The Bond ❤️❤️

protective

Virat Kohli sat in a dimly lit corner of the upscale club, a cold drink in hand. The neon lights flickered intermittently, casting vibrant hues across the bustling dance floor. He had come here to unwind after a long day, to relax in anonymity away from the limelight that followed him everywhere. As he sipped his drink, his eyes wandered across the room, taking in the lively scene.

He was about to leave when a familiar figure caught his attention. Ishan Kishan, his young protégé and the kiddo he had grown so fond of, was seated at a nearby table with a group of old friends. Virat raised an eyebrow, a slight smile playing on his lips. Ishan looked like he was trying to have a good time, but something about the scene made Virat hesitate. He decided to stay, just in case Ishan needed him.

From his vantage point, Virat watched as Ishan's friends smirked and exchanged knowing glances. They offered him drinks repeatedly, which Ishan refused with a shake of his head. Virat knew about the promise Ishan had made to him and Harry Bhai—that he wouldn’t drink. The taunting started soon after, with the friends' expressions turning malicious.

"Come on, Ishan. Don't be such a buzzkill," one of them sneered. "What happened to the old Ishan? The one who knew how to party?"

"I told you, I don't drink anymore," Ishan replied firmly, though there was an edge of discomfort in his voice. "I promised Bhaiya and Harry Bhai."

The friends exchanged mocking looks. "Promised your big brothers, did you? How sweet," another one taunted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "We knew you’d turn into a softie."

Ishan's face reddened, but he stood his ground. "It's not about that. I just don't want to drink."

The smirks turned into sneers, and the atmosphere grew tense. These weren’t friends; they were people looking to bring Ishan down a peg, envious of his success. They had invited him here under the pretense of a friendly reunion, but their true intentions were clear.

Suddenly, Naman, one of the more aggressive friends, grabbed a glass and shoved it towards Ishan. "Here, just one drink. It won’t kill you," he insisted, his voice harsh.

Ishan pushed the glass away, his patience wearing thin. "I said no."

Naman’s expression darkened, and before anyone could react, he tried to force the drink into Ishan’s mouth. The scuffle drew attention, but it was the slap that followed that truly shocked the club. Another guy, seeing Ishan resisting, slapped him hard across the face.

Virat's drink hit the table with a thud as he stood up, his anger boiling over. He moved quickly through the crowd, his eyes locked on the group. The sight of Ishan being manhandled was enough to push him over the edge.

"You think you can do this to him and get away with it?" Virat's voice was a low growl as he approached. The men turned to see him, their faces paling.

"Vi-Virat Kohli?" one of them stammered, recognizing the fiery look in his eyes. Fear flickered across their faces, but it was too late. Virat didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Naman by the collar and threw a punch that sent him sprawling to the ground. The others backed away, but not fast enough.

"You call yourselves his friends?" Virat snarled, landing another punch on a second guy who tried to step in. "You think you can bully him because you’re jealous of his success?"

The remaining friends scattered, trying to avoid Virat's wrath. The club's security finally arrived, but Virat had already made his point. He turned his attention to Ishan, who was swaying slightly, clearly having ingested some alcohol despite his best efforts to refuse.

Ishan clung to Virat, tears streaming down his face. "Bhaiya, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"Shh, it's okay, kiddo," Virat soothed, guiding him out of the club. "Let's get you home."