Ishan's pov

Ishan and the others settled onto the sofa.

The room was finally calm.

Warm.

Safe.

Mrs. Gill looked at him gently. “You were saying something?”

Ishan swallowed.

For once, he wasn’t loud.

Wasn’t dramatic.

Just… honest.

“Mummy… you know na… meri family mere cricket ke against thi.”

The room quieted.

“They wanted me to do sarkari naukri,” he added softly.

Abhishek looked down.

Shivay’s jaw tightened slightly.

“Abhi bhi against hai,” Shivay said quietly.

“I know,” Ishan replied.

Mrs. Gill frowned. “Phir kaise? How did you manage?”

There was a pause.

A heavy one.

Ishan looked at the people sitting around him.

His world.

And his voice trembled.

“Because… I didn’t fight alone.”

He turned toward Rohit Sharma first.

“When my father refused to pay coaching fees… Rohit bhai paid them.”

The room fell silent.

Rohit shifted uncomfortably. “Arre—”

Ishan continued, eyes shining.

“Not once. Not twice. For months.”

Mrs. Gill looked stunned.

Then Ishan looked at Shivay.

“When I didn’t even have proper cricket shoes… proper gloves…”

Shivay rolled his eyes softly. “Drama mat kar.”

“You bought my first proper kit,” Ishan said, voice breaking. “Full set. Without telling anyone.”

Shivay didn’t speak.

But his eyes softened.

Ishan looked at Manik next.

“When no one wanted to drop me at 5 AM practice…”

Manik raised an eyebrow.

“You used to wake up before me. Drop me. Pick me. Wait outside the ground for hours.”

Manik shrugged lightly. “Petrol ka paisa diya tha tune.”

Ishan let out a broken laugh through tears. “Jhooth.”

Then he turned toward Virat Kohli.

“And when I was surviving on chai and samosa…”

Virat immediately frowned. “You promised not to say that.”

“You forced me to eat properly. You made diet charts. Called me at night to check if I ate.”

Virat looked away.

Ishan wiped his eyes.

“My own house didn’t believe I could become anything in cricket.”

His voice cracked now.

“But these people…”

He looked around again.

“They believed before I even did.”

Silence filled the room.

Heavy.

Sacred.

Mrs. Gill’s eyes were moist.

“So they are not just friends…” she whispered.

Ishan shook his head.

“No.”

“They are the reason I’m standing here.”

He inhaled deeply.

“They are my family.”

He glanced at Rohit and Virat again.

“They call me their son.”

Then toward Shivay, Manik, Abhishek, Mayank.

“And they treat me like one.”

A tear slipped down his cheek.

“I didn’t lose a family.”

“I built one.”

Mrs. Gill walked forward slowly.

She placed her hand on his head.

“Beta…” she said softly, “You are very rich.”

Ishan blinked.

“Rich?” he asked faintly.

“In love,” she replied.

The room went quiet again.

And for the first time—

Even Shubman, standing slightly apart—

Didn’t look cold.

He looked thoughtful.

Because this wasn’t just chaos.

This wasn’t just noise.

This was loyalty.

The kind that money can’t buy.

The kind that stands behind you when the world says no.

And maybe—

Just maybe—

For the first time—

He understood what kind of heart he had married.

Shubman’s eyes softened.

Just slightly.

Barely noticeable.

But he didn’t say anything.

He never did.

And just like that—

Ishan wiped his tears dramatically and clapped once.

“Bas! Emotional quota khatam. I’m making food today!”

The room groaned in unison.

“Insurance hai ghar ka?” Virat muttered.

“Kitchen bach jayega?” Abhishek added.

Ishan gasped. “Haters.”

Then he suddenly turned to Rohit like an excited child.

“Bhaiiii, kya laye ho mere liye?”

“Kacche,” Shivay said instantly.

“SHUT UP,” Rohit scolded.

“Sorry,” Shivay said, not sorry at all.

