almost, Always.

The headline hit before the coffee did.

"Captain Gill's Winning Streak & Whispered Romance - Who Is Dr. Rhea Merchant?"

Rhea stared at the online article on her tablet, spoon midway to her mouth, poha forgotten. Below the headline were cropped versions of the locker room photo, the match celebration, and the tunnel shot where Shubman's gaze lingered too long on someone behind the lens.

The caption stung:

Is this India's golden boy finally settling down? Psychology meets cricket in this unexpected off-field chemistry...

She locked the screen and pushed her bowl away.

Ten seconds later, her phone rang. Blocked Number.

She picked up, already bracing. "This is Dr. Merchant."

A clipped voice responded, "Dr. Merchant, this is Meera Rana from GT Communications. We're fielding a lot of press interest today. You and Mr. Gill are trending nationally. We'd like to discuss boundaries before your next on-camera appearance."

"Boundaries," Rhea repeated slowly.

"Yes, ma'am. For optics. There's concern the story is shifting from team performance to personal gossip."

"Noted," she said, jaw tight. "I'll speak with Shubman."

As if summoned, he knocked once before walking into the lounge.

Hair damp from a shower, grey tee clinging to his chest, that quiet calm he wore like armor. He took one look at her face and knew.

"They called you too?"

"GT comms. Page Three pieces. Twitter threads. I'm suddenly a psychologist-slash-mystery woman with dark past and dangerous eyes apparently."

He snorted. "Dangerous eyes?"

"Apparently I'm a femme fatale in glasses."

"You are," he said, no hint of sarcasm. "Except I know the truth."

Her expression softened, but only a little. "They're going to tear you apart for this."

He stepped forward. "Let them try."

She looked up. "Shubman-"

"No more hiding, Rhea. No more guilt. We're not doing anything wrong."

"But the team-"

"Already knows. And if any of them have a problem, they can talk to me. Or our owner. I don't care."

A pause.

"Do you?" he asked. "Care, I mean."

She hesitated. Then, finally: "I care about you."

That was all it took.

He exhaled. Stepped closer. His thumb brushed her wrist where her pulse betrayed her calm.

"Good," he murmured. "Because I'm not going to flinch anymore."

Before she could reply, a voice called from the hallway:

"I swear, if you two are having a romantic media strategy meeting without snacks, I'm reporting you to HR."

Siraj.

Rhea sighed. "You told him everything, didn't you?"

"He guessed most of it."

Siraj popped in, phone already filming. "Smile! You're trending!"

Shubman reached for a pillow and flung it.

Rhea caught it mid-air. "Give me that phone."

"Too late!" he grinned, bolting out the door. "Caption: 'GT's power couple manifesting another win with poha and emotional intimacy!'"

She stared at the door, deadpan. "We're doomed."

But Shubman's arm slid around her waist bringing her into a hug.

"No," he said softly, "we're finally free."