Lunch?

                                    

                                          
"Can you stop staring at me?" Ishan asked again, still avoiding eye contact with Shubman. "No," came Shubman's response, loud and clear, with no hint of hesitation. The answer stunned Ishan, making him turn to look at Shubman. "What?" Ishan replied, puzzled. "What? You asked me if I could stop staring, and I just answered you," Shubman said calmly. "What's wrong with you?" Ishan questioned. 
"Nothing at all. I'm doing very well, actually," Shubman replied with a smirk. "Stop looking at me," Ishan insisted. "Why? Does it make you feel things?" Shubman teased. "What?" Ishan exclaimed, taken aback by the unexpected remark. He was shocked and momentarily speechless. 
Shubman shook his head and laughed at Ishan's confused state, clearly enjoying the moment. "It definitely makes him feel things," Rishabh chimed in, letting out a throaty laugh as he gave Shubman a high five.
"This is bullying," Ishan said, feeling utterly defeated. "But it's just love," Virat added from behind him, and Ishan realized that nobody was on his side at that moment. Later, after the mock match ended and they had won, the team returned to their hotel to relax and prepare for the actual tournament.
Once back, Ishan went straight to his room. After sitting on the bed, he decided to watch something and maybe scroll through some reels before freshening up. So, he opened the app he deemed cursed—Instagram. He had named it that because there always seemed to be something unpleasant popping up on it.
As he scrolled, he came across a reel of him and Shubman in the dugout from earlier that day, and he cursed under his breath. 'Not this again. How fast do these people work?' he wondered, continuing to scroll. 
Then he saw a reel of himself hugging Shubman after he had nearly scored a century. Now that he thought about it, he regretted hugging him so suddenly; he had just been unable to bear Shubman's sad expression without trying to do something to cheer him up.
Shubman had always been this way; he appeared to be a laid-back guy, but up close, he could be frustrating. He had a tendency to blame every failure on himself and linger in his guilt indefinitely, which Ishan found exasperating. He hated it when Shubman would retreat into a cocoon of self-loathing and refuse to accept help from anyone.
When asked how he was doing, Shubman always replied with, "I am okay." Deep down, Ishan wished he would admit that he wasn't okay and that everything wasn't fine. Ishan had always been the type to overlook when someone wronged him, preferring to let things go. In contrast, Shubman continuously urged him to stand up for himself and retaliate against insults.
When it came to being loose-mouthed and foolish, Shubman was number one. However, when it came to his feelings, he often acted like an idiot. Rather than accepting that he wasn't okay, he would gaslight himself into believing he was fine, and Ishan always noticed. He could tell when Shubman was plunging into those episodes of self-loathing; it had become second nature for him to see it.
During those times, his instinct was to sit beside Shubman. He wouldn't say a word, just be there to let him know that he was present—that he would always be there for him. Ishan wanted Shubman to understand that no matter how badly he might mess up, he wasn't going anywhere.
Looking back, Ishaan realized he had always sensed that Shubman felt more than just friendship; perhaps he had been in denial about it. Regardless, that was all in the past now, and he preferred not to dwell on it. 
Nevertheless, he often found himself thinking about those feelings. There was no way he could have missed them; everyone else seemed to know as well. Ishan found himself reflecting on how Shubman might have felt all along, grappling with so many hidden emotions. 
Did he feel sadness? Was he overthinking? Ishan was certain that he didn't love Shubman in any way other than as a friend, yet when he looked at him, it stirred something deep in his heart. He had always been aware that Shubman liked to gaze at him; it was almost a habit, but he had never inquired about the reason behind it.