Not In The Script...

Chapter- 24: The Codes We Used to Share

There was something cruel about watching the person you loved heal—with someone else.

Shubman had thought he could live with it. He had convinced himself he was doing the right thing by staying away, by letting Yashasvi move on.

But every laugh, every lingering glance Yash threw at Ishan was starting to dig into him like tiny, relentless blades.

It had started subtly.

A day after Ishan’s late-night visit to Yash’s hotel room, they began arriving to practice together.

Not just once.

Not just coincidentally.

Every. Single. Day.

And Ishan was loud about it. Joking, teasing, slinging an arm casually around Yash’s shoulders as if they’d always been this close.

The first time Shubman saw Yash laugh again—a real laugh, bright and careless—it should have made him happy.

It didn’t.

It gutted him.

Because that laugh used to be his.
Only his.

And now it was being shared with someone else.

The ache sharpened when the inside jokes started.

It was during a warm-up drill. The coach had barely finished explaining the next exercise when Ishan nudged Yash’s side and whispered, “Code Blue.”

Shubman’s head snapped up.

He knew that phrase.

It was theirs.

They used to use “Code Blue” as a quiet warning—when someone in the media was snooping, when a teammate was getting too close to their private moments, when they wanted to escape unnoticed.

It was stupid.
It was small.
But it had been theirs.

And now Ishan was using it.
With Yash.

Worse, Yash laughed like it belonged to them now.

Shubman’s chest twisted painfully.

He tried to remind himself that Ishan probably didn’t even know what the code meant. That Yash probably hadn’t told him the weight behind it. That maybe it was just coincidence.

But jealousy didn’t listen to reason.

It just burned.

It happened again a few days later.

They were split into batting pairs. Shubman caught the tail end of their conversation as he crossed the nets.

“Code Yellow,” Yash grinned, elbowing Ishan.

Shubman paused mid-step.

Code Yellow—their cue to flee from sponsor events they hated, to skip dull media dinners.

Yash was giving the codes away like they were cheap, like they didn’t carry years of silent memories.

Shubman’s hands clenched into fists.

He tried to tell himself that maybe Yash was just surviving. Maybe he needed Ishan now. Maybe this was good.

But the part of him that still loved Yash—the part that never stopped—was quietly bleeding.

The next evening, Shubman sat alone in his hotel room.

His dinner was untouched.

His phone buzzed occasionally with team group chats, but he ignored them.

One message did catch his eye—a photo Ishan sent in the group, with Yash’s head thrown back in laughter at a restaurant.

They’d gone out without him.

He hadn’t even noticed they left.

Something twisted in his gut, hard and cruel.

He didn’t even realize he was gripping his phone so tightly until his knuckles ached.

His thumb hovered over Yash’s name in his contact list.

He could text him.

He could.

But what would he even say?

"I miss you? I hate this? I shouldn’t have let you go?"

Instead, he tossed his phone on the bed and buried his face in his hands.

His chest squeezed so painfully that it was hard to breathe.

You wanted him to heal. You just didn’t think he’d heal without you.

What Shubman didn’t know was this: Yash wasn’t healing.

Not really.

He was just learning how to wear the mask better.

Ishan had helped. Of course he had. His company was a relief—safe, easy, no weight attached.

But every time Yash went back to his hotel room, every time he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the ache returned.

The ghost of Shubman lingered in the codes, in the familiar banter, in the spaces between sentences where he almost said his name.

And maybe—just maybe—a part of him was using those codes on purpose.

As if daring Shubman to notice.

As if daring him to come back.

But Shubman didn’t.

Not yet.

And Yash didn’t know how much longer he could wait.
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[End of Chapter 24]