Chapter 6 : Itni Si Baat Hain...Mujhe Tumse Pyaar Hai

The studio was quiet except for the low hum of the speakers warming up. Morning light filtered through the tall windows, catching dust in the air as Maira tied her hair back, her movements economical, almost ritualistic.

Maan adjusted the music settings without looking at her. They had done this enough times now—shared space, shared rhythm—that silence no longer felt awkward.

“From the top?” he asked.

She nodded.

The music began.

Maira moved first—sharp, controlled, every step landing exactly where it should. No hesitation. No overcorrection. Her body flowed through the sequence with a precision that hadn’t been there weeks ago.

Maan followed, matching her pace.

Roshni words lingered into his mind "Keep it professional. Don’t ask for forgiveness if it bothers her. Don’t cross lines. Stay in your lane".
So he didn’t.

He danced.

And watched.

Maira was flawless in the routine. The lifts were clean, her core steady, her timing exact. Where she once hesitated mid-air, she now trusted her body completely, letting the momentum carry her. The flow between steps was seamless—no stiffness, no guarded pauses.

Technically, she was better than she had ever been.

And yet, something was missing.

Five years ago—when they were still learning each other along with the choreography—she had danced with a lightness that couldn’t be taught. There was a chirpiness to her movements then, a quiet joy that spilled into her expressions, into the way she laughed between counts, teased mistakes, asked questions just for the fun of it.

That version of her wasn’t here.

When she had rejoined the academy months ago, there had been awkwardness—visible, understandable. Missed eye contact. Slight stumbles. A body remembering before the mind was ready to.

Until three days ago.

Since the last class, the awkwardness had disappeared completely. Not eased—vanished. As if someone had flipped a switch. No tension. No hesitation. Just control.

That was what unsettled him but he kept hiss feelings in checked because he had given his word to Roshni which he couldn't back down from.

The music cut off sharply as the routine ended. A few of the crew members clapped lightly, catching their breath. Maan ran a hand through his hair and glanced at the clock.

“Alright, guys. Five minutes.”

The group gathered around him in a loose semicircle. Maira stood slightly to the side, towel draped over her shoulder, eyes distant for a second too long.

Maan cleared his throat.

“We’ve got six months,” he began. “The group act, duets and solos for the competition at the Nita Ambani Cultural Center isn’t just another performance. It’s big. Which means from today onwards, no half-efforts. No zoning out. No assuming we’ll fix it later.”

A few nervous smiles spread across the group.

“We buckle up now,” he continued. “Every rehearsal counts. Every formation, every transition. I want your best.”

“Yes, sir,” a few voices echoed.

Aanya raised her hand slightly. “Maan sir?”

He nodded. “Yeah?”

“I don’t think… I don’t think Maira would be able to continue.”

At the sound of her name, Maira blinked, as if pulled back from somewhere far away. She nudged Aanya lightly with her elbow.

“Aanya,” she muttered under her breath.

Then, looking at him, she straightened.

“Sir, I think Aanya might be having a misunderstanding,” she said calmly. “I assure you I’ll be present. And I’ll give my best.”

Maan’s gaze rested on her for a fraction longer than necessary.

But he didn’t respond to her.

Instead, he turned back to Aanya. “Carry on. Why do you think she won’t be able to?”

Aanya hesitated, glancing between them. “Sir… there’s a wedding in her house. It’s just the day after the event. It’s her brother’s wedding. So she’ll be fully occupied with preparations. Functions, guests, everything.”

A murmur rippled lightly through the crew.

Maan tilted his head, folding his arms. “Brother, huh?”

He looked at Maira, one brow lifting in mock curiosity. “Is it your real brother… or your step adoptive brother?”

There was a beat of silence.

“Step adoptive brother,” she replied evenly.

Something unreadable flickered in his eyes, but his tone remained light.

“Ah,” he said. “Then make sure you pass on my wishes.”

She gave a small nod. “I will, sir.”

The crew slowly dispersed, the buzz of conversation returning.

