Morning came quietly. Unlike the wedding night, there were no drums. No relatives calling name from every direction. No photographers asking her to smile. No priests chanting prayers. Just pale sunlight slipping through the curtains and spreading across the unfamiliar bedroom.

Anitha slowly opened her eyes. For a few seconds, she didn't know where she was. She stared at the ceiling, still half-asleep, her mind refusing to catch up with reality. Then her fingers brushed against something around her neck. The mangalsutra. Her eyes dropped. The tiny black and gold beads rested against her skin. Her breath caught. The memories came rushing back. The wedding. The mandap. The vows. Virat sitting beside her. His hand tying the mangalsutra around her neck. His expression completely unreadable.And then You're married.

Anitha closed her eyes. She had imagined being close to Virat Kohli more times than she would ever admit. She had imagined meeting him. Talking to him. Maybe, in some impossible fantasy, even being important to him. But never this. Never waking up in his house. Never wearing his name around her neck. Never having to face the reality that the man she had admired from a distance was now her husband. She slowly turned her head toward the other side of the bed. Empty. Anitha stared at the untouched pillow. There was no blanket. No watch. No phone. Nothing. He had already left. She didn't know why that disappointed her. Actually, she did.She simply didn't want to admit it. What did you expect, Anitha? A good-morning kiss? A smile? A husband waiting beside you? She almost laughed at herself. After everything he had said last night, expecting anything from him would be foolish.

She pushed the blanket aside and got out of bed. Her feet touched the cold marble floor. The room was beautiful. Elegant, spacious and unmistakably masculine. Dark wooden furniture. A large bookshelf filled with books and cricket-related memorabilia. Photographs from different stages of his career. A few framed jerseys. A bat displayed inside a glass case. Everything about the room belonged to Virat.

There wasn't a single thing that belonged to her. And somehow, that felt symbolic. was his wife. But she was still a stranger in his world. Anitha walked toward the mirror. Her reflection looked different. Her hair was slightly messy from sleep. There were faint traces of yesterday's makeup around her eyes. The red sindoor in her hair was still visible. She lifted her hand and touched it. Her eyes suddenly became wet.

"Nani..."

She whispered the name of the only person who had ever truly been home. Her grandmother. The woman who had raised her. The woman who had held her when she cried as a child. The woman who had taught her everything she knew. The woman who had stood behind her through every difficult moment. And the woman who had asked her to marry Virat.

Anitha took a deep breath. Whatever happened next, she had promised her grandmother she would try. She would try to make this work. Even if Virat didn't want it.

By the time Anitha came downstairs, the house was already alive. The smell of freshly brewed tea filled the dining area. Someone was laughing in the living room. A television played quietly in the background. Two household staff members were moving between the kitchen and dining room, placing breakfast dishes on the table. Anitha paused at the entrance. She still wasn't used to the house. Yesterday, every corner had been filled with wedding decorations and relatives. Today, it felt like a completely different place. Quieter.More personal.

Virat's mother noticed her immediately.

"Anitha, beta. Aao."

(Anitha, dear. Come.)

She smiled warmly.

Anitha walked over.

"Good morning, aunty."

"Good morning."

She pulled out the chair beside her.

"Idhar baitho."

(Sit here.)

Anitha sat down.

For the first time that morning, she felt a little less nervous.

Virat's mother looked at her carefully.

"Tumne breakfast kiya?"

(Did you have breakfast?)

Anitha shook her head.

"Nahi."

(No.)

"Phir pehle kuch khao."

(Then eat something first.)

She immediately signalled one of the staff members.

"Anitha ke liye thoda aur garam paratha le aao."

(Bring some more hot parathas for Anitha.)

Anitha smiled.

"Ji."

One of the older relatives sitting across the table smiled mischievously.

"Arre, kal tak toh sab tumhe Anitha bula rahe the. Aaj se bahu."

Everyone laughed softly.

Anitha lowered her eyes, embarrassed.

Virat's mother smiled.

"Ab aadat daal lo."

(Now get used to it.)

Anitha gave a small smile.

"Ji."

There was warmth around the table. People were talking about the wedding. About how beautiful the decorations had been. About relatives who had danced too much. About the photographer who had apparently taken hundreds of unnecessary pictures. Anitha listened quietly. She didn't know when she had started feeling comfortable. Perhaps it was simply because Virat's mother was making an effort. She didn't treat Anitha like an outsider. She kept putting food on her plate. Asking if she needed anything. Making sure she wasn't sitting alone. It reminded Anitha of her grandmother. That thought made her chest ache.

