𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐅𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐫 - Chapter 12: Chapter 12
You are reading 𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐅𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐫, Chapter 12: Chapter 12. Read more chapters of 𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐅𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐫.
Shubman POV:
The autumn breeze rustled the curtains of room, but I barely noticed. I sat on the edge of bed, absently flipping through the pages of an old cricket magazine. The house was quieter than usual—my parents downstairs, engrossed in their daily routines—leaving me alone with my thoughts. And lately, those thoughts had been a maze I couldn’t navigate.
It all started a month ago in Dharamshala, during what should have been just another match. The game was intense, the crowd electric, but it was a fleeting moment in the stands that had thrown me completely off balance. Akshara.
I hadn’t expected her to be there, let alone to cross paths in such a chaotic setting. Seeing her stumble, her sharp intake of breath as she injured herself—it had been an instinct to rush to her. Her usual poised demeanor had cracked in that vulnerable moment, and something about the way she looked at me, a mix of surprise and trust, stirred emotions I hadn’t felt in years.
But after that? Silence.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to reach out. I did. Multiple times, I found myself scrolling to her contact, my thumb hovering over the call button. Yet every time, memories of my past held me back. Her betrayal was a wound that hadn’t fully healed. She had used me for fame, playing with my emotions until I was left questioning everything.
That scar made me reluctant to let anyone in again—even someone as genuine as Akshara.
Now, sitting in room, I stared out the window at the garden where I had spent countless hours practicing as a kid. My parents had been thrilled to have me home for a few weeks before the Asia Cup. Maa had already begun her preparations for the tournament, fussing over my meals and ensuring I am well-rested.
But no amount of rest could quiet the turmoil in my mind.
Akshara is different, I could admit that much to myself. She wasn’t trying to impress me or win me over. She didn’t need to.
Her authenticity, her quiet strength—it drew me in, even as my fear of being hurt again pushed me away.
“Shubman!” Maa voice echoed from downstairs, breaking my reverie. “Dinner is ready!”
“I’m coming!” I replied, but made no move to leave room.
Instead, I leaned back against the wall, my gaze fixed on the ceiling. This break was supposed to clear my mind, but if anything, it had only made things more complicated. I couldn’t avoid Akshara forever, not with our families involved and the engagement.
But what do I want from her? Could I let my guard down enough to explore whatever this was? Or am I doomed to keep everyone at arm’s length, trapped by the shadows of my past?
I exhaled deeply, rubbing my temples. The Asia Cup was looming, a welcome distraction, but it wouldn’t erase the questions gnawing at me. For now, all I could do was take it one step at a time. Dinner first. Then the rest.
And maybe—just maybe—I'd figure out how to talk to Akshara again.
🍂
The house buzzed with activity, the air thick with the aromas of spices and the sound of clinking utensils. Maa was orchestrating the dinner preparations like a seasoned conductor.
This was no ordinary meal—it was the first time Akshara’s family was coming over since our engagement.
“Shubman, toda help hii krdo,” Maa called from the kitchen, glancing at me, I was lounging on the couch, scrolling through my phone.
“mein ne pucha tha, aap hii ne mana kiya,” I replied, smirking as I tossed a my phone from one hand to the other.
“atleast table set kar sakte ho,” Papa chimed in, emerging from the study with a newspaper in hand. “Or is that too much effort for our future cricket star?”
I groaned but got up, grabbing the stack of plates from the dining room shelf. As he placed them on the table, my thoughts wandered to Akshara. I hadn’t spoken to her properly since Dharamshala. Would things be awkward tonight? Would she even want to talk to me?
“Stop overthinking,” Di teased, nudging me as she walked past with a tray of glasses. “kya haal hai, azeeb behave kar raha hai kab se. Bhabhi se milne ke liye nervous ho”
“I’m not nervous,” I shot back, though the burning of my cheeks betrayed me.
“Sure, sure,” she said, laughing as she disappeared into the kitchen.
I shook my head, focusing on arranging the cutlery. It wasn’t nerves, I told myself. It was… anticipation, maybe. There was so much unspoken between me and Akshara, and I am not sure if tonight would bring clarity or just add to the confusion.
In the kitchen, maa was supervising the dishes, ensuring everything was perfect. Paneer butter masala simmered on the stove, while an assortment of breads and biryanis were being prepared. She glanced at the clock and clapped her hands.
