The sun spilled over the narrow lanes of our Ahmedabad colony, warm but not comforting. I clutched my bag tighter, hoping to avoid him. Of all the people in the world, why did Shubman Gill have to be standing there, bat in hand, leaning casually against the cricket net with that maddeningly confident smirk? My chest tightened, my stomach twisted. Why him? Why always him?

“Hey, troublemaker,” he called, voice teasing, casual, like he owned every inch of the colony.

“Don’t call me that,” I snapped, crossing my arms, though my cheeks betrayed me with a faint flush.

He only grinned wider, that infuriating smile that had haunted my teenage years. Fourteen-year-old me flashed before my eyes, standing humiliated as he said the words I’d never forgotten: “Are you always going to be this pathetic?” That day had left a mark, a wound I had carried silently ever since. I had avoided him, ignored him, and yet here he was, unbothered and annoyingly confident.

A neighbor accidentally bumped into me, nearly spilling my bag. Shubman’s hand shot out instinctively. “Careful! Don’t fall, or I’ll laugh.”

“I said I don’t need your help!” I snapped, glaring. My heart raced, though I hated that it did. Why did he always have to look at me that way, as if he could read my thoughts?

From the corner of my eye, I noticed Shubman’s cricket friends hanging around—Rishabh Pant juggling a bat, Ishan Kishan teasing him about missing a shot, and Shreyas Iyer laughing softly. Even Hardik Pandya was leaning against the fence, smirking like he knew exactly how this would play out. They exchanged glances, amusement clear on their faces, but none interfered. Typical Shubman, I thought. Surrounded by friends, but somehow still managing to annoy everyone—including me.

The neighbors whispered, smirking at our bickering. “Fighting is your love language,” one teased, chuckling.

“I don’t love him! I can’t stand him!” I muttered under my breath, though I hated that my pulse betrayed me.

Shubman tilted his head slightly, smirk unwavering. “Love or hate, seems like I’m unforgettable.”

I wanted to disappear, to melt into the crowd and vanish, but my feet refused to obey. Little did I know, life had other plans. Our paths would cross in ways I couldn’t imagine—thirty days under the same roof, awkward proximity, and situations that would unravel old grudges.

From the balcony of his house, I glimpsed his mother peeking out, warm smile on her face, oblivious to my inner turmoil. Perfect, I thought. Everyone around him thinks we belong together. Great.

Even Shubman’s younger cousin appeared behind him, waving, calling his name. He ignored them, gaze fixed on me, teasing, challenging. I felt an odd mix of irritation and… something else I wasn’t ready to name.

I turned sharply and stormed toward my house, ignoring the stifled laughter from a few neighbors. My hands balled into fists around my bag strap, my mind racing. For now, I clung to one certainty: I hated him. I hated the way he made me feel. I hated the way he could smirk and make me question myself. And I intended to keep it that way.

But fate has a funny sense of humor. Little did I know that soon, I wouldn’t be able to avoid him—even if I wanted to.

The fire wasn’t big.

Just a small electrical short circuit.

But enough to fill our flat with smoke and force everyone out for a cleaning repair.

Appa kept repeating,

“It will take two or three days only… maybe a week.”

A week.

With no place to stay.

Before I could even suggest a hotel, Amma already dialled someone’s number.

I knew that ringtone.

I knew that voice when he picked up.

Shubman.

My heart dropped to my stomach.

“Beta,” Amma tells him, “our house is unsafe right now. Can our daughter stay in your guest room for a few days? You’re like family.”

LIKE FAMILY?

WAS THAT A JOKE?

I whispered, “Amma, NO—”

Too late.

He agreed.

And now I’m standing outside his door, suitcase in hand, annoyed at the universe.

He opens the door.

Black T-shirt.

Grey sweatpants.

Hair messy like he just rolled out of bed.

Of course he looks stupidly good.

He steps aside.

“You can come in.”

“I don’t want to,” I mumble.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Then why are you here?”

I glare.

He smirks.

Same old dynamic.

Inside, everything smells like him—mint, cologne, and something clean.

I hate how familiar it feels.

He points toward a room.

“That’s your space. Separate bathroom. Don’t worry, I won’t disturb you.”

“Good. Don’t.”

He laughs under his breath.

“You still talk like you’re fighting an invisible war.”

“And you still annoy me without even trying.”

His smile fades.

Just a second.

Like something hit him.

“Look…” he starts, scratching his neck awkwardly, “that thing I said when we were kids—”

“Don’t,” I interrupt sharply.

“I don’t want your apology. I don’t want anything.”

He goes silent.

For the first time ever, he doesn’t argue back.

Just quietly nods and turns away.

Why does that make my chest feel weird?

---

LATER THAT NIGHT

I’m lying on the guest bed, scrolling my phone, trying not to think about him.

Suddenly—

Knock. Knock.

I open the door slightly.

He’s standing there holding a tray.

“Amma told me you didn’t eat. So…”

A bowl of hot dal.

Chapati.

And water.

I stare at him.

“Why are you being nice?”

He looks annoyed now.

“I’m not being nice. You just look like you’d faint if the wind blows.”

I cross my arms.

“You’re acting like a human for the first time.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Don’t push it.”

A small silence.

Soft.

Awkward.

Then he says, quietly—

“You can relax here. Even if you hate me… you’re safe.”

My breath catches.

Why does that feel sincere?

I take the tray from him.

Our fingers almost touch.

Almost.

He steps back quickly, clearing his throat.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I whisper before I can stop myself.

I close the door and lean against it, heart racing for reasons I don’t understand.

This is just temporary.

Just a few days.

Just two people who can’t stand each other under one roof.

Nothing else.

Right?

But deep down, I know something has already shifted.

We weren’t meant to fall.

But maybe…

the fall has just begun.