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The night in Bengaluru was alive with energy as Shubman's friends gathered around him, laughing and joking as they celebrated his birthday. The music was loud, and the room was buzzing with excitement, but there was a moment of calm when everyone's phones vibrated with a new notification.
"Shubman, bro, look at this," Ishan said, holding up his phone with a smirk on his face. "It's Evara's new song, 'Favorite.'"
"Wait, she dropped it already?" Shubman's voice was laced with surprise, but also a sense of pride. His heart skipped a beat as he stared at the notification.
It was his girlfriend's latest hit single, the one she had been teasing for a while.
"Let's play it," Jugnu, Shubman's cousin, said, turning the volume up on the speaker.
Everyone gathered around as the beat dropped, and the sultry rhythm filled the room. The bass thumped, and the first lines of Evara's seductive voice echoed in the air:
Say my name, I want the neighbors to hear it Want your body to feel it Boy, you know if there's a heaven, I'm near it Yeah, I promise, my dear, it's Only you who has my body and heals it I'm the one, can you feel it? (I'm the one, can you feel it?)
The room fell silent for a split second as they absorbed the lyrics. The intensity in Evara's voice, the fire in her delivery—it was undeniable.
Shubman felt his heart race. The lyrics weren't subtle. They were bold, intimate, and she was practically singing to him. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling his face warm up.
The song continued:
Darling, can I be your favorite? I'll be your girl, let you taste it I know what you want, yeah, just take it (take it) Darling, can I be your favorite? Want you to tell me you crave it My name is whatever you make it (make it)
The lyrics were so damn direct, and the way she sang them made everything feel too real. He wasn't used to hearing her like this—so open, so raw. And the fact that it was her birthday song for him? That made it even more intense.
The guys around him were looking at him with raised eyebrows, their grins widening as the song played on. They were loving the rhythm, but they also knew exactly what was going on in Shubman's head. The beat dropped again:
Ay, cariño, sé que tú eres mío Quiero pasarme la raya Mi paciencia se acaba, te digo "'Tá chiquita como mi saya"
The Spanish line hit him in the chest like a punch. He had heard those words from her before, during moments of playful banter, but hearing it in a song felt different.
