to me?" Prapti snapped, standing up from the table. "You think I should just sit at home and wait for you to come back? Be your pretty little trophy girlfriend?"

Shubman winced at her words. "That's not what I'm saying, and you know it."

"Do I?" she challenged, crossing her arms over her chest. "Because it sure as hell sounds like you don't respect my career."

"Prapti, that's not—" Shubman started, but she cut him off.

"No, let me finish," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "I've always supported you, Shub. Through the tours, the injuries, and the media circus. I've never once asked you to choose between me and cricket. But the moment I get a big opportunity, you act like I'm being selfish."

Shubman stood, his frustration bubbling over. "I'm not saying you're selfish, but can't you see how hard this is for me? You're my priority, Prapti. I just wish I was yours too."

The words hung in the air like a slap, and Prapti stared at him, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"That's what you think?" she asked quietly, her voice shaking. "That you're not my priority? After everything I've done to make this work?"

Shubman hesitated, realizing too late that he'd crossed a line. "I didn't mean it like that," he said quickly, but the damage was done.

Prapti grabbed her plate and carried it to the sink, her movements sharp and deliberate. "You know what, Shubman? I need some air," she said, her voice clipped.

"Prapti, wait—"

"No," she interrupted, grabbing her coat from the back of a chair. "I need some space. Don't follow me."

And with that, she walked out the door, leaving Shubman standing in the middle of the kitchen, his heart sinking as the door clicked shut behind her.

The hours that followed felt like an eternity. Shubman paced the flat, replaying their argument over and over in his head. 

He hated the way things had escalated, hated the thought of Prapti being upset with him. He wanted to call her, to apologize, but he knew she needed time to cool off.

By the time evening rolled around, Prapti still hadn't returned. Shubman was sitting on the couch, his phone clutched in his hand, debating whether to send her a message when the door finally opened.

Prapti stepped inside, her expression unreadable. She looked tired, her makeup slightly smudged, but her eyes were clear. 

She closed the door softly behind her and leaned against it, her arms crossed.

"I've been walking around for hours," she said quietly, breaking the silence.

Shubman stood, his heart pounding. "Prapti, I'm—"

"Let me finish," she said, holding up a hand. Her voice was calm but firm. 

"I thought about everything we said this morning. And I get it, Shubman. I really do. It's hard being apart so much. But you need to understand something—I'm not just your girlfriend. I'm my own person, and I have dreams too."

"I know," he said, his voice soft. "I was out of line. I shouldn't have made you feel like your career isn't important. It is. You are."

Prapti's expression softened slightly, but she didn't move from her spot by the door. "I love you, Shub. But if we're going to make this work, we need to stop treating each other like obstacles."

"You're right," he admitted, running a hand through his hair. "I let my insecurities get the better of me. I just... I hate the thought of losing you."

"You're not going to lose me," she said, finally stepping closer to him. "But you need to trust me, just like I trust you."

Shubman reached for her hand, his grip firm and steady. "I do trust you. And I'm sorry for making you feel like I didn't. You deserve someone who supports you, not someone who holds you back."

Prapti's lips curved into a small, tired smile. "I don't want to fight with you, Shub. I just want us to be a team."

"We are," he said, pulling her into his arms. "And I'll do better. I promise."

She rested her head against his chest, her eyes closing as she exhaled deeply. "Good. Because I can't do this without you."

"You'll never have to," he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

They stood there for a long moment, holding each other, the tension of the day slowly dissolving. 

It wasn't a perfect resolution—there was still work to be done, and compromises to be made. 

But for now, they were okay, and that was enough.

woop woop!

and here we have the 13th chapter! 

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- love soup