When Shubman Gill, India's cricket sensation, meets the Radhika Sharma, their worlds collide in an unexpected twist of fate. Radhika, the protected sister of captain Rohit Sharma, has lived a life of anonymity, known only to a trusted circle. Howeve...
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Waheguru ji, mainu bacha le oo. Main langar da prabandh karanga te gurdware vi avanga.
[Waheguru, please save me. I'll organize the langar and visit the gurdwara.]
Shubman walks down the hallway, each step feeling heavier than the last, like he's being dragged to the edge of a cliff.
His heart's going at full speed, thudding in his chest so hard he half-wonders if everyone in Rohit bhaiya's flat can hear it. His shirt's sticking to his back, and his palms are sweaty. How did it come to this?
It feels like he's walking towards his doom—not from some lethal bouncer aimed at his head but from this girl. This girl, who in less than 24 hours has completely destroyed his ability to function like a normal human being.
He's facing a conversation that could very well change his life, and instead of thinking about what he'll say, his brain is busy plotting an escape route.
He glances at the window at the end of the hallway. Could he make a run for it? What if he just bolts, jumps out, and lands perfectly on the lawn like some Rohit Shetty movie hero?
He's a cricketer, after all—he has reflexes, agility. Easy, right? Just dive, roll, and disappear into the night. By the time anyone realizes he's gone, he'll be hailing a rickshaw, speeding towards freedom.
But then, as always, his brain decides to ruin his escape plan. Shubman remembers he's not actually Pavitr Prabhakar—he might've voiced the character, but his spidey reflexes are strictly limited to the animated world. What if he jumps and breaks a leg? Can't you just see the headlines?
"Shubman Gill attempts stunt escape from Rohit Sharma's flat, ends up in the hospital with both legs in casts."
He sighs and shakes his head, feeling his knees wobble slightly as he keeps walking. And then, because fate loves to mess with him, his mind lands on the one thought that makes his stomach drop.
Rohit Sharma, the man who puts fear into bowlers worldwide, the hitman, could end up being his saala.
Rohit, who once forgot the word for drone and called it "woh udne wala yeh." [that flying that.] That Rohit Sharma, whose baby sister he's apparently about to marry.
He gulps, glancing over his shoulder, half hoping Hazel bhabhi will call him back, say it was all a joke, and he can go back to the safe zone of the living room.
But no, she's watching him with that look. The one that says, Himmat rakh, puttar. He's on his own.
Fine. No running, no jumping. He can do this. It's just a conversation, right? He's talked to girls before. Plenty of girls. Not that it's ever gone well, but still—he's got this.
