🪷✨️ ISHQ HIGH: Cause everyone deserves a sports romance.
Heer Thakur's life currently is all about one goal: "3 lakh rupees in three months."
Abhishek Sharma, the classic angry young man who insists everything goes according to his meticulous plans...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
《《 One week later 》》
[A/N: translations are not added in this chapter. They might be added soon.]
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I was focused on updating the diet chart pinned to the refrigerator, scribbling down some last-minute changes based on the new medication schedule.
My thoughts were so absorbed that when my phone rang, it startled me. I glanced at the screen—an unknown number. My first instinct was to ignore it, but something made me pick up.
“Hello?” I answered, unsure if this was another work-related call or someone selling insurance.
“Hi, is this Heer?” A male voice replied on the other end, polite but a little hesitant. His voice was deep but soft, like someone trying to be friendly without coming across too familiar.
“Yes, Heer speaking,” I said, curiosity creeping into my tone. "And you are?"
There was a pause, then he cleared his throat. “Uh, it's Yash. Dr. Yash, actually. I—uh—your mother gave me your number.”
Oh. Right. That Yash. I nearly dropped the pen in my hand. My mother had mentioned something about a doctor, a proposal, and how she wanted me to 'just meet him once.'
But I didn’t expect the call so soon. Or... at all. I wasn’t exactly prepared for this. I mean, who ever is?
“Oh, right. Dr. Yash,” I responded automatically, feeling a strange mix of embarrassment and awkwardness bubble up inside me. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting the call.”
“No worries, but please, just Yash is fine,” he said with a chuckle, probably sensing my formal tone. “We’re not in the hospital, after all.”
I laughed nervously, immediately regretting calling him 'Dr. Yash' like some overly formal stranger. “Uh, yeah, of course. Yash it is.”
There was a beat of silence. Neither of us seemed to know what to say next, which made the situation even more uncomfortable.
I could hear him shifting slightly on the other end of the line, maybe pacing, and I realized I was doing the same, fiddling with the edge of the paper in front of me.
