Shubman Gill an emerging cricketer who is the apple of the eye of Rohit and Virat needs to marry Rohit's sister Aditi Sharma who is a singer due to certain circumstances.
Will there be love between them? Or will there be just the responsibilities be...
Aditi's eyes fluttered open, greeted by the soft morning light filtering through the curtains. The digital clock on her bedside table blinked 7:00 a.m. – a reminder that today was departure day. Everyone in the house had flights scheduled at 10:00 a.m., whisking them away to their respective destinations. For Aditi and Shubman, it was Chandigarh – a city where a new chapter awaited them, a house being built brick by brick.
The bathroom tiles were cool against her feet as she shuffled in, the toothbrush buzzing to life. Aditi's reflection in the mirror revealed a face still half-asleep, yet tinged with excitement. She stepped into the shower, the warm water washing away the remnants of dreams.
Dressed now, Aditi stood before the closet, deliberating her outfit. A white t-shirt caught her eye – simple, unassuming, but with a small red logo on the chest. The sleeves bore two patches, a touch of whimsy. She paired it with light blue high-waisted jeans, their hems slightly frayed – a nod to casual chic.
Clear strapped heels adorned her feet, their transparency adding an unexpected elegance. Aditi tied her hair into a low ponytail, applied minimal makeup, and fastened her mangalsutra – a delicate reminder of love and commitment.
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Shubman stirred in the next room, the urgency of departure jolting him awake. His white t-shirt and black shorts were hastily donned, and they both grabbed their bags. As they descended the stairs, Shubman's farewell echoed through the hallway: "Bye, guys." Virat's reply followed, "Bye, Shub. We'll head out too."
At the airport, the familiar buzz of travelers enveloped them. Boarding passes in hand, they settled into their seats. Shubman's head found its place on Aditi's shoulder, and soon, he drifted into slumber. Aditi chuckled, her fingers tracing patterns in his hair. She reached for a book – a companion for the journey.
Mid-flight, a voice interrupted her solitude. "Shubman?" Aditi looked up to find Sara, concern etched on her face. "He's sleeping," Aditi whispered. Sara hesitated, then confessed, "I'm on the wrong flight. I have a friend in Chandigarh, and I wanted to surprise her."
Aditi raised an eyebrow. "Chandigarh? You were supposed to be on the Mumbai flight." Sara stammered, "I-I know, but..." Aditi nodded, allowing her to pass. As Sara disappeared down the aisle, Aditi resumed her book, glancing occasionally at Shubman's peaceful face.
The wheels touched down, and they navigated the airport hand in hand. Media personnel approached politely, requesting a snapshot. Aditi obliged, Shubman's arm around her waist, their smiles genuine.
Outside, Shubman's driver awaited them. The car's leather seats cradled them as they drove through Chandigarh's serene streets. "Peaceful, unlike Mumbai," Aditi remarked. Shubman grinned, "Yeah, it's the best city."
Homecoming was warm – Lakwinder's hearty welcome, Keart's loving gaze. Aditi volunteered to take their bags upstairs. Shahneel followed, assisting her. Shubman sank onto the couch, eyes closed, head resting against the cushion.
"Are you fine, baccha?" Keart's voice was tender. Shubman confessed, "Just a headache, Mumma." She advised rest, and he retreated to his room.
Aditi stood on the balcony, the breeze ruffling her hair. Shubman emerged, fresh from the shower, and enveloped her in a hug. "Shub, you're burning!" she exclaimed. Guiding him to the bed, she checked his temperature. "Fever," she declared. "Sleep now; Ma will take care of you."
Shubman surrendered, eyelids heavy. Aditi hurried downstairs. "Ma, Shub has a fever. Where are the medicines?" Keart's reassuring touch accompanied her words. "Shahneel has them. I'll make soup," Keart replied.
Aditi's gratitude was silent but felt. Shahneel handed over the medicine, and Aditi returned to their room. Shubman lay there, vulnerable in sleep. She sat by his side, her fingers brushing his forehead.
The room seemed to hold its breath, cocooned in a quiet intimacy. Keart entered, cradling a steaming bowl of soup. Her eyes softened as she looked at Aditi, who sat on the edge of the bed, her devotion evident. Keart settled onto the couch, her presence a comforting anchor.
Aditi leaned over Shubman, her fingers brushing his cheek. "Shub, wake up," she murmured. His eyelids fluttered open, and he squinted at the light. "Soup," Aditi announced, holding the bowl like a precious offering. Shubman's protest was feeble, "Not hungry."
Aditi's resolve didn't waver. "Just a little," she coaxed. The spoon met his lips, and the warmth of the broth seeped into his tired body. "Enough," he managed, and she relented, placing the bowl aside. The medicine followed – a gentle kiss on his forehead, a whispered command to sleep.
Keart watched this exchange, her heart swelling with gratitude. "Aditi," she said, her voice soft, "thank you for being here." Aditi's smile held a universe of emotions. "I love him, Ma," she confessed. "I don't mind being by his side."
Keart's eyes crinkled at the corners. She rose, leaving them to their quiet sanctuary. Aditi settled on the couch, her laptop open. The song she'd recorded recently beckoned, but her gaze kept drifting to Shubman. His fevered slumber was a fragile thing, and she vowed to guard it.
Outside, the world moved on – cars honking, leaves rustling. But in that room, Aditi's fingers danced across the keyboard, her song a lullaby for the man she loved. And as the melody swirled, she stole glances at Shubman, her heart singing a harmonious refrain.
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