Shubman Gill, the youngest rising star of Indian cricket, was the face of a billion dreams—handsome, talented, worshipped by fans. Yet amidst all the noise, the one person who caught his attention was you—the team’s physiotherapist.

You were unlike anyone else around. Silent, soft-spoken, utterly gorgeous in the most natural way. No heavy makeup, no loudness—just soft features, grace, and kindness. Coming from a partial family, you had learned to stay in the background, never demanding attention. But that’s exactly what drew Shubman to you.

It was a quiet admiration he kept locked away, knowing the rules: players and staff could never cross the line. Still, every time your eyes met his, he felt something stir inside him.

That night in Mumbai changed everything. The ICC Champions Trophy was theirs, and the team celebrated in a private club. Music thumped, laughter echoed, glasses clinked. While you stayed near the staff, speaking politely, Shubman downed one drink too many. His nerves melted with the alcohol, and before he could stop himself, he crossed the floor, gently pulling you aside.

“Come here for a second…” he murmured, his hand brushing yours. His eyes were glassy yet intense.

You blinked at him, startled. “Shubman, you’re drunk… you should—”

“I’m not that drunk,” he smirked, his voice lower now. “I just… I needed to talk to you. Do you even know what you do to me?”

Your breath hitched. “What are you saying? You know this isn’t—”

“I know the rules,” he cut you off softly, leaning closer, his breath warm against your ear. “But right now… I don’t care. Just… stay with me tonight.”

And before you could reply, his lips were on yours—hesitant at first, then desperate, pulling you closer as if he’d been waiting forever. The quiet conversation became touch, touch turned into heat, and by the time the night ended, you were both tangled under the sheets of his hotel room.

The next morning, Shubman stirred awake, head pounding. Groaning, he rubbed his temple and sat up slightly, only to freeze. You were right there beside him, curled up under the sheets, sunlight spilling over your face. A goddess, he thought, heart skipping.

For a long moment, he just stared, drinking you in. She looks unreal… how could someone be this perfect without even trying?

A small smile tugged at his lips as he reached forward, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. You stirred lightly, eyelids fluttering open.

Your eyes met his, and panic flashed across your face. You sat up quickly, holding the sheet to your chest. “Oh my god… Shubman… what did we…?”

He let out a small chuckle, though his voice was rough. “What did we do? I think you already know.” He leaned back against the headboard, eyes never leaving yours. “And I’m not even sorry.”

Shubman gave a small sigh, brushing his thumb gently against your knuckles. “I can pretend in front of everyone else. I can follow the rules. But don’t ask me to forget you… because I can’t.”