"Beta?"

Anitha looked up.

"Ji?"

"Sab theek hai?"

(Is everything alright?)

Anitha nodded quickly.

"Haan."

(Yes.)

Virat's mother studied her for another moment.

Then she smiled.

"Achha."

She didn't push.

And Anitha was grateful.

Virat was finishing his morning training. The familiar rhythm of the cricket ground was comforting. The sound of the ball hitting the bat. The thud of footsteps on the pitch. The occasional shout from the coaching staff. The smell of freshly cut grass. This was the world Virat understood. Numbers. Fitness. Practice. Discipline. Pressure. Cricket never asked him to explain his feelings. Marriage did. And that was exactly why he had no idea how to deal with it. He picked up his phone after training. There were dozens of messages.

Family.

Friends.

Team members.

Congratulations.

Jokes.

Memes.

He ignored most of them.

Then his phone rang.

Rohit.

Virat answered.

"Haan?"

"Good morning, Mr. Married Man."

Virat closed his eyes.

"Rohit, please."

Rohit laughed.

"Arre kya please? Shaadi ho gayi hai tumhari."

(Why are you saying please? You're married now.)

"Maloom hai."

(I know.)

"Toh bhabhi ko good morning bola?"

Virat frowned.

"Subah se tum logon ko sirf meri shaadi ki padi hai?"

(Since morning, is my marriage the only thing you people care about?)

Hardik's voice suddenly came from the other end.

"Bilkul."

(Absolutely.)

Virat sighed.

"Hardik, phone Rohit ko do."

Hardik laughed.

"Virat bhai, sach batao. Bhabhi ne tumhe daanta toh nahi?"

(Tell us honestly. Did your wife scold you?)

"Pagal ho kya?"

(Are you crazy?)

Rohit burst out laughing. Then said,

"Chhod do yaar. Pehle din hi pareshaan kar rahe ho."

(Leave him alone,. You're bothering him on the first day itself.)

"Thank you."

Virat finally sounded relieved. Then another voice came. Calm. Familiar.

"Cheeku,"

He immediately straightened.

"Mahi bhai."

Dhoni chuckled.

"Shaadi mubarak."

(Congratulations on the marriage)

"Thank you."

A brief silence followed.

Then Dhoni asked,

"Khush ho?"

(Are you happy?)

Virat didn't answer immediately. He looked across the empty ground. His expression hardened.

"Pata nahi."

(I don't know.)

Dhoni didn't tease him. Instead, he simply said,

"Time do."

(Give it time.)

Virat frowned.

"Kisko?"

(Give time to whom?)

"Khud ko bhi. Aur usse bhi."

(To yourself. And to her.)

Virat remained silent.

Dhoni continued.

"Har cheez pehle din samajh nahi aati."

(You don't understand everything on the first day.)

Virat looked down at the phone. For once, he didn't have an argument.

"Baad mein baat karta hoon."

(I'll talk later.)

He ended the call. For several seconds, he simply stood there. Then he shook his head. He wasn't going to think about it. He had enough things to deal with.

It was almost noon when Virat returned. The front door opened.NAnitha was sitting in the living room with his mother, looking through some wedding photographs. She heard footsteps. She looked up. And froze for a second. Virat walked inside wearing a black pair of loose jeans and a blue sports T-shirt. A towel hung casually around his neck. He looked tired. But even like that, there was something intimidating about him.

His eyes briefly met Anitha's. She immediately looked away.

His mother smiled.

"Virat, aa gaya?"

(Virat, you're back?)

"Haan."

(Yes.)

His eyes moved toward Anitha again. His mother looked between them.

"Virat, jao, jaake fresh ho jao. Anitha, tum bhi room mein jao beta, uske saath."

(Virat, go freshen up. Anitha, you also go to the room with him.)

Anitha's eyes widened.

"Nahi. Main kyun, aunty?"

(No. Why should I go, aunty?)

His mother looked at her innocently.

"Arre, tum jao uske saath. Help karo."

(Come on, go with him. Help him.)

Virat and Anitha looked at each other at exactly the same time. Anitha immediately became nervous. Her fingers began fidgeting with the edge of her shawl. Virat looked equally caught off guard. He slowly turned toward his mother.

"Ma, mujhe help nahi chahiye."

(Mom, I don't need help.)

His expression became rigid.