Rohit shook his head and began taking out packets from the bags.

“One by one,” he announced dramatically.

First—

A neatly folded shirt and trousers.

“For damaad ji,” he said, handing it toward Shubman.

The room froze for half a second.

Mrs. Gill looked surprised.

Shubman looked… stunned.

Virat added casually, “First time sasural aaye hai na. Khali haath kaise aate?”

Then—

A beautiful saree.

“For bhabhi ji,” Rohit said warmly, giving it to Mrs. Gill.

Her eyes lit up.

“And this,” Virat added, handing a suit piece, “for Mr. Gill.”

Mrs. Gill looked genuinely touched now.

Shubman stood still.

Watching.

Processing.

Then Rohit dramatically pulled out—

A box.

And handed it to Ishan.

“Protein bars.”

The room went silent.

Ishan blinked.

“Protein bars?”

Virat nodded. “Imported.”

Ishan stared.

“That’s it?”

Rohit folded his arms. “Tu aur kya expect kar raha tha? Gold medal?”

Ishan sulked immediately. “Sabko kapde… mujhe ghaas.”

The room burst into laughter.

Then—

Rohit smirked.

“Drama band kar.”

He pulled out another packet.

A shirt.

And matching pants.

“For our actual beta.”

Ishan’s face lit up instantly.

He hugged Rohit tightly. “I knew you love me the most.”

Virat raised a brow. “Excuse me?”

“Equal equal,” Ishan corrected quickly.

From the side—

“Or humara kya?” Shivay demanded.

Rohit didn’t even look at him. “Main gareebzzz ke liye kuch nahi laata.”

He stretched the word dramatically.

Virat laughed loudly.

Mayank, Abhishek, Shivay and Manik all pouted together like synchronized kindergarten kids.

“Discrimination,” Manik declared.

“Hum protest karenge,” Abhishek added.

Virat waved them off. “Ghar se le liyo.”

The pouting deepened.

Then suddenly—

Virat sighed dramatically.

“Yaar… I miss my Manjulika.”

“Amulya,” Mayank corrected.

“Haan wohi,” Virat waved casually.

“Woh nahi hai isiliye shanti hai,” Mayank muttered.

The room gasped.

“TRAITOR,” Ishan yelled.

Rohit shook his head. “Usko kich ke na la sakta tha?”

Shivay sighed dramatically. “Itne dino ke baad ghat gayi hai. Kaise laate?”

“Recharging pe gayi hai kya?” Abhishek added.

“Maintenance mode,” Manik nodded seriously.

Virat looked offended. “Tum log usko villain bana rahe ho.”

“She is villain,” Ishan declared proudly.

Mrs. Gill was trying so hard not to laugh.

This was chaos.

Beautiful, loud, shameless chaos.

And in the middle of it—

Shubman stood quietly.

Watching how easily they joked.

How comfortably they touched each other.

How naturally they claimed Ishan as theirs.

No formality.

No distance.

Just love.

Unfiltered.

Unpolished.

And maybe—

A little possessive.

Ishan suddenly ran toward him holding the shirt.

“Dekho na, accha hai?”

Shubman looked at him.

Really looked.

At the way his eyes shone.

At how easily he moved between laughter and emotion.

At how this house—

Which had been quiet for years—

Now felt alive.

He nodded slightly.

“Hmm. Theek hai.”

“Theek hai? Bas theek hai?” Ishan gasped.

Rohit folded his arms. “Approval mil gaya. Shaadi bach gayi.”

The room burst into another wave of laughter.

But under the jokes—

Under the teasing—

Under the drama—

There was something undeniable.

This wasn’t just a reunion.

This was a declaration.

Ishan wasn’t alone.

He never had been.

And now—

Shubman could either stand outside that circle.

Or step into it.

The noise continued.

The jokes got louder.

And for the first time—

Even Shubman’s lips twitched slightly.

Very slightly.

But enough.

To be continue

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