The press tour was announced within 24 hours of the statement.
BCCI wanted to move fast.
Kill the story.
Control the narrative.
The schedule was tight: One press conference, one podcast, one candid Q&A with fan-submitted questions.
Then done.
They called it “The Unity Circuit.”
But it felt more like a test.
Yash wore black.
It wasn’t intentional — not a rebellion.
He just didn’t want to be seen.
Not really.
He sat in the back seat of the car, sunglasses on despite the overcast sky. His leg bounced the entire ride. He hadn’t said more than two words since they’d left the hotel.
Shubman, seated beside him, watched quietly.
He reached out, rested his hand on Yash’s knee — feather light, a question more than a touch.
Yash’s bouncing slowed.
Didn’t stop.
But slowed.
That was enough.
The press room buzzed with artificial warmth.
Stage lights. Choreographed smiles. Brand banners and soft filtered lenses. Two mics. One couch.
They were ushered in like royalty.
Yash flinched as the cameras flashed.
Shubman didn’t.
Instead, he leaned in, quietly blocking half the lights from Yash’s eyes.
“Smile a little,” the handler whispered behind them. “Just hold hands, say one nice thing, and we’re good.”
Yash’s fingers twitched.
Shubman glanced over — waited.
Yash hesitated.
Then slipped his hand into Shubman’s.
His grip was tight.
Too tight.
And yet... grounding.
Shubman didn’t let go.
The conference was short.
They asked safe questions.
“How are you both feeling?”
“Any thoughts on the public reaction?”
“What’s your favourite thing about each other?”
Yash stayed quiet mostly. Gave short answers.
When the last question came — “Is this love?” — everyone tensed.
Yash’s eyes widened slightly.
Shubman looked right at him.
Then at the crowd.
And calmly said,
“We’re figuring it out. But I care about him more than I’ve ever said out loud.”
Yash blinked.
And finally — finally — let a real smile tug at the corner of his mouth.
It wasn’t wide.
Wasn’t perfect.
But it was honest.
And it broke something inside Shubman.
In the best way.
That night, they sat side-by-side on the hotel room couch.
Silence.
TV on mute.
One lamp on.
Yash was in a faded hoodie, legs folded beneath him, eyes unfocused.
Shubman was scrolling idly, pretending not to glance sideways every minute.
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...
