"Growing up, you worshipped Tendulkar like a god, while I was a die-hard Ponting fan, I'm not sure this will work out"
or
When an F1 journalist crosses paths with a star cricketer, sparks ignite. But there's a hurdle: she proudly sports the colour...
Shubman shot upright on the couch, his coffee forgotten. "No, no, absolutely not. I am not talking to chachu, that's not happening. Kalesh mujhse na karwa," he declared, his voice laced with a mixture of fear and indignation.
Armaan's voice grew desperate on the other end. "Shubman, please yaar ," he pleaded
Anya, sensing the escalating tension, interjected with a cautious question. "Why do you think they wouldn't approve?"
"They're... traditional," Armaan admitted, a hint of resignation colouring his tone. "They'd prefer someone from our community, you know, the whole arranged marriage thing."
Shubman winced. Arranged marriages were a social norm deeply embedded in their families, a tradition both revered and dreaded. He knew all too well the sting of societal expectations and the pressure to conform.
"Shubh, you really think you can't figure something out?" Armaan pressed, a sliver of hope flickering in his voice.
Shubman let out a frustrated groan. "Dude, this is like the ultimate death wish. She's white, Armaan, a white Christian woman. They'd hang me for even suggesting it."
The silence that followed was thick with despair. Armaan's carefully constructed plan seemed to be crumbling before their very ears.
Suddenly, Armaan, grasping at straws, spoke to Anya. "Anya, your dad married a white woman, how did he convince his parents?"
Anya's voice broke through the gloom. "Well, actually," she began, "my grandparents had a love marriage too, back in the days. And they were immigrants, so I don't think it mattered to them as much."
"You think your parents can help us out Shubh? Your dad is the elder one in the family, so..." Armaan's voice trailed off, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air.
Shubman sighed, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. "Maybe. At the end of the day, it's me who's going to take the heat. But hey," he continued, a hint of defiance creeping into his voice, "my parents will be here for the IPL anyway. We can at least try to convince them then."
"IPL?" Anya echoed, a wrinkle forming on her brow. "Wait, are you...?"
The penny dropped with a resounding clang. "You're Shubman Gill, the cricketer?" she blurted out.
Shubman chuckled, a welcome sound that momentarily eased the tension. "Yes...?"
"Ah, we were just talking about you yesterday at work," Anya confessed.
"Oh, really? My century against the Aussies or the match we lost even though I got one?" he teased, a playful glint in his eyes.
Anya blushed. "Oh, not a specific performance like that. I'm a sports journalist, so it was just your overall form in general. You've been on fire lately."
Shubman straightened in his seat, a flicker of pride warming him from the inside out. "Sports journalist, huh? You cover cricket?"
"Not exactly," Anya clarified quickly. "I specialize in Formula 1, but I work for Fox Sports, so I have a few colleagues who follow cricket religiously."
"Guys, guys," Armaan interjected, his voice laced with a hint of exasperation, "focus! No work talk right now."
Anya cleared her throat, professionalism returning to her voice. "Don't worry, Armaan. You concentrate on the location and the ring. I'll help Shubman brainstorm ideas to convince your parents, and we can plan the proposal together."
"Great, Anya, enjoy Dubai," Armaan chimed, his voice tinged with a hint of longing for his own upcoming vacation. "Shubh, all the best for your upcoming matches. We'll chat soon and strategize further."
With a click, the line went dead, leaving Shubman staring at his phone screen. A strange mix of emotions swirled within him - amusement at Armaan's impulsiveness, a flicker of nervousness about his own upcoming cricketing challenges, and a spark of curiosity about Anya, the witty sports journalist who had unexpectedly entered his life.
Thirty minutes melted away like butter on a hot day. Just as Shubman was about to call for take away, a notification buzzed on his phone.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
xx-xxxx-xxx8
hey, Anya here!
hello
saved contact as Anya
"Oh, this is going to be a long few months." Shubhman mused to himself
