THEM 'Ishman'

Practice makes perfect 2

They never officially said they were a couple.

They didn't need to.

It was in the way Ishan instinctively reached for Shubman's hand in public.

In the way Shubman brought Ishan little things from the store his favorite snacks, a flower tucked behind a receipt.

It was in sleepy phone calls, soft forehead kisses, and sharing playlists titled "Kissing Practice, but in Love."

It was the way Shubman turned down party invites to stay in and make hot chocolate for Ishan.

The way Ishan left little notes in Shubman's books, "Page 67 is my favorite because that's where your thumb rests when you hold this."

It was gentle.

Easy.

They still kissed in the middle of movies.

Still giggled when their teeth bumped.

Still whispered, "Oops" and "Let's try again" like every kiss was a new adventure.

And even months later, when they were curled up under a blanket fort made of bedsheets and fairy lights, Ishan would whisper, "Can we practice again?"

And Shubman would smile, eyes crinkling, heart bursting. "Always, my little kisser."

A week passed.

A week of soft smiles and lingering touches.

Of half-finished conversations and glances held just a second too long.

Ishan and Shubman hadn't spoken of what had happened of the kisses that turned real, of the night that felt like a dream.

But the air between them was different now. Charged with something delicate, something precious.

Ishan noticed it first.

The way Shubman started keeping his coffee just the way Ishan liked it light sugar, extra foam.

The way his fingers hovered near Ishan's waist when they stood close, like he wanted to hold him but was waiting for permission.

The way he never looked away first anymore.

But it wasn't until a Tuesday afternoon that Ishan found the first note.

It was tucked inside his notebook. A tiny paper heart folded with care.

When he opened it, it simply read.
"You're the softest part of my day."
-S.

He blinked at it, a smile breaking out slowly across his face, cheeks going pink.

He pressed it to his chest for a second before folding it back and keeping it in his wallet.

The next day, there was another note.

"You talk in your sleep. Last night, you said my name. I hope you meant it, baby."

He did.
God, he did.

But still, neither of them said anything out loud.

The turning point came one evening.

It was raining again-just like it had on the night everything changed.

Shubman stood at the door of Ishan's apartment, completely soaked, holding something wrapped in brown paper.

"You walked here?" Ishan gaped, tugging him inside, grabbing a towel and fussing over his hair like a worried little bird.

"Are you crazy?"

"I wanted to see you." Shubman said simply, voice soft under the patter of rain outside.