Chapter 7 : Abhi Na Jaao Chodke ...Ke Dil Abhi Bara Nahi

The secret abode of Ayush and Maysha was scoring high with each passing day, as their love grew deeper like a diver diving beneath the ocean's infinite depth.Ayush was setting a record for being the best batsman for their team and leading a legacy that he had never imagined he had it in him.

In those months before the world claimed him in the 5th month, before cameras learned the geometry of his face and commentators learned the rhythm of his name, Maysha had believed that she and Ayush were not merely in love but aligned — two trajectories drawn by the same invisible hand. He moved through stadiums like he belonged to them; she moved through screens like they had been invented for her. When he walked onto a pitch, thousands rose. When she posted a photograph, millions paused. It amused her sometimes, the symmetry of it, the strange inherited pattern that made her feel as though she were repeating a story written long before she was born.

At one evening, in a hotel room provided by the ICC board... lying cozed up in his lap on the floor with champagne glasses clinking in

"Careful babe, you wanna finish off the whole champagne bottle or what , that I stole from my team mates after us managing to qualify for the semi finals ".He whispers as his voice fans her her earlobe giving her shiver down her spine".

"I am careful enough my hunbun that's why we haven't done anything scandalous yet that my parents would be worried about that I was sleeping with my elder sis's adoptive step brother's to be wife's younger bro? though my parents did scandalous stuff before the fake turned real marriage that resulted of the being of Maira Di but I ain't doing anything scandalous until things don't seem right!Isn't it".

"so true, you should make love only it feels right, when the timing is right and everything in between.Warna siyappe hi hojata hai".

"Haha ha true that" ...

"Waise I do feel that we as a couple are so the newer version of my parents like you are the calmness that my dad brings in and vibrant vibe that fills the room just like my mom but just not personality wise but even in terms of career".

He stayed quiet — attentive in the way only he knew how to be. He never rushed her thoughts. Never finished her sentences unless she asked him to.

"My mother used to dream about singing in stadiums," she continued. "Huge ones. Floodlights, crowds, noise so loud it felt like thunder. And my father dreamed about music that could move thousands at once. Not just songs — moments. And they did it. Together. They carved space where there wasn’t any. Like the world didn’t give it to them — they insisted."

"That’s a big comparison." he said in a soft gentle tone and continued ''And I really do feel we are slowly taking shape into becoming their miniature versions".Ayush chuckled along with Maysha, and he pecks her on lips mumbling "I Love you" and she says to him "I Love You" back.

Maysha and Ayush become fluent in a language made entirely of glances — the slight lift of his brow when he spotted her in a crowd, the fractional tilt of her chin that meant I’m here, the slow blink that meant I missed you. When their hands brushed accidentally in public, neither reacted, yet both carried the sensation for hours afterward like a hidden ember warming their palms.

But that night changed everything didn't annouce itself as a turning point but it came with fireworks and whistles .The stadium roared as though the earth itself were cheering. Teammates collided into Ayush from every direction, arms around his shoulders, hands ruffling his hair, voices breaking with exhilaration as they shouted that they had done it — they had actually done it. He laughed with them, breathless and bright-eyed, sweat streaking down his temple, victory humming through his veins like electricity.

And yet, even while cameras circled and flashes erupted, his gaze kept drifting upward, searching through rows of strangers for one face he would recognize even in darkness.

He found her three sections above the boundary line, almost invisible beneath a cap and mask, still as a photograph while the rest of the crowd surged and shouted. Their eyes met for less than a heartbeat. He lifted his hand casually, pretending to stretch his wrist. She answered with a small, almost imperceptible motion of her thumb across her finger — a gesture no one else would notice, but one he understood instantly.

Ayush rose to fame overnight by becoming the man of the match beating South Africa.With Media calling him the next Dhoni to score centuries like a piece of cake.Every appearance of him had to be cautious as he was being spotted in everywhere and the fans attention was making him nervous to deal with his private life, he resorted back to wearing hoodies and mask to avoid grabbing attention that could jeopardize his private life.But even though he was trying to be discreet , he loved the fame and appreciation that came with it.

Maysha did not resent the attention, she had grown up in fame orbiting from her parents. Visibility, to her, was not intrusion but environment. She knew how to angle a camera, how to choose lighting, how to turn attention into opportunity. Whenever she posted any couple images of them it had pictures where only his hand was visible , or silhouettes of them

The first time he asked her not to post something, his voice had sounded like a hand hovering rather than touching — careful, hesitant, almost apologetic.

They were on a hotel balcony one night ...the night after meeting the PM in his office following lunch with the PM and dinner with the team mates, with just some hours to spare before they could leave for Mumbai Maysha and Ayush seated side by side on the low cane bench, the city stretched beneath them in a scatter of blinking lights. Traffic signals changed colors like distant code. Somewhere far below, a motorbike passed, its sound fading quickly into the hush that always settled after midnight. A faint breeze lifted a loose strand of her hair and brushed it across his arm.

He watched it move.

"Maysha…"

She turned her head slightly. "Hmm?" while staring at her picture on instagram where she was flaunting "the Luthra Jersey"

He hesitated, fingers loosely linked with hers, thumb tracing the side of her hand in a rhythm he didn’t realize he was keeping. "Next time… could you tell me before you post something like that?" he gazed at the photo which was she looking at

His tone was soft — not restrictive, not sharp. Careful.

