Meet Aryan Singh, an engineer navigating a world where the engineer's curse is a reality-no luck with girls. But hold on, who said anything about a boy? Join Aryan as he embarks on a hilarious journey blending the worlds of technology and cricket, t...
I felt my heart race with anticipation as I checked my phone. Who could be reaching out to me? Unlocking WhatsApp, my hopes soared, only to crash as I saw it was just another scam promising riches.
My heart sank deeper, feeling the weight of disappointment. Even after these long months, I couldn't shake him from my mind. Despite everything, a part of me held onto hope that he'd come back, that things would somehow mend themselves.
With a heavy sigh, I set the phone aside and turned my attention to the dinner companions. Kriti noticed my demeanor and asked, "Is everything okay?"
I forced a nod, masking the ache inside.
Vishal glanced over at me, concern evident in his eyes. "Okay, dude, you're clearly not okay. What's going on? Are you not having a good time here?"
I let out a heavy sigh. "It's not about not enjoying myself, Vishal. There are some personal issues weighing on me lately."
He visibly relaxed, a reassuring smile on his face. "Thank goodness! I was worried we were boring you or something. But listen, whatever's bothering you, I'm sure you'll figure it out. You're mature, smart, all those terms Kriti uses to describe you. If you can't find a solution, then who can?"
"I honestly don't know," I replied with a weary noise.
He raised an eyebrow. "Are you feeling tired? Would you rather go home than stay here?"
I shook my head, managing a smile. "I'll be fine, thanks." With that, he turned to engage in conversation with someone seated nearby.
I pulled out my phone once more and began texting my mom.
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As the food was served and we began eating, I felt a bit uneasy eating in public. At home, I could eat comfortably without worrying about manners or making a mess. Here, I had to be more careful.
Despite that, I ate each bite cautiously, trying to be polite. Gradually, I started to relax. However, my peace was interrupted when someone turned on the TV, showing an India vs. Pakistan ODI match, surprising me.
The commentators' voices echoed through the room as they discussed Kabir's performance. "Kabir out for a golden duck again... It's unfortunate, his form seems to have disappeared. He was performing brilliantly in the previous series, but now, he's struggling."
The other commentator added, "Indeed. If this continues, he might lose his spot in the playing 11 soon."
As Kabir returned to the dugout, his face hardened. He took off his helmet and sat with his teammates. I couldn't help but notice the weariness in his eyes, the stubble on his face, and his messy hair.
Tears welled up in my eyes as I looked down at my plate. Mixed feelings washed over me. His sadness made me sad too, but a part of me hoped that he felt this way because I wasn't there with him. Maybe he needed me, maybe he wanted me.
