Two Different Worlds

Part 5: New Routines, Old Fantasies

Ten minutes later, they were outside on the campus steps.

Now, Ishani had her phone.

"Why is his full name saved?" she asked. "You're managing his PR, not filing an FIR."

"I didn't change it," Srushti muttered, trying to snatch it back. "It was like that when they first emailed. I never updated it."

Shifa leaned over her shoulder. "This is, respectfully, a soft launch."

"It is not-"

"He messages you after 10 PM."

"Because his schedule is insane!"

"He replies to your stickers."

"That was once!"

Ishani narrowed her eyes. "What else has he sent you?"

"Nothing flirty."

"So something personal?"

Srushti said nothing.

Her silence said too much.

Shifa gasped. "You like him."

"I don't."

"You're lying."

"I'm managing him."

"You're managing a slow-burn situation-ship with zero exit strategy."

Srushti sank lower on the steps.

She was doomed.

............................................................

That night, back in their PG, she stared at her contact list for five straight minutes.

She hovered over "Abhay Sharma - PR."

Then slowly deleted the dash. The "PR."

Just his name now.

Abhay Sharma.

Which was... worse, somehow.

"Fuck." She dropped the phone face down on her bed.

And let herself admit, for the first time, that maybe this wasn't just professional anymore.

Not technically romantic.

But something else.

Something with volume.

And she had no idea how loud it might get.

............................................................

It first time she saw him play live - in the flesh, on the field, under the full glare of stadium lights.

She was wearing a black linen shirt, tucked into jeans, a messenger bag strapped across her shoulder with a laptop inside, and nerves everywhere else.

It wasn't her first cricket match.
It was just the first one where someone on the field had her phone number.

She arrived early.

Wankhede was still filling up. Vendors yelling, camera crews rushing, security walking around with bored eyes, and metal detectors that barely beeped.

Ritika had offered her a seat in the VIP box.

Srushti had refused.

"I'll sit in the stands," she'd said. "I need to understand how people react. What the crowd's picking up. That helps with tone."