As soon as the session got over and Anya was bidding Maira bye as usual before Maira could change into her salwar and her marriage symbols.After Maira changed and reached outside where Ishaan was waiting for her.Maan eyes travel to the window and he gets a glimpse of them and he notices something off in their gestures for the first time.

Dr. Ishaan bending slightly to hug her, a brief brush of lips against her cheek. Maira responded politely, matching his steps, but the movement felt… measured, rehearsed. There was no warmth, no urgency, nothing of missing each other after the session—just a careful mimicry of what closeness should look like.

Maan’s mind raced for explanations. Probably it’s just exhaustion. The long dance session. Ishaan’s hectic day at work. Their gestures are routine, not out of love.

He told himself that. Repeated it silently. Tried to file it away.

*

At a warm rustic setting restaurant tugged in the heart of Mumbai, Ayush had taken Maysha for a date out of her busy hectic influencer life of doing brand ad shoots, being at events.Ayush gently pulled out the chair for Maysha and she sat on the chair and he sat across the table.

Ayush jokingly teases Maysha "So finally Influencer sahiba managed to get some little time out with me"

"Ha Ha very funny, it's only because you said at the engagement party yesterday, you wanted to take me out for lunch and I acknowlegdge to clear my afternoon schedule for you.So consider yourself lucky".

"Well in that case, am indeed lucky to get your time and hopefully to get your heart".

"Do you hold a degree of flattery, cause you are a Master of Flattery I must say".

"Ha Ha true that, but am just charmed by you"

“Now you’re making me blush, Mr. Lutra.”

Ayush leaned back in his chair, studying her with exaggerated seriousness. “Good. That means I’m doing something right.”

Maysha rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. The warm amber lights of the restaurant softened her features, the rustic brick walls and hanging filament bulbs casting a glow that made the afternoon feel slower, more intimate.

A waiter approached, placing two glasses of infused water on the table.

“So,” Ayush said, picking up the menu but not looking at it, “is this lunch going to end up on your story? Or do I get to exist off-camera today?”

Maysha gasped dramatically. “Excuse me, you should feel honoured if you make it to my story.”

“Oh, I’m honoured,” he replied. “I’m just asking if this is a date… or content.”

She pretended to consider it. “Depends. Are you going to say something worth posting?”

He grinned. “I’m saving my best lines for when there’s no audience.”

For a second, her teasing expression softened. “Good answer.”

They ordered—she chose something light, he picked something heartier—and when the waiter left, the air shifted subtly. The banter thinned, replaced by something quieter.

“You looked tired yesterday,” Ayush said gently. “At the engagement.”

Maysha blinked, surprised. “Tired? I was literally glowing.”

“You were glowing,” he agreed. “But your smile dropped every time someone asked about your next campaign.”

She paused.

Most people saw her as energy. As filters. As perfectly timed transitions and trending audio. Not many noticed the moments in between.

“You observe a lot,” she said softly.

“Only when it matters.”

The weight of that lingered between them.

She reached for her glass, buying herself a second. “It’s just… hectic. Sometimes I don’t even know if I’m living moments or just capturing them.”

“And today?” he asked.

She looked around—the warmth of the place, the clinking cutlery, the absence of cameras on the table.

“Today feels real,” she admitted.

A slow smile spread across his face. “Good. Because I didn’t dress up to compete with a tripod.”

She laughed, the sound freer now.

Their food arrived, momentarily interrupting the conversation. As they ate, the teasing returned—but softer, layered with glances that lingered half a second too long.

At one point, she reached across the table to steal a bite from his plate.

“Hey,” he protested lightly. “Order your own.”

“I like yours better.”

He watched her chew, amused. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re still here.”

“Exactly.”

A comfortable silence settled—the kind that doesn’t demand filling.

“Maysha,” he said after a moment, more serious now. “I don’t care how many followers you have. Or events. Or campaigns. I just… like you. Off-screen.”

The sincerity in his voice made her heartbeat shift.

“And what if off-screen me is less impressive?” she asked quietly.

