The headlines dropped before sunrise.
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“Shubman Gill Assaults Team Physio – Jealousy, Protectiveness, or More?”
“Sources confirm: Yashasvi Jaiswal connected to hotel altercation.”
“Inside scoop: Gill’s outburst was about more than just professionalism.”
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Photos of the busted physio room were everywhere.
Blurry stills of Shubman being held back by staff.
A clip of him walking out, expression stone cold, hands clenched, shirt stained.
And one photograph—unofficial, but viral—of Shubman standing outside a bathroom door later that night, Yash’s head leaning back against the wall inside, eyes closed.
It was grainy. Out of focus. But powerful.
People had already decided what it meant.
Yash read nothing.
He turned his phone off before 6 AM.
But it didn’t stop the knocks on his door.
Or the looks in the hotel dining area.
Or the press camped outside the team bus.
Shubman was quiet too.
Not in the way people expected.
Not like guilt.
More like... he’d made peace with something.
The only time he spoke was in the elevator with Ishan.
“I’d do it again,” he said. Simply. Calmly.
Ishan smiled. “Yeah. I figured.”
They were called into a private room at the BCCI office the next day. Off-site. No press. No cameras. Just the two of them, a panel of four senior board members, and one media handler with tired eyes.
Yash sat stiff, jaw tight.
Shubman sat beside him, arms folded, back straight, unreadable.
One of the BCCI heads cleared his throat.
“We have a solution,” he said. “But it’s not standard.”
Yash tensed.
Shubman tilted his head.
“Go on,” he said.
The handler spoke next.
“Public perception right now is messy. You’ve gone viral. People are already romanticizing it. Even the violence. If we play it quiet, it’ll grow wild. We suggest redirecting the narrative.”
Yash's fingers curled around the chair.
The handler continued, slow and cautious.
“We... propose that you lean into it. Make it a fake relationship narrative. Something sweet. Tender. Controlled. Public enough to silence speculation, but clean enough to avoid deeper questions.”
Yash’s voice cracked the air like thunder.
“No.”
The word hung.
Sharp.
Immediate.
He looked straight at the board. “I don’t want any of this to become content. This happened to me. It’s not a PR story.”
Shubman didn’t react.
He waited.
Then slowly, he said—
YOU ARE READING
Not In The Script...
RomanceIt was supposed to be fake. But the jealousy felt a little too real. When a staged romance between Shubman Gill and Yashasvi Jaiswal explodes across headlines, they're forced to play along. But as the lines blur, feelings twist into something neithe...
