𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 ( 𝐘𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐯𝐢 𝐉𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐥 )

12

Jemimah Rodrigues sighed as she took a seat in the VIP stand at Wankhede Stadium after the small break. It had been more than a week since the first fake date with Yashasvi Jaiswal, and while things with the media had been charged, it was in a surprisingly positive way like Rhea and Shreya claimed. She hadn't found a single negative comment yet, which was both a relief and an oddity in itself.

As she settled into her seat, she couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. The fake dating arrangement had been awkward, to say the least, but it had also given her a new perspective on Yashasvi. Their time together on that hilltop in Jaipur had been... unexpected. She had seen a side of him she hadn't known existed—one that was authentic, protective, thoughtful, and oddly sincere. It made her wonder if there was more to Yashasvi Jaiswal than the cocky and cold exterior he usually showed.

But there wasn't much time to dwell on that now. Today was the match between RR and MI, usually she would have supported her home team but due to the circumstances, she had to pretend to support Yashasvi's team RR.

As the teams took the field once again, the crowd roared to life. The atmosphere was electric, and Jemimah felt a familiar rush of adrenaline, even though she wasn't playing. She scanned the field, her eyes automatically finding Yashasvi in his Rajasthan Royals jersey. He looked focused, his usual confident demeanor in place as he prepared to open the batting.

Jemimah leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees as the second innings of the game began. Despite the complicated arrangement between her and Yashasvi, she couldn't deny his skill on the field. It was one of the things that had always irked her about him—his talent seemed to come so effortlessly. As Yashasvi took his stance at the crease, Jemimah's competitive side flared up. Even if she had to cheer for him today, it didn't mean she had to enjoy it.

The first few deliveries were cautious, Yashasvi playing each ball with precision, his eyes locked on the bowler. Then, on the third ball, he drove it through the covers with the kind of elegance that made it impossible not to appreciate his technique. Jemimah found herself nodding in approval, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she cheered when the cameras panned on her.

"Nice shot," she muttered under her breath, though she knew he couldn't hear her. She could imagine him smirking if he did, that infuriating smirk that always made her want to knock him down a peg or two.

The next few overs saw Yashasvi finding his rhythm. He played with a calm assurance, dispatching the ball to the boundary with an ease that had the crowd on their feet. Jemimah clapped along with them, her enthusiasm growing despite herself. Every well-timed cover drive, every pull shot sent to the ropes, filled her with a mix of admiration and frustration. He was good so damn good — that there was no denying that. But it was that very fact that grated on her nerves. How could someone she found so annoying be so undeniably brilliant at the game she loved to death ?

Jemimah's eyes stayed glued to the action as Yashasvi hit a perfectly timed sweep shot for a six, the third one in that innings and the most beautiful one yet. The stadium erupted in cheers, and she found herself joining in, her claps loud and genuine. Despite the tension between them, in this moment, it was impossible not to be proud of him. It was something she would never admit to him, of course, but she could at least acknowledge it to herself.

But just as quickly as the cheers had filled the air, a hush fell over the crowd. In the next over, Yashasvi mistimed a pull shot, and the ball sailed into the hands of the fielder at deep mid-wicket. For a split second, Yashasvi's expression remained neutral, but Jemimah could see the frustration in the way he tightened his grip on the bat before starting to walk back to the pavilion.