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Our deepest wounds can either turn us bitter, or become the very fire that fuels our empathy. When you use your own scars to protect someone else from bleeding, you transform past trauma into a profound superpower.

​The final umpire's signal blew, cementing a spectacular victory for the college team. The stadium erupted into cheers, the air thick with the roar of applause and flying confetti.

Sweaty, exhausted, but grinning from ear to ear, the boys began walking off the pitch. Down from the stands, Isha, Riya, and Purvi came running onto the grass, their faces glowing with excitement as they rushed to congratulate the winners.

​Isha navigated through the celebrating crowd directly toward Shivansh. He took off his cricket cap, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, and began unstrapping his batting gloves.

The exact second Isha stepped into his space, his movements slowed. His hands remained occupied with pulling the tight velcro straps of the gloves, but his eyes locked onto hers with absolute, undivided intensity.

​"Congrats!" Isha beamed, her face radiant.
"And for you, it's double the celebration because you are the Man of the Match!"

​Shivansh paused mid-motion, a lazy, teasing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Man of whom?"

​Isha blinked, repeating herself clearly. "Match."

​"Match..." Shivansh echoed softly, his voice dropping an octave. As he looked at her bright eyes, he looked down at his gloves and murmured under his breath, "Man of Isha kab banaogi, meri Ishu? (When will you make me the man of Isha, my Ishu?)"

​Isha caught the low rumble of his voice but couldn't quite make out the words over the stadium din. "Did you say something?"
​Shivansh quickly looked back up, flashing a smooth, innocent grin. "No, nothing that you didn't listen to."

​"Okay..." Isha said, her eyebrows knitting together in a confused but amused expression.

​Shivansh opened his mouth to say something more, the air between them thick with unspoken words, but the blaring stadium speakers cut him off.

"All players, please assemble at the presentation area for the price distribution and cup-handling ceremony."

​Giving a quiet sigh, Shivansh motioned for her to walk with him. As they headed toward the presentation podium side by side, a comfortable, loaded silence settled between them.

Their eyes kept drifting toward each other-devouring the sight of one another in the golden afternoon light-while a soft, undeniable blush crept up their cheeks.

​To properly celebrate the monumental win, Riya and Purvi fiercely demanded a party from the boys.

By the time the weekend rolled around, the entire gang met up at a bustling, vibrant restaurant in the city.

​Inside, the energy was loud and full of laughter. Purvi and Akshat had ended up sitting directly opposite each other, with the wooden dining table serving as the only barrier between them. However, as the food arrived, Akshat completely checked out of the conversation. He was utterly lost in his own world, thoroughly immersed in his pet puja (worship of food) as he blissfully devoured his meal.

​Watching him busy, Purvi felt a sudden, mischievous urge to disturb his peace. A playful smirk spread across her face.

Underneath the table, she extended her leg, intending to give his shin a sharp, annoying knock to get his attention.

​Instead, her foot swung off-target and connected solidly with Riya's leg, who was sitting right beside Akshat.

​"Oyy, Purvi!" Riya yelped, rubbing her shin and glaring across the table. "Mujhe kyun maara? (Why did you kick me?)"

​Purvi's cheeks flushed pink as she pulled her leg back instantly. "Galti se lag gaya yaar... (It happened by mistake, buddy...)"

​Akshat, who had paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, looked between Purvi's guilty face and Riya's annoyed expression.

He instantly pieced together exactly what Purvi had been trying to do. A slow, knowing smile broke across his face. He didn't say a word, but his eyes crinkled at the corners as he looked up and locked his gaze with Purvi's.

There was a warmth in his eyes, a quiet, lingering softness that spoke volumes without a single sound, acknowledging her playful attempt to get his attention.

Purvi found herself staring right back, her playful smirk melting into a shy, flustered grin.
​While the gang was eating, laughing, and sharing candid jokes, the table directly beside them presented a completely contrasting picture.

