⛧°。 ⋆༺ ＳＡＲＡ'Ｓ ＰＯＶ ༻⋆。 °⛧

Shub and I were in London—he was on a short break from cricket, and I was buried neck-deep in college work. The sky outside was dull and grey, the typical London weather, and our little living room was softly lit, cozy, and warm. I was curled up on the floor, notes scattered around me, highlighter in hand, while Shub lounged lazily on the couch, his attention glued to his phone.

Then, suddenly—
"Shit!" he blurted.

I looked up immediately, brows furrowed. "What happened, Shubie?"

He glanced at me, worry clouding his eyes. "Due to the COVID-19 virus... there's a lockdown. All flights are cancelled." He paused and added, almost in disbelief, "That means... I'm stuck here."

I just nodded. I'd expected this. The virus had been spreading at an insane pace. It was only a matter of time before this happened. Still, seeing the look on his face made something twist in my chest. He looked so unsure, so thrown off—which was rare for my usually calm and composed Shub.

Right then, my phone started ringing—Keart Aunty.

I picked it up, placing the phone to my ear. "Hello, Aunty?"

Her voice was tinged with worry. "Sara, Shubie is stuck in London due to the lockdown. It's not safe for him to stay in a hotel. Can he stay at your place until things settle down?"

I looked over at him. He was lying on the couch like he owned it, feet up, a cushion behind his head, totally at home. I bit back a laugh. He'd clearly told them he was staying in a hotel. Typical Shub.

"Of course, Aunty," I said sweetly, trying to hide my smile. "I have no problem at all."

She sighed in relief, thanked me a few more times, and disconnected the call.

I looked over at Shub and smirked. "So, Mr. Gill... your hotel seems suspiciously like my couch."

He gave me a sheepish grin. "It has better Wi-Fi and cuter company."

I rolled my eyes, pretending to be annoyed. "Liar."

He stretched like a cat and said, "Guess this lockdown just became the best thing that's happened to me in months."

I tossed a pillow at him. "Only if you help with chores."

"Deal," he said with a wink. "But I'm not cleaning the bathroom. That's where I draw the line."

I laughed, shaking my head. "Fine. You cook then."

"Even better," he said, settling back with a smug smile.

I sighed, a mix of amusement and fondness filling me. Maybe being stuck together wouldn't be so bad after all.

I was deep into my online lecture, trying to focus on my professor's voice droning through the laptop speakers about neuroanatomy. My notes were open, my laptop balanced on a pillow, and I was scribbling furiously, trying to keep up. But with Shubman Gill in the same apartment and bored out of his mind... that was a whole different level of distraction.

He was pacing the room like a restless tiger, tossing grapes in the air and catching them with his mouth. Occasionally, he'd try balancing a pencil on his upper lip. It fell every time. And every time, he'd look at me like it was the most tragic moment in history.

"Shub," I hissed without looking up, "go read something."

"I read your Biochemistry for Dummies yesterday. I deserve a medal."

"You skimmed it and called the Krebs cycle a 'loop-de-loop of torture.' Sit down."

He dramatically plopped onto the couch, groaning like his life was in ruins.

Five minutes passed in silence.

Then—poke.

His finger jabbed into my arm.

"Stop," I said, not looking up.

Another poke. Then a light tap-tap-tap on my head.

I turned to glare. "Shubman."

He smiled angelically. "You look so serious when you're studying. It's cute."

I narrowed my eyes. "You're such a menace."

He leaned in, whispering, "I'm bored, Saraaaa. This is cruel and unusual punishment. Let me nap in your lap."

"You just woke up two hours ago!"

"But your lap is comfier than our bed."

Before I could respond, he had already laid down, placing his head gently on my lap and closing his eyes like a content puppy.

I sighed, brushing his hair back absently, still trying to listen to the lecture.

The professor was now going over spinal cord lesions. Shub was now snoring lightly.

Typical.

It was finally my moment.

Shubman had an important online meeting with the cricket board. He had even gelled his hair back, shaved, and was now sitting upright at the dining table in a clean hoodie that he swore was "meeting appropriate." His serious cricketer face was on — the same one he used while listening to fielding strategies or pretending to understand Dinesh Karthik's bowling placements.

I peeked at him from the kitchen, my arms folded, smirking. Payback time.

He had tortured me during my lecture. Now it was my turn.

I quietly tiptoed behind him as he adjusted the laptop webcam. His screen had the entire board lined up in formal shirts, everyone talking stats, performance, schedule — blah blah blah.

I crouched beside his chair like a ninja and whispered softly, "Shubieee, don't you miss me?"

His spine stiffened.

He didn't react — just cleared his throat and nodded seriously at the screen like he was agreeing to some strategy.

I grinned wider.

Next, I gently ran my finger along the back of his neck.

He flinched and swatted the air behind him like a mosquito had attacked him, then quickly composed himself. "No no, sir, sorry — just a slight... uhh... draft."

I burst out laughing silently and ducked out of view when he threw me a death glare.

But did I stop? Absolutely not.