“Then I’ll like her even more.”

She held his gaze this time, no jokes, no filters.

Ayush reached for her hands and interlaced his fingers in hers.

Ayush’s fingers were still lightly touching hers when he withdrew them slowly, as if gathering couragel while removing his wrist watch indicating how the moment means for him.

“There’s something I didn’t tell you yesterday,” he said.

Maysha tilted her head. “That sounds suspicious already.”

He smiled faintly. “It’s not scandalous. Just… important.”

She leaned back slightly, studying him. “You already told me about IPL and Ranji. What else is left? Secret underground cricket league?”

He chuckled, then shook his head.

“Yesterday, when Shayaan and I were talking about careers… I mentioned domestic seasons, contracts, camps.” He paused. “But I didn’t tell you I’ve been shortlisted for the World Cup squad.”

The noise of the restaurant seemed to blur for a moment.

“You’re—” She blinked. “Wait. The World Cup squad? As in… that World Cup?”

He nodded, watching her reaction carefully. “Probables list. Final squad announcement is in a few weeks.”

For once, Maysha was speechless.

“You idiot,” she breathed finally.

His brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

“You casually sat there yesterday discussing Ranji trophies with my brother like this was some side hobby and didn’t think this was worth mentioning?”

He smiled faintly. “I didn’t want that to be the reason you looked at me differently.”

Her expression shifted.

“Differently how?”

“With… awe. Or calculation. Or because it sounds impressive.” He shrugged lightly. “I wanted to know if you’d still want this”—he gestured between them—“if I was just another guy chasing cricket.”

She stared at him, the teasing gone now.

“Ayush,” she said slowly, “I’ve been around fame long enough to know it fades. Algorithms change. Public attention shifts. What doesn’t change is how someone makes you feel when the cameras are off.”

He didn’t interrupt.

“You think I like you because you might play the World Cup?” she continued softly. “I like you because you noticed I was tired yesterday. Because you asked if this was a date or content. Because you don’t treat me like a brand.”

Something in his posture relaxed.

“And I didn’t tell you,” he admitted, “because if we do this… it won’t be easy.”

She frowned slightly. “Meaning?”

“If I make it to the squad, there’ll be camps. Travel. Media. Pressure. I’ll be gone for months. And if I don’t make it, there’ll be disappointment. Headlines. Comparisons.” He held her gaze. “Either way, it’s intense.”

“And you’re warning me?”

“I’m being honest,” he corrected gently. “Yesterday at the engagement, when Shayaan said careers demand sacrifice… I realized he was right. I just needed to know if we’re strong enough to handle that.”

“Cricket isn’t just a career for me, Maysha.”

He traced the rim of his glass absentmindedly.

“My Karan chacha was the cricketer in the family. He played at a high level… had real potential. But he fell sick. A lung disease. By the time Palki was old enough to even remember him clearly… he was gone.”

Maysha’s expression shifted, softer.

“My mom, Preeta… she was young. Palki was small. After he passed away, my mom eventually married his younger brother—Rishabh.” He gave a faint, thoughtful smile. “That’s how I came into the picture.”

“You grew up hearing about him?” she asked gently.

“Every day,” Ayush said. “Not as a tragedy. As a standard.”

He looked at her directly now.

“No one forced me into cricket. But I grew up watching my mother look at old photographs like they held unfinished stories. I grew up watching my father—Rishabh—respect his brother’s dream instead of trying to erase it.”

He swallowed lightly.

“Karan chacha didn’t get the time to finish what he started. And maybe I wasn’t born to replace him… but somewhere along the way, I decided I’d carry that legacy forward.”

The air between them stilled.

“The World Cup,” he said quietly, “isn’t about headlines. It’s about taking his name to a place he once wanted to reach. It’s about telling my mother that what she lost didn’t just disappear.”

Maysha’s fingers moved instinctively across the table, resting over his hand.

“That’s not ambition,” she said softly. “That’s devotion.”

He let out a breath.

She absorbed his words quietly.

