After a 17-hour journey to London, Shubman was physically and mentally exhausted. The entire flight was torturous, with flashes of Noor's emotionless face haunting him, her refusal to talk to him replaying in his mind. His eyes were fixed on the seat before him, as he absently traced the patterns in the fabric, trying to link them to the scattered pieces of his memory.

It had been tough to convince his mother to allow him to take back-to-back trips, but eventually, one sentence was all it took to gain her approval. "It's for Noori's sake," he had said, and she had complied.

What Shubman thought would be easy was anything but. As soon as he stepped off the plane at Heathrow, a dozen voices hit his ears like a gust of wind, with one particularly excited voice among them exclaiming, "Finally, London! It's going to be amazing!"

He turned around to find all the passengers either talking quietly among themselves or walking by silently. Realizing the voice was in his head, he took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts

As he took a step forward, his own voice echoed in his mind, "It's just you and me and the London streets."

Stumbling through the passengers who gave him strange looks for pushing past them, Shubman finally ran out and leaned against a taxi. He sighed in frustration, wondering why the voices in his head couldn't be clear and concise. Why did they have to blur and become so daunting?

Peeking through the window, he looked at the driver and said, his tongue rolling the words naturally, "Take me to the museum."

As the taxi began to move, Shubman tried to steady his thoughts. The cityscape of London blurred by as he stared out of the window, his mind still tangled in confusion and frustration. The memories of Noor's face, her indifference, and the unanswered questions plagued him.

The driver, a man in his fifties with a kind face, glanced at him through the rearview mirror. "You're here for business or pleasure?" he asked.

Shubman, lost in his thoughts, barely registered the question. "Just... trying to find something," he replied absently.

"Seems like you're here because of a girl," the driver said, glancing at Shubman through the rearview mirror.

Shubman looked up, surprised. "How did you know?"

The driver chuckled and replied, "When you look as lost as you do, it's usually for someone special. Happens all the time."

Shubman smiled sadly and nodded. "Yes, I'm here for my blue-eyed panda."

The driver's smile widened. "Well, I hope you find what you're looking for. London has a way of making everything clearer."

As they reached the museum, the driver with crinkled eyes and a warm smile, said, "I'll be waiting for you, sir. Just let me know where to take you next; it would be a pleasure."

Shubman nodded, stepping out of the cab and taking in the grand facade of the museum. He looked back at the driver and said, "Thank you. I'll be back soon."

Shubman's day was a whirlwind of locations—from museums to clubs to gardens—following Noor's designs in search of something that would trigger his memories. Despite his efforts, nothing seemed to bring the clarity he sought. By the end of the day, as he stood by the River Thames, exhaustion and frustration took their toll.

Overwhelmed, he sank to his knees on the riverbank, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The driver, having been nearby, approached and knelt beside him, offering a comforting hand on his back.

He looked up at the stars shining brightly above the Thames, their light contrasting sharply with the darkness he felt inside. His cries pierced the night, a raw expression of the heaviness in his heart. The universe, vast and lent, offered no answers, only more pain and confusion.

"I want my Noori," he cried out, his voice filled with longing. "I just want to be in her arms. I just want her to tell me it's alright." His voice echoed across the water, carrying his plea into the night, a desperate wish for comfort amidst his confusion and heartache.

"Sometimes, finding what we seek takes time," the driver said gently, his voice soothing. "You've come a long way, and you'll find your answers. Just give it some time."

Shubman's voice shook as he said, "I've spent so much time messing things up with Noori. I can't keep doing this." His words were filled with regret.

The driver's eyes fell on the ground where Shubman had crumpled, noticing his id lying there. His eyes widened in recognition as he looked up at Shubman. "You're Shubman Gill, the Prince of cricket," he said, his voice filled with surprise.

Shubman looked up, his tear-streaked face showing weariness. "Yes, that's me," he admitted, his voice cracking.

