After a challenging year, cricket star Hardik Pandya seeks solace with his family before the T20 World Cup. When renowned romance novelist Avni Dixit moves into the flat across from his, her quiet world of books and his high-profile life unexpectedl...
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The morning sun cast a golden glow over the Pandya apartment, but inside, it was anything but serene. Clothes, shoes, and cricket gear were strewn across the living room like the aftermath of a tornado. Krunal and Pankhuri were out for some errands, the kids were at school. Hardik was trying—and failing—to get a handle on the mess. Avni sat cross-legged in the middle of the chaos, holding up what looked like a bright pink headband with a raised eyebrow.
Avni held up a neon green shirt, examining it with an exaggerated look of horror. “Yeh kya hai, Hardik? Seriously, what is this?”
Hardik turned around, his eyes landing on the shirt she held aloft. A sheepish grin spread across his face. “That’s… my lucky shirt,” he said, attempting to sound serious, but failing miserably as his grin widened.
Avni burst out laughing, the sound filling the room. “Lucky? It looks like something straight out of a 90s music video! Are you planning to blind your opponents with this?”
“Don’t mock the lucky shirt!” Hardik said, still grinning. “You never know when it might bring some extra luck.”
She shook her head, still laughing as she tossed the shirt into the ever-growing ‘no’ pile. “Trust me, the only thing this shirt will bring is a fashion disaster. You can do better, Mr. Pandya.”
Hardik shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant. “Fine, fine. No lucky shirt this time. But when I have a bad match, you’ll know why.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Avni said, smirking as she continued sorting through his things. “The world will thank me for saving them from that shirt.”
“Hardik, are you planning to start a fashion trend in the USA? Or did you raid Agu’s wardrobe by mistake?” Avni asked, stifling a giggle as she twirled the headband around her finger.
Hardik, who was rummaging through a drawer in search of something, looked up and grinned. “Hey, that’s a classic! You never know when you might need a bit of color in your life. Plus, it keeps the hair out of my eyes during practice.”
Avni laughed, shaking her head. “If you say so, but I’m pretty sure the World Cup isn’t the place to experiment with neon accessories.” She tossed the headband onto a nearby pile, which she’d mentally labeled the “Nope” pile.
Hardik shrugged, clearly unbothered. “I’ll have you know that this headband has seen me through some serious training sessions. It’s practically part of my routine now.”
“Right, and next you’ll tell me these are your lucky socks?” Avni held up a pair of mismatched, slightly worn-out socks, one of which had a small hole at the toe.
Hardik shot her a mischievous look. “Actually, yes. Those socks have been with me since my first international match.”
Avni’s jaw dropped, and then she burst out laughing, the sound filling the room. “Really, Hardik? You’re a millionaire cricketer, and you’re still hanging on to socks with holes? You’re joking, right? You’ve got to be joking!”