I came back with a slice of lemon and held it right under his nose.

Shubman: blinking rapidly and holding back a sneeze.

Cricket official on screen: "Gill, are you okay?"

Shubman, voice tight: "Y-yes sir. Just a... bit of cold."

I was having the time of my life now.

I scribbled I love you on a sticky note and stuck it to his laptop screen just as he leaned in for a response. His eyes widened. He yanked it off in one smooth move but not before two officials noticed.

"Gill," one of them smirked, "seems like someone's got a fan nearby."

His ears turned bright red. "No sir, just my—uh—roommate's prank. Sorry."

I finally collapsed on the couch, trying to stifle my laughter with a pillow.

He managed to wrap up the call 10 minutes later, closed his laptop with the most dramatic sigh ever, and turned to me with the most serious face.

"You... are evil."

I batted my lashes innocently. "What? I was just being supportive during your very important meeting."

He lunged at me and I squealed, running around the couch.

Shubman chased me around the tiny living room like a predator, and I screamed, laughing, "Shub, I swear if you tickle me, I will kill you!"

But my words held zero threat because I was already laughing too hard to be taken seriously.

He grinned wickedly. "Oh, you mean like this?"
He pounced, grabbed my waist, and I shrieked as his fingers found my sides — my weak spot.

"Shubmaaan! Stop! STOP!" I howled, wriggling under his grip, but he was relentless.

"Say sorry!" he demanded between laughs.

"Never!" I gasped, laughing uncontrollably as I kicked weakly.

"Okay. You asked for it!" He intensified his attack, fingers dancing along my ribs.

"OKAY OKAY OKAY!" I surrendered, tears escaping the corner of my eyes from laughing. "I'm sorry! You're the king! You're the prince! You're the cricket god!"

He smirked, satisfied, and finally collapsed beside me on the carpet, both of us breathless and panting.

I rolled to my side to look at him. His hair was messy, cheeks flushed, chest rising and falling. He turned his head toward me, his dimple showing.

"This is exactly why I didn't wanna go back to the hotel," he said, grinning.

I nudged him with my foot. "Because you love being tortured?"

"Because I love you."

And just like that, the teasing faded into quiet. His words settled into the space between us.

I smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, heart fluttering. "I love you too, idiot."

We lay there on the floor, side by side, in our tiny London apartment, while the world outside was locked down — and somehow, everything felt just right.

꧁・┆✦ʚ 𝚂𝚑𝚞𝚋𝚖𝚊𝚗'𝚜 ♡ 𝙿𝚘𝚟 ɞ✦ ┆・꧂

I groaned, resting my forehead dramatically against the kitchen cabinet.
"Why me, yaar?" I whined, staring at the sink full of dishes like they had personally betrayed me.

Sara, standing by the stove with a towel on her shoulder and a smug smile on her face, folded her arms. "Because I cooked, and you promised you'd help."

I turned to her, pleading. "But I played three matches back to back last month."

She raised an eyebrow. "And I've studied neuroscience and human anatomy all week while putting up with your tantrums."

"Touche," I muttered.

She tossed me the gloves and said, "You're the chosen one, Shubman Gill. Go forth and scrub."

I sighed like a martyr and walked over to the sink, glancing over my shoulder.
"At least put on some music or something? This is depressing."

Sara grabbed her phone and started playing Tum Mile softly in the background.
And maybe it was the warm water, or maybe it was the way she leaned against the counter humming the lyrics while watching me—but somehow, doing dishes didn't feel that bad.

"You're actually kinda good at this," she teased, walking behind me and wrapping her arms around my waist.

I smirked, rinsing a plate. "Should've been a househusband. Imagine the headlines: 'KKR Star Player Ditches Cricket for Domestic Bliss in London'."

She laughed against my back. "I'd read that article."

I tilted my head. "And you'd be the doctor-wife in scrubs, bossing me around?"

She rested her chin on my shoulder. "You already let me boss you around."

"...yeah, because you're cute," I muttered, and she giggled.

We stood there—me with my hands in soapy water, her hugging me from behind—and I realized, this was my favorite kind of match.

No pressure, no crowds.
Just her. Just us.
And a sink full of dishes I didn't mind doing anymore.

The soft ticking of the clock and the faint scratching of Sara's pen against her notebook filled the cozy silence of the room. I sat cross-legged on the couch, a Rubik's Cube in hand, eyes squinting as I twisted and turned the damn thing for the hundredth time.

Sara was perched at the edge of the bed, hair tied up messily, glasses sliding down her nose, and completely lost in her notes. Every now and then, she mumbled something about "synapses" and "neurotransmitters"—terms that sounded like Harry Potter spells to me.

"Ugh, this makes zero sense," she muttered, rubbing her temple.

"Same," I said, holding up my half-messed Rubik's Cube. "How is this more frustrating than facing Rashid Khan on a turning pitch?"

She didn't even look up. "Because your brain's not used to multitasking. You just have to think."

"I am thinking," I protested. "This thing's a monster. It mocks me."