“time ho gaya hai, woh log aate hi honge!”
Papa, seated at the couch, chuckled. “You’d think the Prime Minister was coming over with how you’re fussing.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” maa chided, swatting at him playfully. “This is important. It’s bestfriend's family, and I want everything to be just right.”
As the hour ticked closer, I found myself pacing near the window, waiting for the car to pull up. When it finally did, my heart gave an unexpected lurch.
I saw Akshara step out, dressed in a simple yet elegant maroon anarkali, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looked calm and collected, but I noticed the slight hesitation in her step as she walked toward the house.
“Shubman, they’re here!” Maa called, already heading to the door to greet the guests.
I took a deep breath, plastered a polite smile on my face, and walked to the entrance. The evening was just beginning, and I had no idea what it would bring—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight might change everything.
As Akshara stepped into the house, my pulse quickened in a way I didn’t expect. She looked composed, her maroon anarkali adding a soft glow to her presence. But her eyes… there was something guarded in them, something I couldn’t quite decipher.
Maa papa and Di welcomed the Sharma family.
“Welcome, Akshara!” Maa greeted warmly, pulling her into a hug. “It’s so good to see you again.”
“Thank you, aunty,” Akshara said, her voice polite yet distant. She offered a warm smile to Maa, but when her gaze flickered to me, she hesitated briefly before nodding.
“Shubman,” Papa said, nudging me gently. “Don’t just stand there like a statue. Help them with their coats.”
“Right,” I muttered, stepping forward to take Akshara’s shawl. As our hands brushed for a moment, I felt an inexplicable jolt—something I wasn’t prepared for. She mumbled a soft “thank you” before moving to greet Di and maa papa.
The evening unfolded with the usual pleasantries. Akshara’s parents exchanged jokes with Papa, and Maa doted on Anika, Akshara’s sister. I found myself seated directly across from Akshara at the dinner table, which made focusing on anything other than her nearly impossible.
“So, Akshara,” Maa began, breaking the silence, “how’s the café coming along?”
“It’s doing well, aunty,” Akshara replied, her voice steady. “We’ve been experimenting with a few new seasonal desserts, and they’ve been a hit so far.”
“That’s wonderful!” Maa beamed. “You must share the recipes with me sometime.”
I tried to appear engrossed in my plate, but my eyes kept darting to Akshara. She seemed perfectly at ease, engaging in light conversation with everyone. Yet, I caught the subtle tension in her posture, the way her fingers fiddled with the edge of her napkin.
“Shubman,” Shekhar uncle voice broke through my thoughts, “how are you feeling about the upcoming Asia Cup?”
“Oh, um, good,” I replied, straightening in my seat. “The break has been helpful. I’ve been focusing on my fitness and technique.”
Shekhar uncle nodded approvingly, but I noticed Akshara glance at me briefly before lowering her gaze again. The brief eye contact sent a pang of guilt through me. I hadn’t reached out after Dharamshala, even though I wanted to. I didn’t know how to bridge the gap that had grown between us—or if she even wanted me to.
As the dinner progressed, the conversation flowed naturally among our families. Yet, the silence between me and Akshara was deafening. It wasn’t cold or hostile, but it felt… heavy, like we both carrying unspoken words that neither of us dared to voice.
When dessert was served—chocolate muse, one of her café’s specialties—I finally gathered the courage to speak.
“So, how’s your wrist?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.
Akshara looked up, startled for a moment, before replying, “It’s much better now. Thank you.”
“That’s good,” I said, hesitating before adding, “I… I should’ve checked in. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
She blinked, surprised by my sudden apology, and then gave me a small, almost imperceptible smile. “It’s okay. I’m fine now.”
Her response was polite but distant, and it left me feeling more conflicted than ever. I wanted to ask her more, to understand what she was thinking, but the weight of something held me back. What if I opened up, only to be hurt again?
By the time the evening came to an end, I was no closer to finding the answers I sought. As they stood at the door, saying their goodbyes, I found myself staring after Akshara as she walked to the car with her family.
For a moment, she turned back, meeting my gaze. There was something in her eyes—a flicker of uncertainty, maybe even hope.
But before I could decipher it, she turned away, leaving me standing in the doorway, wondering what might have happened if I'd just taken one step closer.
