Playing the Field

The post-match noise had died down. Dubai’s skyline glittered beyond the private rooftop lounge of the team hotel — champagne had been opened, music faded, players drifted off to their rooms or afterparties.

Shubman stayed behind.

So did Shahneel.

They sat on two lounge chairs under the soft pool lights, a bottle of water between them, no sound except the quiet clinking of glass and the faint hum of the city.

“You played like a man in love today,” Shahneel said casually, cracking open the bottle.

Shubman choked on air. “Di—what—”

“Don’t ‘Di’ me,” she smirked. “I’ve known that face since you were fourteen and crushing on the school badminton captain.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” she cut in. “Same stupid half-smile. Same stolen glances from the field.”

He groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

“You like her,” Shahneel continued. “Not fake-like. Not PR-like. Like-like.”

He didn’t answer for a moment. Then:

“I didn’t plan on it.”

“That’s the best kind,” she said softly.

He stared out at the skyline. Voice lower.

“At first it was chaos. We were just… pretending. Doing our jobs. She was sharp, guarded, impossible to read. She still is, sometimes. But then—”

“You started noticing the way she calms your nerves before a match,” Shahneel supplied.

“The way she pulls you out of your own head without trying. The way she challenges you without making you feel small.”

He nodded slowly. “Exactly that.”

Shahneel leaned back.

“You’ve been with girls who liked the idea of you,” she said. “The cricket star. The headlines. But Kavya?”
“She sees you. When you’re exhausted. Grumpy. Stupid. She still sees you.”

He smiled faintly. “She threatened to throw a camera battery at Ishan yesterday.”

“She fits,” Shahneel whispered. “Into this mad world of yours. Into you.”

Then her tone shifted. Gentle, but serious.

“But listen to me, Shubi. Don’t mess this up. Don’t treat this like one more thing to ‘win.’ She’s not a game. She’s not a phase.”

He looked up.

“If you’re serious — and I know you are — don’t half-love her. Don’t keep her hidden behind strategy.”

“I’m done pretending,” he said softly. “We both are.”

Shahneel’s lips curved into a rare, proud smile.

“Then tell her before she doubts it. Tell her not with a campaign. Not with a caption. Just you. And her. And the truth.”

He nodded. “I will.”

And for once, the boy who always had answers — fell silent, heart full, eyes on the stars.