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...
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BHAGWAN JI BACHA LO! [God, please save me!]
Ishan is sure it's easier to face Jasprit Bumrah's bouncers than sit behind Shivangi on this scooter. He lets out a helpless chuckle as he tightens his grip around her waist, praying silently that he doesn't fly off.
He's been on bikes before, sure, but this ride? This is something else—a perfect cocktail of speed, chaos, and absolutely no control.
Honestly, if given a choice between dodging bouncers or surviving this Vespa ride, he'd pick the bouncer any day.
Every bump sends a jolt through him, every turn makes him cling tighter, his fingers clutching her waist as if his life depends on it. And maybe it does, the way Shivangi's driving.
The scooter wobbles slightly on the wet road, and with every wobble, Ishan feels his heart jump into his throat.
The rain may have stopped, but the roads are still wet, and every time they hit a puddle, water splashes up, soaking his jeans.
A chill runs down his spine, not just from the cold but from the unmistakable squish of soggy socks.
He grimaces—wet socks. The bane of his existence. Forget Austrailia, wet socks might just be worse.
Another puddle, another splash, and Ishan flinches as icy water seeps into his shoes again. Through the rush of the wind, he swears he hears Shivangi giggling.
Of course she's having the time of her life. Meanwhile, he's hanging on, trying to look calm but failing miserably.
Every time she takes a sharp turn, he leans into her just a little more, his silent prayer getting louder:
Bas, bhagwaan, crash mat karana. [Please, God, just don't let us crash.]
At one point, they nearly graze the side mirror of a parked rickshaw, and his heart leaps to his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut, bracing for the worst—impact, injuries, hospital mein full drama.
But when he opens them, Shivangi's still cruising along like nothing happened. Cool, calm, and collected, as if they didn't just have a near-death experience.
Bhai, Shubman, maaf karde, [Bro, Shubman, forgive me] Ishan thinks, his heart still racing. Aage se tere saath koi prank nahi karoonga. [From now on, I won't prank you again.]
It's a desperate promise, made in the heat of the moment, as he silently swears off ever pulling another prank on Shubman or anyone else on the team. Not after this. He's done messing with karma.
"Arre, thoda slow toh chalao!" [Hey, at least slow down a bit!] he finally shouts over the wind. There's no real anger, though—more like a desperate plea. His voice is a mix of exasperation and fear.
