ICT BL - oneshots

tere naam sey jilu ( shubish ) and secret ship

Felt that these cuties were not present in my book alot so
And yeah there's 2 stories
Finally revelation of my crush 🥰 name

Ishan Kishan, known as the "Pocket Dynamo" for his explosive energy and diminutive stature, stood nervously outside Shubman Gill's apartment. He had rehearsed this moment countless times in his head, but now that he was here, every word seemed to slip away. Finally, he knocked.

Shubman, the "Prince of Indian Cricket," opened the door, smiling. "Hey Ishan, come in!"

Ishan stepped inside, heart racing. They settled on the couch, and Ishan took a deep breath. "Shubman, there's something I need to tell you."

Shubman raised an eyebrow, curious. "What's up?"

"I... I have feelings for you," Ishan blurted out. "I've loved you for a long time, and I thought... maybe you felt the same."

The room fell silent. Shubman's expression shifted from surprise to something colder. He stood up, distancing himself from Ishan.

"Ishan, you're a good friend, but this... this isn't right," Shubman said, his voice hardening. "You're not what I want in my life. I have goals, dreams, and I can't afford distractions. And you... you're just not worthy."

Ishan felt his heart shatter. "Shubman, how can you say that? I thought we had something special."

Shubman laughed bitterly. "Special? You're delusional. You think I want to be with someone who chases every rumor, who can't even hold their own? You're a slut, Ishan. Those rumors? They're probably true."

Ishan's eyes filled with tears. He had never felt so hurt, so betrayed. "I can't believe you think that of me," he whispered, his voice breaking.

Days turned into weeks, and Ishan tried to move on, but Shubman's words haunted him. He avoided Shubman at training sessions, but their paths inevitably crossed.

One evening, as they were leaving the stadium, Shubman called out to Ishan. "Hey, can we talk?"

Ishan hesitated but nodded. They walked in silence until they reached a secluded spot.

"I shouldn't have said those things," Shubman began. "I was harsh. I'm sorry."

Ishan looked at him, the pain still fresh. "Do you mean it?"

Shubman sighed. "I do. But I still can't be with you, Ishan. I have too much to lose."

Ishan nodded, understanding that some wounds would never fully heal. "I get it. But it still hurts."

Shubman reached out, placing a hand on Ishan's shoulder. "I'm sorry. Truly."

Ishan gave a small smile, bittersweet. "Maybe one day, things will be different."

Moving Forward**

Months passed, and Ishan focused on his career, finding solace in the game he loved. He and Shubman remained distant, but the tension between them slowly eased.

One day, after a particularly grueling match, Shubman approached Ishan. "You played well today."

"Thanks," Ishan replied, surprised by the compliment.

Shubman hesitated. "I meant what I said before, about being sorry. I hope we can find a way to be friends again."

Ishan considered this, then nodded. "Maybe we can."

As they walked away, side by side but not quite together, there was a sense of tentative hope. Some bridges, once burned, could be rebuilt—if not as they were, then as something new.