Ishaan Rathore
I leaned back in the armchair, staring at the notebook in front of me. My memoir. The words felt foreign. I had always been the guy who let his bat do the talking, who lived his life in the limelight without really needing to explain myself. Now, here I was, about to open up in ways that felt unnatural. And Tanvi was the one tasked with making sense of it all.
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