୨ৎ 𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ୨ৎ

I panicked.

No actually—

I PANICKED.

Because this was Hyderabad.
Not Odisha.
Not my hometown.
Not a place where I could dramatically call relatives for help.

And going back home after getting selected for such a huge opportunity?

Absolutely not.

My parents would stress.
My professors would probably lose faith in me.
And Tulsi would never let me forget this till our graduation.

So before doing anything stupid, I forced myself to calm down like a responsible adult.

Step one:
cold coffee.

Step two:
water.

Step three:
sitting silently and questioning every life decision that brought me here.

After nearly fifteen minutes of emotional recovery, I finally stood up and walked toward the airport assistance desk with the confidence of someone pretending to have their life together.

The woman at the counter looked up politely.

"Yes ma'am?"

And suddenly I forgot how language worked.

"Hi... so technically speaking... hypothetically... if someone accidentally missed their flight because they went searching for an empty washroom and forgot their phone was on airplane mode..."

The lady blinked slowly.

"...You missed your flight?"

"Yes."

"Domestic?"

"Yes."

"Checked-in baggage?"

"No thank god."

That genuinely saved my life.

She guided me toward the airline help desk where I stood in another painfully long queue surrounded by irritated passengers, crying children, and one uncle loudly arguing about refund policies like it was a courtroom trial.

By the time my turn finally came, I looked emotionally exhausted enough for the manager to immediately soften a little.

"What happened?" he asked kindly.

And somehow that kindness almost made me cry.

I explained everything:
the washroom disaster,
the airplane mode tragedy,
Tulsi leaving,
my medical program in Mumbai,
and how I absolutely could not miss it.

Thankfully, the manager turned out to be surprisingly sweet.

"Well," he said while typing something on his computer, "your original ticket can't be reused now. But there's another AirAsia flight to Mumbai after around one hour."

ONE HOUR?

At that moment he sounded like an angel sent directly by airport authorities.

"But..." he added carefully, "there'll be additional charges."

My heart broke slightly.

Still cheaper than my future getting destroyed.

After discussing timings, documents, ID verification, payment, and listening to approximately seventeen airport instructions I barely processed due to stress, I finally got another boarding pass in my hand.

I almost kissed it emotionally.

"You should head toward the gate at least thirty minutes earlier this time," the manager advised gently.

"Oh trust me," I said seriously, "I'll sit directly outside the gate like a security guard."

He laughed.

And just like that, my near-life crisis slowly settled down.

The next hour somehow felt longer than my entire medical entrance preparation journey.

I checked my bag at least six times.
Watched random food vloggers on YouTube.
Texted Tulsi dramatic updates.
Bought snacks I wasn't even hungry for.
And stared at airplanes outside the glass windows like a main character recovering from trauma.

Finally, boarding started.

I immediately grabbed my backpack and walked toward the gate before destiny changed its mind again.

But then—

I noticed chaos near another entrance.

A huge crowd.

Media cameras.
Security guards.
Paparazzi.
People screaming loudly.

Phones raised everywhere.

The noise echoed across the terminal so badly that I genuinely couldn't even understand what people were shouting.

Probably some celebrity.

Or politician.

Who knew.

Honestly, after today's disasters, curiosity had officially left my body.

This time, I ignored the chaos completely and continued toward my AirAsia flight like a woman focused entirely on survival.

I entered the flight with full determination to protect my seat and my remaining mental stability.

God clearly had other plans.

The moment I reached my row, I realized I was seated beside:
an old lady who kept muttering complaints under her breath,
a tiny bad-tempered child who already looked capable of violence,
and a pregnant woman sitting beside him who looked one inconvenience away from tears.

Amazing.

Absolutely amazing.

Still, I smiled politely and adjusted myself near the window seat because after today's disasters, at least I deserved clouds and peace.

Or so I thought.

The flight took off smoothly.

For exactly three minutes.

And then suddenly—

THUD.

The kid kicked the back of my seat.

THUD.

Again.

THUD.

Again.

I slowly turned around with the calm expression of someone trying very hard not to commit crimes inside an aircraft.

The child stared at me with zero guilt before kicking the seat AGAIN.

The pregnant woman beside him looked completely exhausted already, dark circles under her eyes and stress written all over her face.

"Excuse me, miss..." I whispered politely, "he's kicking the seat a little..."

"I told him many times dear," she sighed tiredly. "He's not listening."