It looked less like a casual dinner and more like a high-stakes, tense corporate meeting gone wrong.

​A middle-aged businessman sitting at the center of the table leaned back in his chair, his expression dripping with condescension as he looked at the elegant woman sitting across from him. The conversation, which had been strictly professional, suddenly took a sharp, ugly turn as his voice carried across the quiet restaurant.

​"I've heard you are a divorcee," the man said, his tone dripping with mock sympathy.
​The woman stiffened, her jaw clenching, but she maintained her professional composure. "Yes."

​The man let out a dismissive, arrogant chuckle. "Apna ghar tak bacha nahi sakti, yeh karobar ki baate kaise karlogi? (You couldn't even save your own home, how will you handle matters of business?)"

​At the next table, the laughter instantly died out. The minute Yash heard those words, something inside him snapped. The raw, painful memory of his mother's struggles, her tears, and the unfair judgments society flung at her rushed to the surface like a tidal wave

​While the woman at the table stood frozen in a painful silence-likely trying to maintain her professionalism despite the humiliation-Yash was already on his feet. Before his friends could even react, he strode straight over to the man's table, his frame tense with absolute fury.

​"This is the rudest, cruelest, most misogynistic comment one can ever make," Yash said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy register that cut through the restaurant air. "How dare you even make such a heinous, derogatory comment about a woman's worth based on her marital status?"

​The businessman's face flushed with anger at being challenged in public. He stood up, trying to intimidate the younger guy. "Oh? Now this kid yesterday is going to teach me manners? Who even are you?"

​With an aggressive snarl, the man reached out and forcefully gripped Yash's collar.
​"Yash!" Akshat and Shivansh yelled
simultaneously, immediately jumping up from their chairs and stepping up right behind him, their expressions fiercely protective as they closed in on the man.

​But Yash didn't flinch. He didn't even try to break the man's grip. Instead, he looked directly into the man's eyes, held his collar remembering the deep-seated trauma and pain he had endured watching his mother's life fueling a powerful, ringing conviction in his voice.

​"You think a failed marriage is a weapon you can use to degrade a woman's capability?" Yash demanded, his voice echoing with a raw, emotional weight that made the entire section of the restaurant go still.

"It is because of fragile, small-minded men like you that women in our society are forced to suffer in silence! You sit in your privilege, treating a woman's pain as a flaw in her character, completely blind to the immense courage it takes for her to walk away from a toxic space and rebuild her life from scratch.

​The sheer force of Yash's words hit the room like a physical blow. The businessman's grip slackened on Yash's collar, his face turning pale as he realized the whole gang was staring at him with disgust.

​The woman, bolstered by Yash's unwavering defense, found her own voice. She stood up straight, her eyes flashing with renewed steel as she looked at her associate.

​"He is absolutely right," she said firmly, adjusting her blazer. "You cannot get away with the vile comments you just made simply to degrade me and tear my confidence down. This meeting is over, and I will be taking official legal and corporate action against you for harassment."

​Turning away from the stuttering man, the woman looked at Yash. Her expression softened into one of profound respect and gratitude.

​"Thank you, young man," she said, her voice laced with deep admiration. "In a world where most people choose to look away and stay silent, your spine, your fierce integrity, and the nobility of your character are rare.

You possess a maturity and a chivalrous heart that many men twice your age fail to achieve. Your mother must be incredibly proud of the man she raised."

​Yash offered a quiet, respectful nod, his chest rising and falling as the adrenaline slowly began to fade, leaving behind a peaceful sense of justice.

​Standing just a few feet away, Riya watched the entire interaction unfold. She couldn't take her eyes off him.

The playful, annoying, boy she bickered with every day had completely vanished. In his place stood a man of profound depth, honor, and a protective fire that left her completely breathless.

As she watched him smooth, her heart thudded with a heavy, sweet ache. Slowly, completely defenceless against the feeling, Riya realized she was falling hard for a man she never even knew she wanted.

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