She studied his face, not defensively, not wounded. Just attentive. "I didn’t tag you."

"I know." He nodded quickly. "I’m not saying you did anything wrong. It’s just…" He searched for a sentence that wouldn’t bruise. "People guess."

She tilted her head. "Is guessing really so terrible?"

The question wasn’t challenging. It was sincere.

Ayush looked out at the skyline for a moment, jaw tightening slightly as he assembled his thoughts with visible effort. He didn’t want this to sound like rejection. He didn’t want her to hear distance where he meant explanation.

"You live in visibility," he said slowly. "I live in scrutiny."

She didn’t reply immediately.

The distinction settled between them, light as air and just as impossible to hold.

After a moment, she slipped her fingers gently from his hand. Not abruptly. Not angrily. Simply… withdrew them, folding them together in her lap as her gaze drifted outward, toward the horizon where the city lights blurred into haze.

She didn’t argue. He noticed that.

He always noticed her silences more than her words.They didn’t fight and they never fought.And that — though neither of them recognized it then — was where the ending began.

Distance rarely arrives announcing itself. It arrives disguised as care.They still met. Still smiled. Still laughed in the easy, familiar way that had once felt effortless. He still brushed her hair back when it fell into her eyes. She still leaned into his shoulder when they sat together. Nothing visible changed.

Only the air did.

*

Now, before she posted anything, she paused — rereading captions, reconsidering angles, wondering. And before he reached for her hand in public, he glanced around — not nervously, just reflexively, checking, measuring, calculating.

Neither of them mentioned it.They told themselves they were being thoughtful. Respectful. Protective of each other’s worlds.But in reality, there was distances that they sure knew they had between them.

*

The evening they parted did not look like an ending.They sat inside his parked car just outside her bungalow, engine off, dashboard lights dim enough to cast their faces in softened shadow. For a long time, neither spoke.Then she did.

"I think…" Her voice was calm, but it carried effort, like lifting something heavier than it appeared. "I think we want different versions of love."

Abhi abhi toh mile ho

Abhi naa karo chhootne ki baat

Ayush didn’t look at her right away. His hands remained on the steering wheel, fingers resting still against the leather as he stared through the windshield at the empty road ahead.

Abhi abhi toh pasand aaye ho

Abhi abhi roothne ki baat

He absorbed the sentence slowly.

"What version do you want?" he asked.

His tone was steady. Only his grip tightened slightly.

She turned toward him, watching his side profile — the line of concentration between his brows, the quiet patience he always carried when listening. "One I don’t have to hide."

Abhi abhi toh roshni aayi

Abhi naa karo munh chhupane ki baat

He nodded once, eyes still forward.

Silence.

Then, after a pause long enough for the words to settle fully between them, he said quietly, "I want one that won’t turn into a headline."

Abhi abhi zindagi shuru hai

Abhi abhi tham jaane ki baat

Neither statement accused.Neither defended.Both were simply true.And truth, when it arrives without blame, can hurt more than anger ever does.They stayed there for a long time afterward. Not persuading. Not arguing. Not trying to rescue something already loosening its grip. Just… understanding.

Hum toh haare mahiya re

Moonde naina, neendh tihaare

The realization didn’t shatter them.It unraveled them. Slowly. Gently. Like a knot that had never truly been tight, only carefully tied.

She exhaled, gaze lowering briefly to her hands. "We shouldn’t force something that isn’t fitting anymore."

Hum toh haare mahiya re

Moonde naina, neendh tihaare

Ayush nodded.Not because he wanted to agree.Because honesty had always mattered more to him than comfort.His hand lifted — instinct, habit, longing — reaching toward hers.

Teri baazuon mein meri chahatein samaaye

Teri dhadkano ko meri dhadkane sunaaye

It stopped halfway.

He lowered it again.

She noticed.

That small restraint said more than any goodbye could have.

Teri khwahishon se meri khwaishein riha hain

Teri karwaton se meri daastan bayan hai

A few minutes later, she opened the car door and stepped out, closing it softly behind her as though loudness would be disrespectful to what they had been. She didn’t look back. Not because she didn’t want to — but because she knew if she did, she might stay.He remained where he was.Hands still on the wheel. Eyes unfocused. Breathing steady but hollow, like a room after furniture has been removed.

Kya sukoon kya junoon humnawa

He didnt shatter . He felt… emptied, like as if his soul left his body.

They hadn’t broken.They had drifted.The string tieing them together had faded with time.

*

A month before the Nita Ambani Cultural Dance Competition and Rudra's and Palki's wedding, Maan gets in touch with Maysha's social media manager Tara Badoria.

"Hey Tara, any update regarding Maysha's availability for our ad shoot".

Tara texts Maan back, "Yes Mr.Khurana, she is available in 3 days, I and your back end team will get in touch regarding the shoot".

Maan texts back, "Cool thanks Tara for getting this done".

"Your most welcome Maan sir afterall you are training my brother so I would really be humbled that you get to work with my client".

"That's sweet, shall text you back later.Thanks once again".

"Welcome Maan sir".

Maan smiles.