If Only He Knew

The wheels touched down with a smooth hiss, and just like that — they were in Dubai.

The air was warmer, drier, kissed by desert wind and citylight glimmer. The drive to the hotel passed in a blur of glass buildings, luxury cars, and palm-lined roads — but Riya, sleepy-eyed and slightly awed, barely noticed.

She was too busy holding Shubman's hand.

Not because she was nervous.

Because it just felt right.

7:42 AM — The Grand Jumeirah Hotel

The check-in lobby shimmered with quiet opulence — marble floors, intricate chandeliers, and concierge staff who knew the names of every guest before they even reached the desk.

The team moved through like second nature — familiar, easy, laughing through sleepy yawns. Riya stood beside Shubman, taking it all in with a calm that came from years of being an Oberoi — no stranger to five-star hospitality, no need to be impressed.

But this time, it wasn't about the hotel.

It was about him.

And the quiet way he kept glancing at her every few minutes — like checking to make sure she was still really there.

"Mr. Gill," the concierge said, handing over a sleek keycard with a smile, "your suite is on the 21st floor. A view of the sea, as requested."

Riya raised an eyebrow. "Sea view, huh?"

Shubman shrugged, grinning. "Thought you'd want something pretty to wake up to."

She smirked. "Cheesy."

"Still worked."

8:13 AM — Their Suite

The door clicked open and the city spilled in — panoramic windows that overlooked the glittering coast, soft cream-toned interiors, a king-sized bed that looked like a cloud, and two personalized welcome notes on the table.

One said Mr. Gill, printed in gold.

The other simply said R. Oberoi, handwritten in perfect cursive.

She walked in slowly, running her fingers along the edge of the table, then set her duffel down at the corner of the bed.

"Nice," she said.

He stepped in behind her, pulling off his hoodie. "Just nice?"

She turned, folded arms. "You do realize I grew up in an Oberoi palace, right?"

He raised an eyebrow. "And yet you're still impressed."

She smiled. "Not with the suite."

"Oh?"

"With the fact that I get to share it with you."

He paused — heart, breath, everything.

Then softly, "That makes two of us."

They both unpacked lazily — slippers off, music low, room service tea arriving in ten minutes. She kicked off her shoes, tugged on one of his oversized T-shirts, and tied her hair in a bun.

"I feel like I'm on a college trip," she said, settling cross-legged on the bed.

"Except you're rooming with the star cricketer."

She threw a pillow at him. "Cringe."

"You signed up for it."

9:35 PM — Team Lounge (a.k.a. "The Not-So-Formal Dinner")

The group chat had lit up around 8 p.m.

Athiya:
Pajama party vibes only. No gowns. No lipsticks. Just food and chappals.

Ritika:
Hotel lounge. Floor cushions. Desi snacks. Come down sleepy or don't come at all.

Shubman was in a black tee and grey shorts.

Riya wore pale blue satin pajamas, hair loosely tied, her elegance glowing even in bare feet and no makeup.

They entered hand-in-hand.

Everyone was already there — a mix of soft music, half-empty coffee mugs, and laughter echoing through the suite-turned-lounge.

Anushka looked up and beamed. "Riya! You finally look like one of us."

"I look like I haven't slept in years," Riya laughed, settling between Athiya and Sanjana.

"You look like peace," Athiya said, reaching over to braid a loose strand of her hair.

Ritika passed her a plate of sev puri.

"Your man can't cook," she said. "But he got you to Dubai, so... we forgive him."

Shubman — halfway through a bite of aloo tikki — mumbled, "Slander."

Virat chimed in, raising his tea, "To Shubman — the man who hid a whole Oberoi heiress from us for months."

Everyone laughed.

Riya glanced at Shubman from across the cushions.

And in that moment — surrounded by the people who mattered to him, accepted by the wives, fed by love and simplicity — she didn't feel like the outsider anymore.

She felt like his world was finally opening up to her.