Shubman Gill is facing a lot of problem in his family. His sister moved out because of him to a different country and no one knows where so both Keart and Lakwinder do not talk to them because of this.
Sara Tendulkar is a bubbly and has a loving fam...
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The evening had settled into a quiet rhythm, the kind that often accompanies the solitude of one's own space. There I was, in the sanctuary of my room, sifting through a pile of documents that demanded my attention. Amongst the official papers, a photograph fluttered to the floor—a snapshot from a time long past. It was a candid moment captured during my late teens, a picture of me and Shahneel di, where I was planting a kiss on her cheek. Perhaps it was a memento from a homecoming after a series of matches.
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The image was a portal to days gone by, and as I picked it up, a surge of nostalgia washed over me, bringing with it an unexpected deluge of tears. The longing to reconnect with Shahneel di was overwhelming, yet I knew all too well the futility of such a wish. She wouldn't see or respond, even if I sent the picture through Alyssa.
My fingers hovered over the photograph, the impulse to share it battling with the resignation in my heart. "She won't see the picture, even though you send it to Alyssa," my inner voice whispered, echoing the ache of estrangement.
With a heavy sigh, I tucked the photograph into my bag, alongside the neatly arranged documents. It was then that Ishan breezed into the room, his presence a stark contrast to the somber mood that had enveloped me.
"Are your documents ready?" he inquired, his voice carrying the usual lightheartedness.
I could only offer a nod in response, my mind still adrift in the sea of memories that the photograph had stirred.
Ishan settled beside me, his concern palpable. "Veere, talk to me, please. You know you speak to Virat bhai more than me."
"Nothing like that, Jaaneman," I replied, attempting to muster a smile. But Ishan's intuition was not easily fooled.
"What happened?" he pressed, his gaze fixed on me.
I hesitated for a moment before revealing the photograph, the silent testament to my yearning. "I miss di a lot," I confessed, the words barely a whisper.
Ishan's response was immediate and heartfelt. He wrapped me in an embrace, his assurance firm. "Everything will be fine, Shub. I know it."
Yet, deep down, I harbored no such hope. The rift between Shahneel di and me felt insurmountable, a chasm that stretched with the expanse of the city that lay beyond my balcony. The thought that my parents might never speak to me again was a shadow that loomed large, darkening the brief moments of happiness that had flickered earlier.