And immediately, I felt bad.

Because honestly?
She looked more tired than me.

So I quietly turned back, accepted my fate, and spent the next fifteen minutes questioning why I had ever left the airport washroom.

Eventually, the kid got distracted by cartoons on an iPad and finally fell asleep.

Peace.

Silence.

Blessings from heaven.

I leaned my head against the seat and slowly closed my eyes too.

And then—

"YOU WERE DATING HER TOO?"

My eyes flew open instantly.

Not just mine.

The entire flight's.

Two rows ahead, a girl stood up furiously while pointing at a boy who looked seconds away from death.

"You told ME I was your girlfriend!"

"I can explain—"

"Oh shut UP!"

Meanwhile, another girl seated beside him had already started crying dramatically while the poor air hostesses rushed there trying to calm everyone down.

For the next few minutes, the entire airplane unofficially became a live reality show.

Apparently—

the idiot boy had been double dating BOTH girls.

And somehow destiny decided both girlfriends should discover the truth inside an AirAsia flight.

One girl was crying.
The other was ready for murder.
And the boy looked like he wanted emergency landing rights.

"Sir, please lower your voice."

"Ma'am please sit down."

"Sir, stop touching her hand."

Honestly, the air hostesses deserved salary raises.

Beside me, the pregnant woman suddenly shifted uncomfortably before speaking softly.

"Miss... can we exchange seats? The shouting is making me feel uneasy..."

My soul left my body.

My window seat.

My beautiful peaceful window seat.

Gone.

Still...

I wasn't heartless.

"Yeah, of course," I sighed dramatically.

I stood up and called one of the air hostesses who looked moments away from resignation.

"Ma'am, is there any other seat available?"

She checked quickly before smiling in relief.

"Yes actually... there's one empty seat in first class."

I blinked.

First class?

Excuse me?

Suddenly my extra flight charges felt emotionally worth it.

"Please take it," she almost begged. "It'll help us manage this situation too."

At this point, those two fighting people sounded like stray cats battling for territory.

So without wasting another second, I happily grabbed my bag and escaped toward first class like a refugee finally finding peace.

The moment I entered first class, I instantly felt peace return to my soul.

No crying.
No fighting couples.
No seat-kicking children.

Just silence, soft lighting, and rich people air-conditioning.

Beautiful.

I followed the air hostess toward my new seat and immediately noticed someone already sitting beside it.

A boy.

Well...

A lowkey very good-looking boy.

Dark black hair slightly messy like he had run his hands through it too many times.
Sharp dark eyes.
Athletic build.
Pink lips—

Wait.

What?

No.

Absolutely not.

I was simply appreciating human features scientifically.

Nothing else.

Distractions were illegal in my life right now.

The man seemed completely busy reading a magazine, barely paying attention to anything around him.

I quietly sat down beside him while adjusting my bag.

That's when he looked at me.

Not rudely.
Not annoyed.

Just... surprised.

Before either of us could say anything, the air hostess spoke politely.

"Sorry sir, there was a seating issue in economy due to a disturbance. We've shifted her here temporarily. I hope that's alright."

The man immediately nodded.

"No problem."

Simple.
Calm.
Respectful.

Good upbringing.
Nice.

The air hostess thanked him and left while I settled properly into my seat.

For the next few minutes, silence existed between us.

Well...

Almost silence.

Because I could FEEL him taking occasional glances at me.

And honestly?

Fair enough.

I knew I looked good.

Not to brag or anything but years of lip gloss dedication deserved recognition.

Still, curiosity slowly started poking my brain.

Who was he?

He looked familiar somehow.

Not familiar-familiar.

Just... face-I've-seen-somewhere familiar.

I was almost about to ask his name when a waiter arrived with food.

"Your meal, sir."

The tray was placed in front of him neatly.

And on the plate cover, printed clearly—

Abhishek Sharma.

Huh.

Nice name.

The man glanced at me once again before casually starting his meal while I also focused on mine.

Honestly, first class food tasted emotionally healing after everything I had survived today.

A few quiet minutes passed.

Then finally—

"Hi."

I looked up.

He was looking at me now, magazine kept aside.

"Hi," I replied back politely.

And then he asked the most random question possible.

"Do you watch cricket?"

I answered immediately.

"No."

And for the first time since meeting him—

the man actually looked shocked.