“My life isn’t exactly calm either,” she said after a moment. “Brand shoots at 5 a.m., events at midnight, trolls on random Tuesdays. I don’t come without chaos.”

He smiled. “I don’t mind chaos. I just don’t want doubt.”

The weight of that settled between them.

“Do you want this?” he asked plainly. No charm. No flattery.

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she reached for her glass, took a sip, and then looked at him with a steadiness that surprised even herself.

“Yes,” she said. “I do. Not because you might play the World Cup. And not because it looks good on paper.”

She leaned forward slightly.

“But because when you pulled that chair for me today… it felt simple. And real. And safe.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“And if you make it as the squad?” she added, a small smile returning. “I’ll scream the loudest in the stadium.”

“And if I don’t?” he asked.

“Then I’ll sit next to you when you’re disappointed. No cameras.”

Their eyes held.

For the first time, this wasn’t flirting.

It was choice.

Ayush extended his hand again, this time not hesitantly.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Let’s give this a real chance.”

Maysha slid her hand into his while he slips his watch back on his wrist.

*

Over the past 4 months, alot had started to be visible within the four walls of the academy.Maira had been watching every move of Maira, she was never the less flawless in her moves, but her timings were sometimes off.It was like as if she was loosing her spark in slowly like a slow poison .Maan noticed that every time he was giving a new dance routine to check whether their group can excel which coodination to present their group act at the Nita Ambani Cultural Dance Competition, Maira was zonning out during group demonstration.Her coordination wouldn't be in sync with other crew members which was different few days ago when was excelling in group acts and not duet.

When Maan tried to do duets with her, he noticed that she was doing the duets well with him, no awkwardness no slips or slow timing the change still persisting making his hope still alive that maybe things are back to normal between them thats why their duets are better than group acts.

But Maan noticed the Maira was not barely even chatting with Aanya over dance routines or about anyting exciting beyond the four walls of the academy, previously it was Maira who used to initiate conversations by being the conversation starter and now it's the opposite.

Small-small moments were started to been by Maan who was trying to overlook it because of obeying to the promise he had made with Roshni but the moment his curiousity awakened was when he would repeatedly see the growing distance between Dr.Ishaan and Maira which was too hard to unnotice over the past 4 months whenever Dr.Ishaan used to come and pick Maira up from the academy their greeting exhanges and his soft peck on her cheek or her forhead felt not genuine but like an act.There wasnt genuineness in their gestures that showcased their love for each other.

The walls that were started to crack in Ishaan and Maira's marriage were getting noticed by Maan who has now made it his mission to uncover the reason.

*

On the other side far across India spanning over the 4 months, a young love was blooming between Ayush and Maysha.Maysha had started to work hybrid and get her brand deals shoot partly in Mumbai and partly in the countries where Ayush was scheduled to play at.

At one of Maysha's mumbai brand deal shoot, while she was busy giving her clicks for the brand that she was advertising for.

Jab Tak Teri Aanch Mein

Boond Boond Main Jal Na Loon

A man who was wearing a hoodie and a face mask appears and was smiling and did a gesture of "looking good"

Jab Tak Tere Saath Mein

Chand Tak Main Chal Na Loon

*

One day during a match, inside the stadium's corridor near locker room during the match break, empty except for shadows.

Haan Mere Paas Tum Raho

Jaane Ki Baat Na Karo

They pressed against the wall, breathing fast. Hands brushing, lingering touches, lips nearly meeting—every second charged.
“You have to be careful,” she whispered.
“I know,” he replied, eyes dark with desire and caution.

Mere Sath Tum Raho

Jaane Ki Baat Na Karo

He made out with her before he could leave her breathless wanting for more at the sound of his coach getting him back into reality.

*

At the one fine evening after her shoot she was heading home, she walked inside the parking lot, with sound of footsteps following behind her.

Jab Tak Teri Aanch Mein

Boond Boond Main Jal Na Loon

It was Ayush, while walking along side with her, he slid his hands in hers and then he pinned her against a car

“You came,” she whispered, catching her breath.