"Ye mera ghar hai. Main apne kaam akele kar sakta hoon. I am not a child."

(This is my house. I can do my things myself. I am not a child.)

His mother gave him the kind of look only a mother could give her stubborn son.

"Main jaanti hoon."

(I know.)

Then she pointed toward Anitha.

"Lekin usse bhi le jao tumhare saath kamre mein."

(But take her with you to the room as well.)

Anitha quickly intervened.

"It's okay, aunty. Main aapke saath hi—"

His mother shook her head.

"Nahi beta. Tum dono jao."

(No, dear. You both go.)

Virat exhaled heavily. He looked at Anitha.

"Chalo."

(Come.)

Anitha silently followed him upstairs. The moment they entered the bedroom, the silence became almost unbearable. Virat walked toward the wardrobe. Anitha stood near the door for a moment, unsure what she was supposed to do. Virat glanced at her.

"Tum baith sakti ho."

(You can sit.)

She nodded.

"Ji."

Anitha sat on the edge of the bed. Virat disappeared into the bathroom. The door closed. She released the breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Finally alone. She reached for her phone. Instagram was already overflowing with notifications.

Tags.

Mentions.

Friend requests.

Messages.

She opened the app. Her eyes widened. There were photographs from yesterday already circulating everywhere. Her wedding outfit. The mandap. Her pictures beside Virat. Some pages had already figured out her name. Anitha quickly ignored most of the requests. She wasn't interested in any of it. Then she accidentally came across a fan page.

A familiar face appeared on the screen. Virat. Anitha's expression softened instantly. There were edits from his matches. His celebrations. His centuries. Old interviews. Pictures from different years of his career. She smiled without realizing it. She had seen most of these photographs before. Many times. She scrolled. One edit transitioned from an old photograph of Virat to a more recent one. Anitha stared at the screen. A tiny smile appeared on her face.

How did this actually happen?

The man she had watched through a screen for years was now in the bathroom of the room she was sitting in. Her husband. She shook her head.

"This is crazy."

She whispered it to herself. She didn't realize how quickly time was passing. Half an hour later, the bathroom door opened. Virat stepped out. Freshly showered. His blue sports T-shirt was slightly loose over his shoulders, paired with black jeans. A towel rested around his neck. His damp hair stuck out in different directions, droplets of water still visible near his temples. He stopped. His eyes immediately went toward the bed. Anitha was sitting there, completely absorbed in her phone. She hadn't noticed him. Virat stared at her for a moment. There was something oddly peaceful about her expression. She wasn't nervous. She wasn't trying to impress him. She wasn't even aware he was watching her.

He cleared his throat.

Anitha suddenly looked up. Her eyes widened. She quickly locked her phone and stood.

"Oh..."

She looked around awkwardly.

"Sorry."

Virat frowned slightly.

"Kisliye?"

(For what?)

"Nothing."

She looked down. Virat watched her for another second. Then he finally spoke.

"Kal raat ke liye..."

She looked at him.

He continued.

"Jo maine kaha tha..."

She waited.

"Main nahi chahta tha tumhe hurt karna."

Anitha said.

"Main samajhti hoon."

(I understand.)

"Good."

She nodded. Then quietly added,

"Lekin samajhna aur hurt na hona... dono alag cheezein hain."

(But understanding something and not being hurt by it are two different things.)

Virat became still. He hadn't expected that. Anitha looked away.

"Main aapse kuch expect nahi kar rahi."

(I'm not expecting anything from you.)

Her voice was soft.

"Bas mujhe thoda waqt chahiye."

(I just need some time.)

Virat stared at her. For the first time, he noticed something. She wasn't demanding anything from him. She wasn't crying. She wasn't trying to make him feel guilty. She was simply asking for space.

He nodded.

"Okay."

It was the closest thing to agreement they had reached.

Later that afternoon, Anitha was sitting in the bedroom when her phone rang. She smiled immediately when she saw the name.

Nani ❤️

She smiled. For the first time that day, the nervousness in her chest disappeared. She immediately answered.

"Hello, Nani."

(Hello, Nani.)

Her grandmother's familiar voice came through the phone.

"Hello, meri bachchi."

(Hello, my child.)

Anitha smiled. And for a moment, the enormous house around her didn't feel quite so unfamiliar. She had her grandmother. The one person who had always been home. The one person whose voice could make everything feel alright. And she had no idea that this phone call was about to bring her work—and another unexpected connection to Virat's world—straight back into her life.