ENCHANTED, shubman gill

ELEVEN

The doors to the breakfast buffet swung open, revealing a scene buzzing with activity. Cricketers and wags in various stages of attire - some fully dressed, others sporting sleep-tousled hair and yesterday's practice jerseys - filled the room. The air crackled with pre-practice energy, a mix of nervous anticipation and lighthearted camaraderie.

As Shubman and Anya entered, a hush fell over the room. Heads snapped in their direction, eyes widening in surprise. Anya, the focus of this unexpected attention, felt a blush creep up her neck.

Shubman, ever the gentleman, steered her towards the food counter, his own cheeks tinged with a faint pink. He could practically feel the weight of a dozen curious stares burning into his back. As they navigated the buffet line, laden with an array of breakfast options, a symphony of teasing coughs and whistles erupted from his teammates.

Reaching the end of the line, Shubman took a deep breath and turned to face the long table where the rest of the team sat. A grin stretched across his face as he spotted his captain, Hardik Pandya, at the head of the table.

"Anya," Shubman announced, his voice projecting over the low murmurs, "this is Hardik Pandya, our captain. Hardik bhai, this is Anya Roy, a friend of mine."

Hardik, a man with a perpetually playful glint in his eyes, leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering between Shubman and Anya. A slow smile spread across his face. "Roy, huh?" he drawled, his voice laced with amusement. "Roy? Kolkata ki badi yaad aa rahi hai Shubman?"

Shubman interjected, explaining to Anya in English, "He's just teasing me about my old team, I used to play for Kolkata before this"

Then, turning back to Hardik"Bhai, woh Australian hai, aadhi gori hai, Hindi nahi samjthi hai" he explained.

Hardik's smile broadened even further. "Meri wali ko bhi nahi aati thi, seekh jayegi," he chuckled, his voice filled with good humour.

With a wink directed at Anya, he added in English, "Enjoy the breakfast, Anya. I'll be looking for the wife. Duty calls." He then got up and ambled out of the room, leaving behind a trail of laughter and a bewildered Anya trying to piece together the exchange.

Shubman, his face burning with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment, offered Anya a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about him," he said, guiding her towards a vacant seat at the table. "Hardik's just messing around. " As Anya settled into her seat, a sense of warmth spread through her despite the initial awkwardness.

As Anya settled into her seat, a new voice cut through the murmurs. It was Saha, the wicketkeeper, who sat beside her. He leaned in slightly, a hint of curiosity flickering in his eyes.

"Tumi bāṅgālī?" he inquired, the question rolling off his tongue in Bengali.

Shubman, sensing Anya's confusion and ready to jump in as translator, caught himself short. Anya, however, surprised them both. A smile bloomed on her face as she replied smoothly, "Hyā āmāra bābā bāṅgāli (Yes, my father is Bengali)."

Shubman's jaw dropped a notch. "You speak Bangla?" he exclaimed, bewildered.

Anya's smile widened. "Of course I do," she countered playfully, "I am a Roy after all."

She then turned back to Saha, who seemed equally astonished. "Tumi bāṅāli āmi anumāna karachi (I guessed you were Bengali)," she remarked.

Saha chuckled, a hint of disbelief lingering in his voice. "Hyā āmi, āpani kōthā thēkē ēsēchēna (Yes, I am. where are you from?)"

Anya's smile softened. "Āmāra dādā-dādi Kalakātāra, kintu bābā chōṭabēlā thēkē'i Asṭrēliẏāẏa baṛa haẏēchēna (My grandparents are from Kolkata, but Dad moved to Australia when he was young)," she explained.

"Ēbaṁ mā'ō sēkhāna thēkē ēsēchēna āmi bhābachi kāraṇa tumi Hindi balatē pārō nā (i am assuming mum's from tehre since you dont understand hindi?)," Saha remarked, finally connecting the dots.

Anya nodded in confirmation. "Hyā sē ēkajana bidēśī (Yes, she's a foreigner)," she admitted with a light laugh.

Turning back to Shubman after her conversation with Saha, she took a bite of her breakfast and commented casually, "Breakfast is nice."

Shubman, still reeling from the revelation of Anya's hidden linguistic talent, stammered slightly. "I knew you had a Bengali dad," he admitted, "but I just assumed, since you grew up with a white mum, you didn't learn Bengali."

Anya chuckled, a glint of amusement dancing in her eyes. "Hindi, sure," she explained, "because there weren't really any speakers around. But Bengali - well, that was the language spoken in my grandparents' house. It stuck."