The man stared at me for two seconds after my answer like I had personally insulted an entire nation.

Then surprisingly, he smiled a little.

"Oh. Okay... it's fine."

Fine?

Why did he sound emotionally affected?

I shrugged casually and continued eating before saying,

"Honestly, I don't understand why people are so obsessed with cricket and cricketers."

That definitely got his attention.

He slowly kept his spoon down.

"Obsessed?" he repeated.

"Yes," I nodded confidently. "Like people literally scream, cry, worship players, fight online... for what? A bat and ball?"

The man leaned back slightly, clearly amused now.

"Well... cricket is more than that for many people."

"How?"

"It connects people," he replied simply. "One match and suddenly an entire country is watching together. Families sit together, friends celebrate together... people become emotional because they grow up with the game."

I listened quietly.

Fair point.

Still—

"But the obsession is scary," I argued. "People act like cricketers are gods."

He laughed softly at that.

"They're not gods. Just athletes doing their job."

"Exactly!" I pointed at him dramatically. "THANK YOU. Finally someone sensible."

Now he looked genuinely entertained.

"But you do realize cricket gives opportunities too, right?" he continued. "Recognition, money, careers... people work extremely hard to reach there."

"I know," I admitted. "I respect the hard work. I just don't understand fangirls losing consciousness because some guy hit a six."

That made him laugh properly this time.

A soft laugh.

The kind that reached his eyes.

"Well," he said, "sometimes people become emotionally attached to players. They inspire them."

"Inspire them to what? Ignore studies and make edits on Instagram?"

He pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh again.

"You really dislike cricket."

"I don't dislike it," I corrected. "I'm just... uninterested."

"Hm."

"And honestly," I added while opening my juice, "medical students suffer more than cricketers anyway."

His eyebrows lifted immediately.

"Oh really?"

"Yes. You people run on stadium cheers and fame. We run on caffeine, trauma, and three hours of sleep."

"That sounds concerning."

"It is concerning."

For a moment, both of us laughed quietly.

And strangely...

the conversation felt easy.

Comfortable.

Like talking to someone I already knew somehow.

Then suddenly he asked,

"So if you don't watch cricket... you genuinely don't know any players?"

I thought for a second.

"Virat Kohli."

He sighed dramatically.

"That's the only name everyone says."

"Well sorry," I replied unapologetically. "The cricket world has failed to impress me."

The man shook his head with an amused smile before looking back at me again.

And for some reason—

that look felt a little too interested for a stranger.

I took another sip of my juice before continuing my extremely professional anti-cricket speech.

"And don't even get me started on fangirls."

The man raised an eyebrow slightly.

"Oh?"

"Yes," I sighed dramatically. "Girls are completely head over heels for cricketers. Like genuinely insane."

He looked suspiciously entertained now.

"They make edits, cry over them, fight online, write captions like 'my man' as if the poor cricketer personally proposed to them."

The corner of his lips twitched.

"And then," I continued with full seriousness, "they imagine themselves as their wives."

That almost made him choke on his water.

I ignored him completely and kept ranting.

"Like imagine sitting and planning your future surname with a man who doesn't even know you exist."

Now he was fully laughing.

Not loudly.

But enough for his shoulders to shake slightly.

"I'm serious!" I defended myself immediately. "It's concerning behavior."

"So you've never liked any celebrity?" he asked.

"No."

"Never had a crush?"

"No."

"Actor?"

"No."

"Singer?"

"No."

"Cricketer?"

I gave him a flat look.

"Especially not cricketers."

That made him laugh again before he leaned back slightly in his seat.

"You sound personally offended by cricket fans."

"I AM."

"Why?"

"Because my entire social media gets flooded with edits every time some man swings a bat successfully."

At this point, he was struggling to control his smile.

"And the comments?" I continued dramatically. "'Marry me.' 'Come home husband.' 'Nation's boyfriend.' God please stand up."

He shook his head in disbelief.

"You're very judgmental."

"I'm realistic."

"No," he corrected calmly. "You just haven't experienced being passionate about something like that yet."

For a second—

his tone changed slightly.

Softer.

More personal.

Like he actually understood those fans.

But before I could think much about it, he suddenly asked casually,

"So if a cricketer liked you... you'd reject him?"

I immediately answered,

"Yes."

Too fast.

Way too fast.

The man stared at me for two silent seconds before slowly smiling again.

"Interesting."