Shubman had played in packed stadiums. He'd lifted trophies, hit centuries, stood beneath lights with the roar of crowds shaking his bones.
But nothing — nothing — compared to the way his heart raced every time he looked at her.
Riya.
He said her name often now — softly, privately, like a prayer.
In the quiet between matches. On the nights he couldn't sleep.
When his phone lit up with her texts. When her laughter echoed in his mind long after the call ended.
And still, he couldn't believe she was real.
Not just the girl from the blog.
Not just the eyes in the ballroom.
But his now — even if neither of them had dared put a label on it yet.
She was becoming his favorite part of the day.
His soft place to land.
He scrolled through her blog again — not to analyze, not to search.
Just to feel.
Because reading her words now felt like homework on his own heart.
Every sentence, every unsent letter, felt like a version of love that had waited patiently to find him.
And he was lucky.
So goddamn lucky.
"You're smiling at your phone again," Ishan said, crashing onto the hotel bed beside him.
Shubman locked the screen, trying — and failing — to act casual.
"I am not."
Ishan rolled his eyes. "You absolutely are. It's her, isn't it?"
Shubman didn't respond.
Ishan grinned. "So? When are you going to stop playing Mr. Stoic and tell her?"
"I don't know."
"Shubh," Ishan said, sitting up now, serious, "you do realize you love her, right?"
Shubman blinked.
The words hit harder than expected.
"Because you look at your phone like it holds your future," Ishan continued. "And I've never seen you that way before. Not even when you hit your double hundred."
Shubman laughed quietly. "You're being dramatic."
"Am I?" Ishan challenged. "Bro, I've watched you with people — fans, friends, girls — and I've never seen you this... soft. You're different with her. Not performing. Just... you."
Shubman fell silent.
Ishan's voice gentled. "You're in love with her. Admit it."
Shubman looked down at his hands.
And for the first time, said it out loud:
"I am."
The words were quiet.
Reverent.
Like something holy.
"I'm in love with her," he said again, firmer this time. "With the way she listens. The way she hides her tears behind sarcasm. The way she writes about the world like it hurts her just enough to want to fix it."
He swallowed.
"She's everything I didn't even know I needed."
Ishan nodded. "Then tell her."
Later that night, he asked Riya to meet him.
No explanation.
Just:
Shubman:
Come to the rooftop. There's something I need to say.
She came.
Of course she did.
Hair tied in a messy bun, eyes tired, wrapped in a soft shawl. No makeup. No performance.
Just Riya.
Exactly how he loved her.
She stood near the railing, looking out at the stars as he approached.
"Ishan said something today," he began.
She turned to face him.
"He said I look at my phone like it holds my future."
She smiled faintly. "Sounds like something he'd say."
"He's right," Shubman said, stepping closer. "Because when I see your name on my screen, I feel like... I've already found the thing people spend their whole lives searching for."
Her breath caught.
"I love you, Riya."
Her eyes widened.
"I love you for who you are when you're not hiding behind your words. I love you for the mess you think you are and the calm you give to everyone else. I love you for the girl who held me in her heart before I even knew where mine belonged."
Tears filled her eyes.
He took her hands in his, voice trembling now.
"I didn't plan for this. I didn't expect this. But I've never been more sure of anything."
She let out a small, broken laugh, blinking through tears.
"You really love me?" she whispered.
"With everything I have."
And this time — this time — she didn't cry from pain.
She cried from joy.
Because every letter she thought would go unanswered...
had finally been returned.