Love Li(f)e

6.Sullen

"One last time, Shubman," you looked up from your plate of fries. "I'm not going to write a song about you."

"Why not?" He asked, tempted to steal a fry but controlled himself.

"Because I don't write songs," you said while dipping one side of the French fry in ketchup, and the other in mayonnaise.

"You don't?" He asked again because honestly, he imagined you pouring your heart out in a paper and doing concerts. The latter, you did.

"The industry has composers and lyricists who do the writing," you explained to him. "Singers and musicians are assigned the pieces."

Some do this exclusively, others collaborate, while others have writers who work for them.

"Oh," Shubman mumbled while taking in the information provided.

"And we do get more privacy," you vaguely gestured. "Because we're not the 'epitome' or center of this stage, the spotlight is not always on us," you quoted with your fingers.

"You're more acclaimed for your works," he said and you nodded.

"And Koel, being my manager, decided that there wasn't enough fame to pull many brand endorsements towards me," you added. "Hence, our arrangement."

Your phone rang as you finished, and you excused yourself for a moment before answering the call.

"Hi, Indhu," you said and Shubman saw the smile on your face brighter than ever. "What?"

He watched you listen, lips pursed in a thin line as each second passed.

"It's a PR relationship, mom," you turned to face the other side of the patio. "We're good friends now."

You got up from the chair, walking towards the fountain.

For a few minutes, you tried explaining calmly, wanting to make sure the situation was conveyed without any misunderstandings.

The waiter came to your table, placing your double chocolate chip frappé on top before leaving silently.

"All okay?" Shubman asked as you came back, your face a bit dull.

You hummed in response, not looking at him until you sat back on the chair.

"My mother," you told him. "She just read about last night in a news article."

You planned on telling her after breakfast in her time zone.

She usually didn't think much about who you walked the red carpet with.

But after you'd denied absolutely everything and even the possibility of knowing him more than as a cricketer, she needed to know.

"She's mad," you said again. "She said it's fine if it's a real thing, but why put up a front when I don't have to."

"It's just the concern," Shubman replied. "And slight worry, maybe."

You nodded, absent-mindedly stirring the frappé with the straw before asking, "Did you tell your parents?"

"No," he answered. "I'm not sure if I will, but I told my sister."

"What did she say?" You were slightly curious, wondering if he was let go easily.

"The same reaction," he shrugged a little. "I wanted to justify it by saying I'm young and stupid, but she'd kick me in the face."

"I second that," you smiled but it didn't reach your eyes.

Shubman stared at you for a few seconds, until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Okay, no more sulking," he finally took a French fry from your plate. "Or I'm stealing the frappé too."