The university cricket tournament was buzzing with packed stands, students screaming names, phones out, and chants bouncing off the concrete. But to you, it all blurred. Because Laksh Shah had his arm around your waist like it was second nature.

He stood tall beside you, jersey clinging to his lean frame, his name and number bold across the back. His skin glowed under the stadium lights, forearms flexed as he adjusted his gloves. The faint smell of sweat and cologne lingered clean, sharp, unmistakably his. You felt his hand tighten slightly on your hip when a few girls walked by behind you, giggling too loudly. He didn’t turn. He didn’t need to. He had nothing to prove. His grip said enough.

Laksh Shah wasn’t just some college cricketer. He was the name every girl’s crush, every guy’s envy. Charming, cocky, maddeningly good-looking. But right now, the boy who once dated like love was a game had eyes only for you. “Eyes up, Shah,” someone from the team shouted, throwing a ball toward him. He caught it without looking, still half-focused on you. That smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

And then, of course, she walked in. One of the many girls who used to orbit around him like he was the sun. Pretty sure. Confident, yes. But her timing was perfect , by perfect, you meant shameless. She slid into the space beside him, ignoring you completely, flipping her hair like this was some movie moment waiting to happen. “Laksh,” she said, her voice just a bit too smooth. “You look like you're already winning.”

He didn’t even blink. Didn’t move. His hand was still around you. But you felt something shift. Laksh turned only to you. His fingers came up, brushing your jaw, then cupping your cheek like he was anchoring himself. Like he wanted everyone to see. “I need you to focus on me for a second,” he murmured, voice low enough that only you could hear. You looked up, heat blooming under your skin.

And he kissed you. Right there. In the middle of the crowd. Slow. Deep. Possessive. The kind of kiss that didn’t ask for permission, didn’t care who watched. A kiss that claimed. And reminded. When he pulled away, he held your gaze like a secret. “Now I’ll play better,” he whispered, his thumb still resting on your lower lip. “You’re my lucky charm. And my distraction.”

He finally stepped back, that familiar glint in his eyes as he added, “Take some good pictures. Or maybe… just keep your eyes on me.” With a wink, he jogged toward the pitch, rolling his shoulders, fully back in game mode. The girl beside you didn’t even try to recover. Her face faltered for half a second before she walked off, silent, invisible now.

You stayed still, heart pounding, the ghost of Laksh’s kiss still tingling on your mouth. He wasn’t just yours. He chose you every time. Boldly. Publicly. Entirely. And there was no room in his world for anyone else. And as promised you continue clicking his pictures.