“You looked tired,” he replied, brushing a stray hair behind her ear.

A car’s headlights swept across them. Their hands snapped apart, fingers separating in instinctive fear. Darkness returned.Their fingers found each other again. And he grabbed her by the waist by pinned her at a nearby car again.Foreheads pressed, breaths mingling.

Jab Tak Tere Saath Mein

Chand Tak Main Chal Na Loon

“I missed you,” he said.
“You saw me just yesterday.”
“Not like this.”

They lips lingered, caught in stolen kisses , before stepping back into the night.

Ayush and Maysha’s meetings became bolder, more desperate.

*

In a corridor near locker room during the match break, empty except for shadows. They pressed against the wall, breathing fast. Hands brushing, lingering touches, lips nearly meeting—every second charged.

Haan Mere Paas Tum Raho

Jaane Ki Baat Na Karo

“You have to be careful,” she whispered.
“I know,” he replied, eyes dark with desire and caution.

Mere Sath Tum Raho

Jaane Ki Baat Na Karo

He made out with her before he could leave her breathless wanting for more at the sound of his coach getting him back into reality.

*

During all his matches, she sat among the crowds disguised as nothing more than another spectator, her posture composed, her expression carefully neutral beneath the brim of a plain white cap. Around her, excitement surged in waves—cheers rising, flags fluttering, commentators’ voices echoing across the stands—but she remained still, blending into the thousands as if she belonged to none of them.

Tujhpe Saje Khoobsurat Lage

Aisa Kya Du Tujhe

Aisa Kya Du Tujhe

During one match on the field, Ayush stood at the crease, the scoreboard numbers inching upward with each stroke of his bat. Ninety-six. Ninety-eight as he was nearing for his century. The noise swelled with anticipation, every eye fixed on him, every camera lens tracking his movements. The bowler ran in. The ball left his hand. A clean crack split the air as bat met leather, sending it racing past the boundary rope.

For a fraction of a second there was silence—then the stadium erupted.

Applause thundered. Teammates rose. Commentators shouted. The giant screen flashed his name in celebration.

Ayush lifted his bat automatically, acknowledging the crowd, but his gaze was already searching beyond the noise, beyond the waving banners and flashing lights. Three rows up, slightly to the left.

Hmm Hathon Ki Ye Lakeerein Sabhi

Pehna Du Tujhe

Pehna Du Tujhe

White cap. Still shoulders. Calm face with a smile .

Maysha.

She did not leap to her feet like the others. She did not clap wildly or scream his name. To anyone watching, she looked almost detached, as if she were merely another spectator politely acknowledging a player’s milestone.

But he saw what no one else did.

The faintest movement of her hand as she brushed her hair behind her ear. The subtle tilt of her chin. The way her fingers pressed lightly against her wrist for half a second longer than natural.

Signals so small no camera would register them. So ordinary no viewer would question them.

Yet to him they were louder than the stadium’s roar.His expression softened—not the public smile meant for photographs, but a private one that belonged only to her. And for that single suspended moment, amid fifty thousand voices and blinding floodlights, it felt as though the entire world had narrowed to a quiet, invisible line stretched between the crease and her seat in the crowd.

*

While in ICC World cup matches tour, some time away from the matches in a new city, new country exploring cafés, restaurants under low light, silent tables with only the sound of their hands brushing, their knees touching beneath the table. Be it clubs or at parks.Every glance, every twitch of the lips, a private dialogue.

Jab Tak Meri Aankhen

Tera Chehra Pee Na Le

Jab Tak Teri Dhun Mein

Hum Mar Na Le Jee Na Le

Once, sheltering under a pavilion while rain hammered the ground, she snuggled into his arms and they simply stood there, breathing the same air, as if the world beyond that circle of shelter had ceased to exist. They existed in a world apart, suspended, hiding behind crowds, behind matches, behind lenses.

Haan Mere Paas Tum Raho

Jaane Ki Baat Na Karo

Mere Sath Tum Raho

Jaane Ki Baat Na Karo