( 012 ) Date

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Shubman's POV

The plan was simple. Well, not that simple because I'd pulled a few strings and called in a favour to get the Crossword bookstore all to ourselves for the evening. A bookstore. Because if there's one thing I know about my girlfriend, it's that her idea of heaven is a quiet corner, stacks of books, and me next to her.

Okay, maybe the last part is wishful thinking, but still.

I smooth down my faded pink shirt—yes, pink is manly, shut up—and glance at my reflection in the mirror. Beige jeans, perfect fit. Hair? On point. Jawline? Sharper than a cover drive.

"You're irresistible," I murmur to myself, adjusting my collar. "This shirt screams thoughtful boyfriend material. She won't stand a chance."

Shobhana's POV

I'm waiting outside his room, fidgeting with the buttons of my maroon cardigan. Underneath, I've got on a black bralette paired with a mini skirt with a slit so tiny it's almost polite. And ankle boots, because comfort meets hot. I glance at my reflection in the glass of my phone screen.

"You're cool, Shobi," I whisper. "You're mysterious, alluring... and you definitely don't look like you just Googled 'casual yet sexy date outfit.'"

I knock on the door, and he opens it, his pink shirt glowing like some cosmic sign of a good day ahead. His sleeves are rolled up, veins popping on his forearms in the most unfairly attractive way possible. My brain short-circuits for a moment.

"Ready, gorgeous?" he says, his voice like honey drizzling over hot toast.

I clear my throat. "Yeah, let's go, Mr. Handsome."


When we pull up outside Crossword, the place looks deserted. My brows furrow in confusion. "Uh, Shubman, did they... close early?"

He grins, running a hand through his hair, the veins on his wrist catching my eye again. Stop it, Shobi. Focus.

"Nope," he says casually. "I booked it. For us."

I gape at him. "You what?"

"Surprise, baby," he smirks, taking my hand and pulling me toward the door. His hand is warm, his grip firm, and the moment his thumb brushes over mine, my brain starts composing love letters to his veins.

DON'T BLAME ME ✷  SHUBMAN GILL ( edited ) ✓Where stories live. Discover now