Despite their vastly different worlds, fate throws Ishan and Shivangi together in an arranged marriage. It's a collision of two worlds - Ishan, with his star-studded cricket career and larger-than-life persona, and Shivangi, the grounded middle clas...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
"Ishu! Ishu, uth ja," [Ishu! Ishu, wake up.] Shubman says, his voice a blend of exasperation and worry. He leaned over the bed, giving his best friend a firm shake that bordered on a shove.
But Ishan, blissfully ignorant of the morning chaos, remained face-down in his pillow, snoring like an old ceiling fan—loud, obnoxious, yet somehow still functional.
Shubman sighed deeply, rubbing his tired eyes with the heel of his palm. The remnants of sleep clung to him like a stubborn fog, and for a fleeting moment, he considered collapsing back into the bed himself.
But he quickly dismissed the thought; he knew they were on borrowed time. If they didn't get moving soon, Virat bhai would burst in any second, unleashing a verbal onslaught that could rattle the windows and leave their ears ringing for days.
"Arre yaar, Ishu! Agar Virat bhai aa gaye na, toh samajh le. He'll start with his 'tum logon ko toh zara bhi fikar nahi hai' lecture, and trust me, you don't want to be on the receiving end of that. I'm trying to save both of us here, samajh raha hai na?" Shubman tried again, this time jabbing Ishan sharply in the ribs, hoping to shake his perpetually late-rising friend from his slumber.
[If Virat bhai comes in, understand this: he'll start with his 'you guys don't care at all' lecture, and trust me, you don't want to be on the receiving end of that. I'm trying to save both of us here, understand?]
Ishan groaned in response, swatting Shubman's hand away as if it were nothing more than a bothersome mosquito. "Sone de, bhai," [Let me sleep, bhai.] he muttered, his words slurred and muffled against the pillow.
Shubman rolled his eyes so hard he was sure they might actually complete a full circle. He knew this drill all too well.
He could continue to try the gentle approach, but that had about as much chance of success as finding an empty metro seat during rush hour.
No, it was time to escalate. With Ishan, being nice was as pointless as asking a Mumbaikar to stay indoors during Ganpati Visarjan.
As his gaze wandered around the room, Shubman's eyes landed on Ishan's phone, lying innocently on the side table, its screen dark and oblivious to the trouble it was about to cause.
A grin slowly spread across his face as a plan began to form in his mind. This was going to be the kind of revenge only the best of friends could truly appreciate.
Moving with the stealth of a pickpocket in a crowded bazaar, Shubman reached for the phone, unlocking it with the passcode he knew as well as his own.
His fingers flew across the screen as he scrolled through Ishan's contacts, his grin widening when he found exactly what he was looking for—the one name Ishan would least want to be woken up by, especially on a lazy Sunday morning.