The autumn breeze rustled the curtains of room, but I barely noticed. I sat on the edge of bed, absently flipping through the pages of an old cricket magazine. The house was quieter than usual—my parents downstairs, engrossed in their daily routines—leaving me alone with my thoughts. And lately, those thoughts had been a maze I couldn’t navigate.
It all started a month ago in Dharamshala, during what should have been just another match. The game was intense, the crowd electric, but it was a fleeting moment in the stands that had thrown me completely off balance. Akshara.
I hadn’t expected her to be there, let alone to cross paths in such a chaotic setting. Seeing her stumble, her sharp intake of breath as she injured herself—it had been an instinct to rush to her. Her usual poised demeanor had cracked in that vulnerable moment, and something about the way she looked at me, a mix of surprise and trust, stirred emotions I hadn’t felt in years.
But after that? Silence.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to reach out. I did. Multiple times, I found myself scrolling to her contact, my thumb hovering over the call button. Yet every time, memories of my past held me back. Her betrayal was a wound that hadn’t fully healed. She had used me for fame, playing with my emotions until I was left questioning everything.
That scar made me reluctant to let anyone in again—even someone as genuine as Akshara.
Now, sitting in room, I stared out the window at the garden where I had spent countless hours practicing as a kid. My parents had been thrilled to have me home for a few weeks before the Asia Cup. Maa had already begun her preparations for the tournament, fussing over my meals and ensuring I am well-rested.
But no amount of rest could quiet the turmoil in my mind.
Akshara is different, I could admit that much to myself. She wasn’t trying to impress me or win me over. She didn’t need to.
Her authenticity, her quiet strength—it drew me in, even as my fear of being hurt again pushed me away.
“Shubman!” Maa voice echoed from downstairs, breaking my reverie. “Dinner is ready!”
“I’m coming!” I replied, but made no move to leave room.
Instead, I leaned back against the wall, my gaze fixed on the ceiling. This break was supposed to clear my mind, but if anything, it had only made things more complicated. I couldn’t avoid Akshara forever, not with our families involved and the engagement.
But what do I want from her? Could I let my guard down enough to explore whatever this was? Or am I doomed to keep everyone at arm’s length, trapped by the shadows of my past?
I exhaled deeply, rubbing my temples. The Asia Cup was looming, a welcome distraction, but it wouldn’t erase the questions gnawing at me. For now, all I could do was take it one step at a time. Dinner first. Then the rest.
And maybe—just maybe—I'd figure out how to talk to Akshara again.
🍂
The house buzzed with activity, the air thick with the aromas of spices and the sound of clinking utensils. Maa was orchestrating the dinner preparations like a seasoned conductor.
This was no ordinary meal—it was the first time Akshara’s family was coming over since our engagement.
“Shubman, toda help hii krdo,” Maa called from the kitchen, glancing at me, I was lounging on the couch, scrolling through my phone.
“mein ne pucha tha, aap hii ne mana kiya,” I replied, smirking as I tossed a my phone from one hand to the other.
“atleast table set kar sakte ho,” Papa chimed in, emerging from the study with a newspaper in hand. “Or is that too much effort for our future cricket star?”
I groaned but got up, grabbing the stack of plates from the dining room shelf. As he placed them on the table, my thoughts wandered to Akshara. I hadn’t spoken to her properly since Dharamshala. Would things be awkward tonight? Would she even want to talk to me?
“Stop overthinking,” Di teased, nudging me as she walked past with a tray of glasses. “kya haal hai, azeeb behave kar raha hai kab se. Bhabhi se milne ke liye nervous ho”
“I’m not nervous,” I shot back, though the burning of my cheeks betrayed me.
“Sure, sure,” she said, laughing as she disappeared into the kitchen.
I shook my head, focusing on arranging the cutlery. It wasn’t nerves, I told myself. It was… anticipation, maybe. There was so much unspoken between me and Akshara, and I am not sure if tonight would bring clarity or just add to the confusion.
In the kitchen, maa was supervising the dishes, ensuring everything was perfect. Paneer butter masala simmered on the stove, while an assortment of breads and biryanis were being prepared. She glanced at the clock and clapped her hands.
“time ho gaya hai, woh log aate hi honge!”
