In the middle of a noisy, loving, overcrowded house lived twenty-four-year-old Aanya Sharma — the only daughter among four brothers, two bhabhis, a grandmother who ruled the kitchen like a queen, and parents who believed family was the greatest wealth. Their house was never silent. There were always utensils clinking, television debates playing, someone arguing over the remote, or the pressure cooker whistling like it had secrets to tell.
Aanya loved it. But she also wanted more.
She was unmarried, ambitious, and quietly rebellious in her own thoughtful way. While her cousins discussed wedding proposals and gold jewelry, Aanya dreamed of headlines, microphones, flashing cameras, and her name printed boldly in newspapers. She had studied Journalism and Public Relations, graduating with distinction. She didn't just want a job — she wanted to be known, respected, remembered.
And she had another dream she rarely said out loud.
She loved cricket.
Not just casually. Not just during world tournaments. She understood field placements, batting averages, strike rates, and bowling strategies better than most of her brothers. She would sit cross-legged in front of the television, analyzing matches with intense focus. When commentators debated decisions, she often argued back — and usually won.
But hidden beneath her professional ambition was a romantic fantasy: one day, she would marry a cricketer.
Her brothers laughed when she once mentioned it.
"Why not marry the Prime Minister while you're at it?" one teased.
Aanya just smiled. She wasn't joking.
The Beginning of Her Journey
After months of job applications, Aanya finally landed an internship at a growing sports media company in Mumbai. It wasn't glamorous — long hours, little pay, and endless editing work. But it was close to the game she loved.
Her parents were hesitant about sending their unmarried daughter to another city, but her determination convinced them. She promised she would focus on her career, not distractions.
Little did she know how life would twist that promise.
Her big break came when her editor asked, "Aanya, can you cover the domestic league press conference tomorrow? Our senior reporter is sick."
Her heart nearly exploded with excitement.
"Yes, sir."
The next day, dressed in a simple pastel kurti with neatly tied hair, she entered the stadium media hall. Cameras flashed. Reporters whispered. And then he walked in.
Arjun Mehra.
Twenty-seven. Vice-captain of the team. Stylish but grounded. Known for his aggressive batting and calm leadership. A rising national star.
Aanya had watched him play countless times. She knew his stats by heart.
But seeing him in person felt different.
He answered questions confidently, smiling politely at predictable queries. When it was Aanya's turn, she stood up, palms slightly sweaty.
"Arjun, in the last match you shifted from aggressive powerplay batting to a more defensive strategy mid-innings. Was that pre-planned, or a response to the pitch conditions?"
The room went quiet.
Arjun looked at her — surprised.
"That's… a very good question," he said thoughtfully. "It was the pitch. Most people didn't notice that."
Their eyes met for a second longer than professional.
And something shifted.
Crossing Paths
After the conference, as reporters packed up, Arjun approached her.
"You're new, right?"
"Yes."
"You actually watch cricket," he said with a small smile.
"I breathe cricket."
He laughed — genuinely.
That short conversation turned into occasional nods at matches. Then casual greetings. Then brief interviews where he requested her specifically.
Her editor noticed her insightful questions and clarity in writing. Soon, she was promoted to junior sports correspondent.
Aanya kept everything professional. She knew rumors spread fast. But over months, respect turned into comfort. Comfort into friendship.
Arjun admired that she never treated him like a celebrity. She challenged his opinions, criticized his poor performances honestly in articles, and congratulated him without exaggeration.
One evening after a match, he texted her.
"Coffee? Not an interview. Just coffee."
Her heart raced.
She hesitated.
Then typed: "Okay."
The Risk
Dating a public figure was nothing like her childhood fantasies.
They couldn't walk freely in crowded places. Cameras followed. Social media speculated. Some fans criticized her, accusing her of using him for fame.
It hurt.
But Aanya had built her own identity by then. Her articles were trending. She hosted a sports analysis segment online. Her voice mattered.
One day, a gossip portal published exaggerated headlines linking her career growth to Arjun's influence.
She was furious.
"I've worked for everything I have," she told him.
"I know," he replied firmly. "And so does anyone who actually understands cricket."
He held her hand.
"Don't shrink yourself because people talk."
That was the moment she knew — this wasn't just a crush. It was partnership.
Family Storm
Eventually, she told her family.
Silence filled the dining room.
"A cricketer?" her father repeated.
Her grandmother adjusted her glasses. "Is he a good man?"
"Yes," Aanya said softly. "And he respects me."
Her brothers investigated him like detectives. Stats, interviews, reputation — everything.
Arjun visited their home weeks later.
He touched her parents' feet respectfully. Complimented her mother's cooking. Discussed cricket passionately with her brothers. Sat patiently listening to her grandmother's stories.
By the end of the evening, even her skeptical father smiled.
"If you can handle our loud family," he said to Arjun, "you can handle marriage."
Everyone laughed.
Dreams Realized
Years ago, Aanya had dreamed of fame and success.
Now she was hosting a national sports show. Her analysis was sharp, respected, and widely followed. She had built her name — not as someone's girlfriend, but as a strong journalist.
And beside her stood Arjun — proud, supportive, never threatened by her ambition.
Their wedding was simple but beautiful. Not overly glamorous, despite media attention. She wore elegance, not extravagance. He looked at her the same way he had during that first press conference — surprised and impressed.
During the reception, her brother whispered, "So… Prime Minister next?"
She laughed.
"I already won my match."
Epilogue
Late one night after marriage, they sat on their balcony watching highlights of an old game.
"You know," Arjun said, "I used to think cricket was my whole world."
"And now?" she asked.
He smiled.
"Now I know it's just one part. The rest is you."
Aanya leaned back, satisfied.
She had chased her dreams — not by waiting for luck, but by building her own path. She became successful. She became known. She married a cricketer.
But more importantly -
She never stopped being herself.