Second Innings

Post-Practice Tension

He looked wrecked.

Drenched in sweat.
Hair mussed.
Eyes dull with exhaustion.
Shoulders stiff like they carried the world.

Praveena leaned against the doorframe, watching him towel his face as he dropped into the living room sofa like a fallen warrior.

She walked toward him without a word.

“Take off your shirt,” she said flatly.

He jerked upright. “Excuse me?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Shirt. Off. You’re tight as a coiled spring and you look like your spine might snap in half.”

His ears burned. “What are you—”

“Oh my god, just chill,” she groaned, disappearing into her room. She returned with a small bottle of massage oil. “I’m a med student, remember? Basic muscle relaxation 101.”

Still hesitating, still suspicious.

“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Be stubborn and suffer. Not my body.”

But the moment he tugged off his shirt, she paused. Just for a second.

His back. Sculpted. Defined. Tension coiled beneath bronze skin and ridged muscle.

She sat on the couch behind him and poured a bit of oil into her hands. The first touch of her fingers on his shoulders made him flinch. She said nothing.

She dug into the knots with professional precision. He exhaled. Slowly. And as she kneaded deeper, her fingers pressed into his shoulder blades, his neck, the edge of his spine. Her thumbs circled against tension, smoothing it out, melting it away.

And then…

“Hmm…”
A low, guttural sound slipped from his throat. An involuntary moan.

They both froze.

He stiffened.

She blinked… then let out the softest laugh, shaking her head. “Relax, Pathirana. I’ve seen cadavers with better control.”

He scowled, ears flaming. But didn’t move.

She kept going, but this time… it wasn’t just a massage. Her fingers lingered a little longer. His breathing slowed. Her heartbeat quickened.

For the first time, they didn’t fall asleep annoyed at each other.

Enemies? No.
Friends? Not yet.
But something in between.

---

The next afternoon, a knock on the door shattered the truce.

Dhruv.

Ex boyfriend from years ago. Tall. Confident. Still annoyingly charming. Still acting like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t cracked her open and walked away.

“Hey, Praveena. Can we talk?” he asked, eyes flicking to Matheesha, who’d just wandered into the foyer, towel slung over his shoulders, shirt hanging open like a casual challenge.

Praveena froze. Seeing him felt like being hit by a truck and the bitter memories came crashing.

But Matheesha? Oh, he was already moving.

He strolled over, wrapped an arm around her waist like it was second nature, and brushed a kiss against her forehead—steady, proprietary, and just a little smug.

“Babe, everything alright?” he asked, tone dipped in slow, sweet poison.

Dhruv blinked, thrown. “I didn’t realize you were… in a relationship?”

“Fiancé,” Matheesha said smoothly, his smile all teeth. “Very much in love. We even argue over who folds the laundry.”

Praveena gave him a look. “You’ve folded laundry exactly once.”

He grinned. “Exactly. And only because you’re terrible at folding my shirts.”

Dhruv shifted uncomfortably. “I just came to talk—”

Matheesha’s smile didn’t waver. “We don’t really do heart-to-hearts with guys who flirt with someone else when they have a girlfriend and then dare to justify it.”

Dhruv flinched, just barely.

“Oh,” Matheesha added, voice syrupy. “But then you saw her in a pretty gold saree on some instagram post, and suddenly remembered she exists. Cute timing. She wore that for my birthday, by the way.”

Praveena blinked, her breath catching.

That wasn’t part of the plan.

None of this was.

She looked up at Matheesha, startled by the heat in his words—defense without hesitation, like he felt the betrayal too. Like it had touched him through her.

Dhruv cleared his throat, his confidence crumbling. “Right. I’ll just—”

“I’ll see you around, Dhruv,” she said, voice colder than the tile beneath his shoes.

The door clicked shut.

Silence.

Matheesha let go of her waist… slowly, fingers dragging like he didn’t really want to.

“You’re welcome,” he said, voice suddenly softer.

She stared at him, cheeks warm. “I didn’t say thank you.”

“You were definitely going to.”

Praveena opened her mouth to protest—but stopped.

He was right.

She smirked, trying to hold back a smile. “Still smug.”

“Always,” he murmured, but he was watching her now—not with teasing, but with something quieter. Something real.

And damn it.

Her heart skipped.

Hard.

---

The Departure

The next morning was chaos.

Praveena zipped up her suitcase, books stacked in a separate bag, her coat draped over the handle. Surprisingly, Matheesha offered to drop her at the airport.

He stood by the departure door, arms crossed, trying so hard to look unaffected.

“Well… have fun with your endless exams,” he muttered.

She chuckled. “Have fun being the emotionally stunted husband.”

He smirked. “You’re still annoying.”

She picked up her bag and turned to leave.

Then—

“Praveena,” he said suddenly, making her freeze.

She turned.

“If things get rough… call me. I’ll pick up.”
His voice softened for just a second. “I might still think you’re annoying though.”

She didn’t say anything.

Just smiled. Small. Genuine.

“Whatever,” she replied, walking out the door.

But her heart was a traitor.
And his… wasn’t far behind.

‐--

Author's Note:

Hello to my lovely readers! The story of our couple is only just getting started. Trust me when I say it gets better after this. If you've read all of this, I just want to say, thank you for giving my story a chance and keep supporting!

With lots of love,
Trouble ❤️