The wedding venue looked nothing short of a fairytale.

Golden lights illuminated every corner of the enormous hall, reflecting off crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Fresh jasmine strings and deep-red roses covered the entrance, while marigold flowers framed the beautifully decorated mandap at the centre of the hall.

The mandap itself was the heart of the entire celebration.

Four intricately carved pillars were covered in layers of white jasmine and red roses, with delicate golden drapes falling between them. Small brass lamps flickered around the edges, their flames dancing softly beneath the warm lights. In the centre, the sacred fire waited patiently for the final rituals.

But there was nothing peaceful about the rest of the hall.

People were everywhere.

Relatives hurried from one side to another, calling each other's names.

"Arre, woh varmala kahan hai?"

"Kisi ne photographer ko bulaya?"

"Pandit ji ko sab samaan mil gaya kya?"

A group of children ran between the rows of chairs until one of the older women finally caught them.

"Arre! Idhar udhar mat bhaago!"

Near the entrance, photographers moved through the crowd with their cameras, trying to capture every important moment. A few guests were already posing for pictures while others were busy fixing their clothes, checking their phones, or whispering excitedly about the bride and groom.

The wedding staff seemed to be running on pure panic. One person was searching for the missing garlands. Another was arguing with the caterers. A makeup artist hurried past with an open makeup kit in her hands. Someone was desperately looking for the bride's younger cousin. And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, the priest sat calmly before the sacred fire as though none of the madness around him concerned him.The entire hall was alive.

Laughter.

Music.

Voices.

Footsteps.

Camera flashes.

And beneath it all, the soft ringing of temple bells. It was the kind of wedding people would talk about for years. After all this wasn't an ordinary wedding.The groom wasn't an ordinary man And the bride had absolutely no idea how her life had come to this because while hundreds of people celebrated around her.

Anitha sat quietly behind the bridal curtain, staring down at her trembling hands.She had never felt more terrified in her life. The first thing Anitha noticed was the sound. Not the music. Not the laughter. Not even the constant clicking of cameras. It was the sound of her own heartbeat.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

It was so loud that for a moment she wondered if the people sitting closest to her could hear it. She sat perfectly still beneath the soft golden lights of the mandap, her hands resting nervously in her lap. Her fingers were covered in intricate mehendi, disappearing beneath the red-and-gold bangles around her wrists. The heavy silk red Lehenga she wore was beautiful—far more beautiful than anything she had ever imagined herself wearing. Everything around her looked like something out of a dream.

Fresh jasmine flowers hung from the pillars. Golden strings of flowers framed the mandap. The warm glow of the lamps reflected against the polished decorations. Relatives moved around constantly, whispering, smiling, taking pictures And somewhere beyond all of that were the cameras.

So many cameras.

Anitha lowered her eyes. She had never liked being the centre of attention. Today, unfortunately, she was the centre of everyone's attention. Because today She was getting married. Her throat tightened. She slowly breathed in. And then she made the mistake of looking to her right.

At him.

Virat Kohli.

Her husband-to-be.

He sat beside her, dressed in an ivory sherwani with subtle gold embroidery. His posture was serious, restrained and slightly irritated- like he was there because he was forced not because he wanted to be.

Anitha looked away.

Don't stare.

Please don't stare.

He's just a person.

Her brain immediately argued back.

He's Virat Kohli.

She swallowed. That was the problem. For everyone else, he was a world-famous cricketer. For her he had been something else long before today.A face on television, A name printed across newspapers, A player she had watched late at night when everyone else in the house was sleeping, A voice she had heard after countless victories, Someone she had secretly admired for years and now he was sitting less than a foot away from her. Wearing wedding clothes. Because he was marrying her. Anitha's eyes burned. She quickly blinked the feeling away. She couldn't cry. Not now. Not with all these cameras. Not with Virat sitting beside her. She heard the priest chanting something, but the words barely registered. Then she heard a familiar voice beside her.Low.Calm.

"Anitha."

Her entire body stiffened. She turned slightly. Virat’s Sister Bhavana was looking at her. Actually looking at her. Her eyes moved briefly to her face before returning to her eyes.

"Sab theek hai?"

Anitha nodded far too quickly.

"Haan."

She studied her expression.

"Sure?"

She nodded again.

"Haan... main theek hoon."

There was something about the way he looked at her that made her nervous. Not anger. Not annoyance. Just observation. As if she was trying to understand her.

"You're shaking."

Her eyes immediately dropped to her hands. She was. Her fingers were trembling slightly.

"I... thodi nervous hoon."

A faint smile touched her lips.

"Obviously."

Virat noticed them. He didn't say anything.

The priest called them forward. The ceremony continued. Anitha tried to concentrate. She tried to listen. She tried not to think about the fact that the man sitting beside her was the same person whose matches she had watched from behind the sofa when she was younger. The same man whose victories had once made her jump around her bedroom like a fool. The same man whose interviews she had watched more times than she would ever admit. And now she was about to become his wife. Her heart pounded harder.

The priest handed Virat the mangalsutra.

