Not In The Script...

Chapter- 10: You Let Him Touch You?

It started small.

Just a hand on the shoulder.

A low chuckle during stretches.

A lingering touch under the pretense of adjusting posture.

To anyone else, it was normal physio behavior. He was new, yes. Hired fresh during the mid-season switch-up. Early 30s, good-looking, too confident. He came with clean credentials and a string of Instagram reels where he flexed both biceps and client lists.

“Specializes in recovery. Realigned Kohli’s hip, helped SKY with his ankle rehab.”

And now?

He was always near Yash.

Too near.

Shubman noticed it first during physio warmups before the Mumbai match. He'd been lacing his boots, glancing up in that subtle way you do when you don't want to be caught staring.

Yash was laughing at something.

The physio — Rohan, his name was — had his hand on Yash’s back, fingers splayed like he belonged there.

Yash didn’t flinch. But he didn’t lean in either.

Shubman’s jaw tightened.

After practice, he found Yash alone, filling his bottle at the cooler, wiping sweat from his jawline with the hem of his shirt.

Shubman didn’t bother with small talk.

“Is he always that touchy?”

Yash turned, blinking. “Who?”

“Rohan.”

Yash scoffed. “He’s a physio.”

“Physio or not, I saw where his hand was.”

“And?” Yash stepped back. “This sudden concern... it’s funny coming from you.”

“I’m just saying—”

“No, you’re implying,” Yash said sharply. “You think I don’t know how to handle myself?”

“I think—” Shubman stopped himself. Lowered his voice. “I think you don’t always know when someone’s pushing the line until they’ve already crossed it.”

Yash’s face darkened. “You don’t get to say things like that anymore.”

“I’m not trying to—”

“Yes, you are,” Yash snapped. “You’re jealous.”

Shubman stepped closer. “If I am, it’s because I know what you deserve. And it’s not him.”

Yash tilted his head, bitter smile curling at the edge. “You don’t get to be protective now, Shubman. Not when you broke me and walked away.”

Shubman’s breath hitched. Just slightly.

And Yash saw it.

He stepped back. “Stay out of it.”

Then he turned and left.

The next few days, Shubman kept watching.

He told himself it was habit. Training. Instinct.

But it wasn’t.

It was guilt. Jealousy. That simmering, possessive ache that came when he saw someone else in a space that used to be his.

Rohan was always around Yash.

In the gym.

At breakfast.

Near the massage table, leaning in to whisper things that made Yash tense and then fake a laugh.

That was the first sign. The laugh.
It wasn’t real.

And Shubman knew it because he’d heard the real one. Felt it against his neck during one of those long bus rides they pretended weren’t soft.

But now?

Now Yash’s smile never reached his eyes.

It got worse during the Jaipur match week.

Shubman walked into the locker room early after an evening session, and the lights were dimmed — most of the team was still outside.

He heard voices from the treatment bay.

Rohan. Laughing. Low.

Yash’s voice followed — hesitant. Uneven.

And then a sharp sound.

Not a shout.

But the kind of sound someone makes when they flinch.

Shubman froze.

His hand tightened on the locker handle.

He didn’t move. Didn’t interrupt.

But when Rohan emerged a few seconds later, all smiles and cool composure, Shubman locked eyes with him for the first time.

And didn’t blink.

That night, over dinner, he sat beside Ishan.

“Something’s off,” he muttered, pushing rice around his plate.

“With?”

“Yash. That physio.”

Ishan looked over his shoulder. “You mean the one who follows him like a damn puppy?”

Shubman nodded.

Ishan leaned in. “I’ve seen it too. He’s weird. Touchy. Too smooth.”

“Yash won’t talk to me.”

“Maybe he thinks you’re just jealous.”

“I am jealous,” Shubman admitted. “But I’m also not blind.”

Ishan’s expression darkened. “Then you need to do something.”

“I tried.”

Ishan gave him a long, unreadable look. “Try harder.”

The next morning, Shubman caught sight of something that broke whatever control he had left.

It was 6:45 AM.

Yash was in the hallway near the lift, clearly heading to the gym.

Rohan was with him, hand on his shoulder — again — leaning in, mouth near Yash’s ear.

Yash pulled away this time. Visibly.

Tried to walk ahead.

And Shubman watched, heart racing, as Rohan grabbed his wrist for a second too long.

Yash yanked his hand back.

And just for a second — a flash — his face twisted into something that looked like fear.

It was gone almost instantly.

But Shubman saw it.

And that was all it took.
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[End of Chapter 10]