If Only He Knew

There were things Shubman Gill had learned to ignore — gossip columns, baseless rumors, strangers who claimed to know him better than he knew himself.

But this?

This was different.

He couldn't stop thinking about her.

Dr. Riya Oberoi.

Not just because she was beautiful — although she was, in that quiet, effortless way that didn't beg for attention but commanded it.
Not because she was the daughter of a legacy name or a doctor with accolades to her credit.

No.

It was because of the way she looked at him.

Or rather... the way she didn't.

Like she'd already said the things she wanted to — somewhere else.
Like her silence had depth. Layers. Familiarity.

And for a man who'd spent most of his life surrounded by noise, her stillness felt like recognition.

He read the blog again.
From the beginning.

All the posts — every single one.

It wasn't just the pain that struck him.
It was the precision.

The way she noticed things no casual observer would — the specific phrasing, the timings of his expressions, the depth of her reflections.

There was an intimacy in the way she wrote about him — not as a public figure, not as a celebrity — but as a man trying to breathe through the weight of the world.

It was as if she saw the version of him no one ever had.

The real version.

And now that he had met Riya...
now that he'd heard her voice, felt her pause before speaking, watched her glance down when their eyes met —
he couldn't unsee the connection.

He called his friend Ishan that night.

"She could be the one writing it," Shubman said, pacing his hotel balcony.

Ishan blinked through the video call. "You're seriously stalking an anonymous blog?"

"I'm not stalking," Shubman snapped, then sighed. "I'm... trying to figure out why it feels like I've already met the girl who's been writing to me for months."

Ishan was quiet for a beat. "Okay... what if it is her?"

Shubman hesitated.

"I don't know what I'd do," he admitted. "But I want to know."

On the other side of the City

Riya stood in her walk-in closet, her fingertips brushing lightly across the sleeve of the dress she wore to the gala.

It still smelled faintly of jasmine and expensive perfume.

She closed her eyes and saw him again.

Not on the screen. Not in a blog post.

But in real life.

His voice. His eyes. That moment in the pediatric ward when he asked if they'd met before.

And she'd lied.

Not completely.
But enough.

She opened her laptop. Her cursor blinked on the blog dashboard.

She didn't type.

She couldn't.

Because a new fear had rooted itself inside her: What if he knows?