Not In The Script...

Chapter- 2: For the Cameras

"You two will be walking in together," the media coordinator instructed, barely looking up from her clipboard. "Hold eye contact. Smile. If one of you could maybe brush an arm or shoulder-great."

Yashasvi blinked at her.

Shubman crossed his arms. "We're not filming a romance drama. This is a brand event."

"Exactly," she said, smiling brightly. "Cricket is drama now."

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They were standing just outside the green room of a high-profile cricket merchandise launch. Cameras. Reporters. Influencers. Some of the biggest sports brands in India were watching-and the public was drooling over GillSvi. The BCCI had made it very clear: lean into the attention.

Even if you hate it.

Even if the person beside you can't stand the air you breathe.

Shubman adjusted the collar of his navy-blue jacket for the third time, jaw locked. He hadn't spoken a word to Yashasvi in the last ten minutes. The silence was cold, not sharp-like frost settling on glass. Yash stood awkwardly a few feet away, scrolling through his phone, pretending he didn't notice.

He did.

Of course he did.

The coordinator clapped her hands. "Alright, go time!"

A cameraman signaled. Music started. The entrance light turned green.

Shubman offered his arm.

Yashasvi hesitated, just for a second-long enough for it to be noticeable-before taking it.

They walked out together.

The flashbulbs exploded.

They were surrounded the second they stepped onto the mini stage. The emcee launched into his rehearsed jokes. The brand ambassador raved about "India's favorite cricket duo." The audience clapped and whistled.

Shubman smiled.

The smile didn't reach his eyes.

Yashasvi stood still beside him, feeling like a cardboard cutout. His fingers brushed against Shubman's hand once-by accident-but the slight flinch that followed made him pull away instantly.

No one else noticed.

But he did.

They posed. They laughed on cue. At one point, the emcee handed them a cricket bat and joked, "Let's see how good they are off the field!"

"Depends on the match," Shubman said smoothly, gaze fixed ahead.

Yashasvi gave a half-smile. "He always plays for himself, anyway."

The crowd laughed. But Shubman's head turned-just slightly. One glance. It held something unreadable.

Later, during the panel, came the dreaded question.

"So, Shubman," the moderator said with a knowing grin, "a lot of fans are curious-has this partnership with Yashasvi brought anything... unexpected off the field?"

Shubman's tongue pressed against his cheek.

"Unexpected?" he repeated. "Sure. I didn't expect to be trending on Twitter over a mosquito."

The audience roared with laughter.

Yash's chest tightened. He laughed too, but it felt thin, like paper.

The moderator leaned in. "But is there... chemistry?"

Shubman raised a brow. "Chemistry's for lab tests."

Yashasvi didn't speak. He didn't need to.

The silence between them was loud enough.

They were finally released two hours later, both slipping into the corridor behind the stage like fugitives.

Shubman immediately pulled his phone out.

Yash, exhausted, leaned back against the wall and exhaled slowly.

He risked a glance. "Was that necessary?"

"What?"

"The mosquito joke."

Shubman didn't even look up. "It's true."

"Yeah. But you didn't have to humiliate me while you said it."

Shubman froze.

Then, quietly: "I didn't humiliate you."

Yash laughed bitterly. "You didn't have to. The way you flinch when I'm near you says enough."

That got his attention.

Shubman's eyes met his. "I don't flinch."

"You did."

"Maybe you imagined it."

"Maybe," Yashasvi said, voice dropping, "you're just bad at pretending."

They stared at each other.

For a moment, the air felt heavy.

Tight.

Too warm.

Then Shubman's phone buzzed.

A message from Ishan.

ISHAN 🐒: "u looked so grumpy lol. even fake boyfriends stressing u now? 😂💀"

Shubman allowed himself a small, real smile at the text.

Yashasvi noticed.

His heart sank.

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Back in the hotel that night, Yashasvi lay on his bed, fully clothed, staring at the ceiling fan as it spun in slow, tired circles.

He'd smiled through a hundred flashes. He'd played the game, hit his lines, followed instructions. And for what?

To be reminded that even pretending to be with Shubman Gill was exhausting. That even acting like he mattered to him... made him feel small.

He checked his phone.

Instagram had exploded.

@cricketcrazeindia: "Yashasvi blushing when Shubman touched his shoulder 🥺 #GillSvi"

@IshGillForever: "Nothing can replace Shubman and Ishan. This Yash guy's just PR. 👎"

@shubhashburner: "Yashasvi's clearly into him and Shubman doesn't give a damn. It's awkward fr."

He turned off the screen. The silence in his room felt louder now.

It wasn't supposed to matter.

Not yet.

But somewhere, under the fatigue and annoyance and pride-something had begun to shift.

And that terrified him more than anything.

Across the hall, Shubman was texting Ishan again.

SHUBMAN: "They're blowing this out of proportion. It's a f*cking photo."

ISHAN 🐒: "Maybe. Or maybe your PR boyfriend's actually catching feelings."

SHUBMAN: "Don't be stupid."

ISHAN 🐒: "You're the one fake dating someone who looks at you like a kicked puppy."

Shubman stared at the message.

He deleted his reply before sending it.
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[End of Chapter 2]