The driver's expression softened. "I've heard a lot about you. It's hard to see someone who's given so much to the world looking so lost."

Shubman smiled sadly and said, "What's the use of all this fame if I can't use it wisely for myself?"

The driver, with a hint of curiosity, suggested, "There must be something about her on the internet—maybe some photos of you two together."

Shubman sighed, shaking his head. "I've checked everywhere. From old texts and images on my phone to every corner of the internet. There's nothing."

The driver's eyes lit up with a sudden idea. "Maybe a fan page has something. They often capture and hold onto everything."

Shubman's eyes widened slightly. "You might be onto something. I hadn't thought of that."

The driver nodded encouragingly. "Fan pages often keep archives of moments that aren't officially documented. Try searching through them. It might just have what you're looking for."

Shubman nodded, wiping his tears. As he prepared to leave, he pulled out some notes to pay the driver, but the driver gently refused. "No, no. Finding your love is payment enough for me," he said with a warm smile.

Shubman hesitated but then relented, pressing the money into the driver's hand. "Please, take it. It's for your work."

The driver shook his head, his smile widening. "Just a small request, if you don't mind—a selfie with you, please?"

Shubman managed a grateful smile through his tears. "Of course."

They posed together, the driver's eyes twinkling with hope and pride as Shubman, touched by the driver's kindness, took a moment to appreciate the gesture before heading back to his hotel.

On his way to the hotel, Shubman's phone rang. It was his mother's voice on the other end, calming and familiar.

 "Shubman, I just spoke with Noor," she said, her tone soothing. "She's not happy that you're back in London while you're still recovering. She's worried about your health."

Shubman chuckled softly. "The blue-eyed panda doesn't want to talk to me but wants to know everything about me."

His mother scolded gently, "Don't call her panda."

Shubman laughed. "You think I'll stop now? That's just how I see her."

Shubman's mother’s voice softened to a whisper. “She loves you more than anything.”

Shubman pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to hold back tears. "And I wish I could love her without my mind telling me it's wrong every time."

"It hurts me every time I see her so lifeless and emotionless because of me," Shubman said, his voice breaking. "I can't stand the thought of being the reason for her pain."

His mother's voice softened further. "Shubman, sometimes love requires facing those fears and doubts. If you truly care for her, you need to confront your feelings and not let them hold you back."

Shubman sighed deeply. "I know, Mom. But it's so hard. Every time I try to reach out, it feels like I'm pushing her further away."

"Actions speak louder than words," his mother said gently. "Show her that you're committed to making things right, not just with your words, but with your actions. If she means that much to you, fight for her. Fight for both of you."

Shubman took a deep breath, feeling a mix of resolve and sadness. "I'll try, Mom. I really will. Thanks for the reminder."

Reaching the hotel, Shubman had a quick dinner before diving into Instagram, scrolling through page after page. Despite his efforts, he found nothing—no photos, no posts, nothing that could help him remember Noor. The endless search only left him feeling more defeated and exhausted.

Shubman continued scrolling until his gaze landed on a page dedicated to him, filled with countless photos from his career. Amidst them, he saw one from Lord's stadium, where he was kissing his bat and sending a kiss to her. Another photo discreetly clicked at a club, made his heart race as he zoomed in, tears streaming down his face.

Shubmanfanpage: "Voh 'Noor' ka jharna hai mein pyaas purani 🎶.

The realization hit him hard. Ghazal had been pretending to be something she wasn’t, and it was all a lie. The thought of Noor being hurt because of this betrayal made his chest ache. Shubman felt a surge of guilt and anger towards himself for not seeing through the deception earlier.

Shubman's eyes burned with anger as he dialled Ghazal's number. When she answered, her sickly sweet voice only fueled his rage further.

"How are you doing, love? Did you think about announcing our relationship?" Ghazal asked, her tone dripping with false warmth.

"I did think about it, Raichandani," Shubman replied, his voice dripping with venom. "And I've decided it won't be our relationship."