Papa, seated at the couch, chuckled. “You’d think the Prime Minister was coming over with how you’re fussing.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” maa chided, swatting at him playfully. “This is important. It’s bestfriend's family, and I want everything to be just right.”
As the hour ticked closer, I found myself pacing near the window, waiting for the car to pull up. When it finally did, my heart gave an unexpected lurch.
I saw Akshara step out, dressed in a simple yet elegant maroon anarkali, her hair loose around her shoulders. She looked calm and collected, but I noticed the slight hesitation in her step as she walked toward the house.
“Shubman, they’re here!” Maa called, already heading to the door to greet the guests.
I took a deep breath, plastered a polite smile on my face, and walked to the entrance. The evening was just beginning, and I had no idea what it would bring—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight might change everything.
As Akshara stepped into the house, my pulse quickened in a way I didn’t expect. She looked composed, her maroon anarkali adding a soft glow to her presence. But her eyes… there was something guarded in them, something I couldn’t quite decipher.
Maa papa and Di welcomed the Sharma family.
“Welcome, Akshara!” Maa greeted warmly, pulling her into a hug. “It’s so good to see you again.”
“Thank you, aunty,” Akshara said, her voice polite yet distant. She offered a warm smile to Maa, but when her gaze flickered to me, she hesitated briefly before nodding.
“Shubman,” Papa said, nudging me gently. “Don’t just stand there like a statue. Help them with their coats.”
“Right,” I muttered, stepping forward to take Akshara’s shawl. As our hands brushed for a moment, I felt an inexplicable jolt—something I wasn’t prepared for. She mumbled a soft “thank you” before moving to greet Di and maa papa.
The evening unfolded with the usual pleasantries. Akshara’s parents exchanged jokes with Papa, and Maa doted on Anika, Akshara’s sister. I found myself seated directly across from Akshara at the dinner table, which made focusing on anything other than her nearly impossible.
“So, Akshara,” Maa began, breaking the silence, “how’s the café coming along?”
“It’s doing well, aunty,” Akshara replied, her voice steady. “We’ve been experimenting with a few new seasonal desserts, and they’ve been a hit so far.”
“That’s wonderful!” Maa beamed. “You must share the recipes with me sometime.”
I tried to appear engrossed in my plate, but my eyes kept darting to Akshara. She seemed perfectly at ease, engaging in light conversation with everyone. Yet, I caught the subtle tension in her posture, the way her fingers fiddled with the edge of her napkin.
“Shubman,” Shekhar uncle voice broke through my thoughts, “how are you feeling about the upcoming Asia Cup?”
“Oh, um, good,” I replied, straightening in my seat. “The break has been helpful. I’ve been focusing on my fitness and technique.”
Shekhar uncle nodded approvingly, but I noticed Akshara glance at me briefly before lowering her gaze again. The brief eye contact sent a pang of guilt through me. I hadn’t reached out after Dharamshala, even though I wanted to. I didn’t know how to bridge the gap that had grown between us—or if she even wanted me to.
As the dinner progressed, the conversation flowed naturally among our families. Yet, the silence between me and Akshara was deafening. It wasn’t cold or hostile, but it felt… heavy, like we both carrying unspoken words that neither of us dared to voice.
When dessert was served—chocolate muse, one of her café’s specialties—I finally gathered the courage to speak.
“So, how’s your wrist?” I asked, keeping my tone casual.
Akshara looked up, startled for a moment, before replying, “It’s much better now. Thank you.”
“That’s good,” I said, hesitating before adding, “I… I should’ve checked in. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
She blinked, surprised by my sudden apology, and then gave me a small, almost imperceptible smile. “It’s okay. I’m fine now.”
Her response was polite but distant, and it left me feeling more conflicted than ever. I wanted to ask her more, to understand what she was thinking, but the weight of something held me back. What if I opened up, only to be hurt again?
By the time the evening came to an end, I was no closer to finding the answers I sought. As they stood at the door, saying their goodbyes, I found myself staring after Akshara as she walked to the car with her family.
For a moment, she turned back, meeting my gaze. There was something in her eyes—a flicker of uncertainty, maybe even hope.
But before I could decipher it, she turned away, leaving me standing in the doorway, wondering what might have happened if I'd just taken one step closer.
End of 𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐅𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐫 Chapter 12. Continue reading Chapter 13 or return to 𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐚 𝐅𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐫 book page.