Finally, she looked at me—smirk tugging at her lips, eyes twinkling. "Do you want me to help?"

I raised an eyebrow. "With neuro junk or with this death cube?"

She giggled. "Both, honestly. But let's start with that cube. Hand it over, champ."

I tossed it to her, watching as she twisted it like she'd done it a hundred times before. "Of course," I muttered. "Beauty, brains and Rubik's cube champion. Unfair combo."

She shot me a grin and tossed it back—done. All colors aligned.

My jaw dropped. "Are you serious?! How—what—?!"

"Focus, Gill. It's just logic," she said, going back to her notes like it was no big deal.

I stared at her for a second longer, then leaned back on the couch with a smile.
"Marry me already."

She didn't even look up. "You better win a World Cup first."

Touché.

I stood up quietly, careful not to disturb her zone. She was completely immersed now—pages flipping, her highlighter swiping furiously. That little crease between her brows had deepened, the one that always came out when she was locked in her element.

She didn't even notice when I slipped away, grabbing my hoodie from the chair and stepping out onto the balcony.

The London air was chilly, brushing against my skin like a whisper. I tugged my hoodie over my head and leaned against the railing, letting out a slow breath. The city stretched out below—peaceful, still, kind of eerie with the lockdown in place. A few cars moved quietly on the streets, but mostly, it was silence.

I glanced back through the glass door, watching her. Hair falling over her face, head bent, tapping her pen against her cheek. God, I could just stand here and look at her for hours.

I pulled my phone out and opened the camera, zooming in through the glass and snapped a quick candid of her—my studious doctor-in-the-making. I sent it to her with a text:

How can someone be this cute while studying about brain chemistry? 😭🧠💕

I chuckled, slipping the phone into my pocket again, knowing she'd roll her eyes when she saw it.

And yet, I didn't want to bother her. Not tonight. She had so much to do, and I had all the time in the world for her.

I leaned back, watching the cloudy sky above.

"Win a World Cup, huh?" I whispered to myself with a smirk. "Challenge accepted, Doc."

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn't even hear the sliding door open.

Suddenly, two cold hands slapped my sides and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"AAAH! Sara!" I gasped, turning around dramatically as she burst into laughter.

"Gotcha, Shubie!" she giggled, her head thrown back, arms wrapped around her hoodie.

I held my chest dramatically. "You just gave me a mini heart attack. You wanna kill me or what?"

She grinned. "That's payback for the Rubik's Cube clicking and your weird texts while I'm trying to study."

I rolled my eyes playfully. "You loved that text."

She smiled softly and came forward, slipping her arms around my waist, resting her head on my chest. I instantly wrapped my arms around her, pulling her in, tucking her under my chin.

The cool breeze tousled her hair, and the city lights blinked far in the distance. It was quiet, peaceful, and everything felt still. Just her heartbeat against mine and her warmth sinking into me.

"You're so warm," she murmured.

"And you're freezing," I said, rubbing her back gently. "Why did you come out without socks?"

She looked up, eyes playful. "Because I knew you'd warm me up."

I chuckled, kissing her forehead gently. "You use me shamelessly."

"You love it," she said with a smirk, pulling herself closer.

We stood like that in silence for a while, just swaying, breathing each other in, holding on to this little pocket of calm amidst the world shutting down around us.

"I'm glad you're stuck here," she whispered after a minute.

I smiled into her hair. "Me too, sweetheart. Me too."

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ＳＡＲＡ'Ｓ ＰＯＶ ༻⋆。 °⛧

The cold breeze kissed my cheeks, but it was nothing compared to the warmth I felt in his arms. His hands were wrapped around my waist, and mine were resting on his chest. I could hear his heartbeat—steady, comforting, and oddly matching mine.

I looked up at him. His jawline was sharper under the soft moonlight, and his lashes were long and still like he was holding back a thought. There was something in his eyes... something that made me forget about the world outside this balcony.

"Shub..." I whispered.

He looked down at me, his eyes flickering from my eyes to my lips. I didn't need to say anything more.

His hand reached up gently to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, his thumb grazing my cheek, and everything just... stilled.

I felt my breath hitch when he leaned in a little, and I didn't move. I didn't want to. My heart was racing, and I could feel his breath on my skin.

And then, it happened.

His lips brushed against mine, soft and hesitant, like he was still asking if this was okay. I answered by leaning into him, my hands moving up to his shoulders, fingers curling into his sweatshirt.

It was slow, warm, and everything I ever imagined it would be.

The world melted around us—the lockdown, the silence, the college deadlines, the cricket matches—none of it mattered in that moment.

When we finally pulled away, I stayed close, our foreheads touching, both of us breathless but smiling.

"That... took you long enough," I whispered teasingly.

He chuckled, his dimples deepening. "I didn't want to mess it up."

"You didn't," I murmured, my fingers brushing over his chest.

"I've been wanting to do that since forever," he admitted, and I felt my heart squeeze.

"I know," I said softly. "Me too."

We stood there in each other's arms, quiet, content, like nothing else in the world existed.