𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞


The crowd roared, thousands of voices blending into an electric symphony. Under the blinding stadium lights, Virat Kohli stood at the crease, sweat trickling down his brow. The scoreboard flashed mercilessly—six runs needed off the last ball. Pressure was his playground, but tonight felt different.

His gaze flickered briefly to the VIP stands, where she sat—Amaya Kapoor. The woman who had once commanded cricket fields with the same fierce passion she now poured into music. Her laughter, wild and untamed, echoed in his memory louder than any stadium cheer.

The world saw a rockstar. He saw the girl who made his pulse race faster than any match ever could.

Amaya's lips curved into a knowing smile as their eyes met across the chaos. He felt the ground shift beneath him.

"Focus, Cheeku," he muttered under his breath, gripping the bat tighter.

Because falling for MS Dhoni's sister? That was a game far more dangerous than any championship final.







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