Anitha's breath caught. This was it. She lowered her head. The mandap seemed to disappear. There were no cameras. No relatives. No music. No noise. Only the feeling of Virat moving closer. She felt his fingers brush against the back of her neck as he carefully tied the mangalsutra. Then he applied the Sindoor without showing any emotions on his face. She closed her eye. She tried her best not to cry in front of everyone.

The sound of applause erupted around them. Anitha slowly lifted her head. For the first time that day, she looked directly at him. Virat was already looking at her. Their eyes met. And something inside her changed. Not because he was famous. Not because she had admired him for years. But because for the first time, the reality finally hit her. This wasn't a dream. This wasn't something she could wake up from. This was her life now. She was Anitha Kohli. His wife. And she had absolutely no idea what came next.

The ceremony ended several hours later. The room had become even louder. Family members surrounded them. People wanted photographs, Blessings, Hugs, Introductions.

Anitha smiled until her cheeks hurt. She answered questions she barely heard. She accepted gifts. She thanked people. And throughout all of it, she remained painfully aware of the man standing beside her. Virat. Sometimes their shoulders brushed. Sometimes he accidentally placed a hand lightly against her back while they moved through the crowd. Each time, Anitha's heart nearly stopped. At one point, Beside her, Virat shifted impatiently. He looked at the time on his watch. Again. His elder brother, who had been standing a little away from the mandap, noticed. Their eyes met. Virat gave him a look that needed no explanation. Come here. His brother walked over quietly.

“Bhai?”

Virat leaned slightly toward him.

“Yaar, mujhe ghar jaana hai.”

His brother blinked.

“Abhi?”

Virat gave him an irritated look.

“Haan, abhi.”

“Lekin shaadi abhi khatam hui hai. Sab log yahin hain.”

Virat exhaled sharply.

“Pata hai mujhe. Lekin main aur nahi baith sakta.”

His brother glanced toward Anitha.

She was looking down, pretending not to hear.

“Thak gaye ho?”

Virat's jaw tightened.

“Bahut.”

His brother studied him for a moment.

“Main Maa se poochta hoon.”

Virat nodded.

“Jaldi.”

His brother walked toward their mother, who was surrounded by relatives congratulating her.

“Maa.”

She turned.

“Kya hua?”

He lowered his voice.

“Virat pooch raha hai... hum chalein kya?”

His mother's eyebrows immediately rose.

“Abhi?”

He nodded.

“Woh abhi jaana chahta hai.”

She looked toward the mandap. Virat was sitting there, visibly impatient.

“Lekin abhi? Itne saare log aaye hain. Shaadi ka din hai. Thoda toh sabke saath baithne do.”

Her son sighed.

“Maa, aap usse samjha do.”

She walked toward Virat.

“Virat.”

He looked up.

“Kya hua?”

“Tum abhi jaana chahte ho?”

Virat didn't answer immediately. He glanced around at the crowd. Then back at her.

“Maa, main bahut thak gaya hoon.”

“Beta, thodi der aur ruk jao. Sab log tumse milna chahte hain.”

His expression hardened.

“Maa, please.”

She frowned.

“Virat, aaj tumhari shaadi hai. Log kya kahenge agar dulha hi shaadi ke turant baad chala gaya?”

His patience finally snapped.

“Mujhe nahi pata log kya kahenge.”

His mother fell silent.

Virat lowered his voice, but the irritation remained.

“Main sirf aapki wajah se yahan hoon.”

Anitha's fingers froze. She hadn't meant to listen.She really hadn't. But she heard every word. Virat continued.

“Aapne kaha tha shaadi kar lo. Maine kar li.”

His mother's face changed.

“Virat—”

“Ab kam se kam mujhe ghar jaane toh dijiye.”

“Lekin beta—”

“Maa, main bahut thak gaya hoon.”

His voice was sharper now.

“Main aur pretend nahi kar sakta ki main khush hoon.”

Anitha's heart sank. She looked down immediately. Her fingers tightened around the edge of her lehenga. Of course. Why had she expected anything different? Virat hadn't chosen her. He had chosen his mother. And suddenly, the beautiful mandap didn't feel beautiful anymore.

It felt suffocating. She blinked quickly, refusing to let the tears fall. She wouldn't cry. Not here. Not today. Not because of him.

A few moments later, Virat's mother finally sighed.

“Theek hai. Lekin sabse milkar jaana.”

Virat nodded.

“Fine.”

He turned away. Then his eyes fell on Anitha. She was still looking down. Something about her expression made him pause. He had noticed her being quiet throughout the ceremony. But this was different. She looked hurt. His eyebrows pulled together.

“Anitha.”

She slowly looked up.

“Haan?”

“Tum theek ho?”

She forced a smile.

“Haan.”

He studied her face.

“Pakka?”

She nodded.

“Ji.”

Virat remained silent for another second. Then he looked away. Neither of them knew that this tiny moment would eventually become one of the memories Anitha would remember for years. Because this was the first time Virat had looked at her and wondered what she was feeling. And it was the first time Anitha understood something painful. She might have entered this marriage with a heart full of feelings. But Virat had entered it with a heart full of reluctance.