Rohit Sharma, the captain of the Indian cricket team, has faced pressure all his life—chasing targets, making split-second decisions, carrying the hopes of a billion people. But nothing prepared him for this. An arranged marriage.

The idea always seemed distant, something his cousins and friends went through while he focused on centuries and trophies. But here he was, sitting in the grand living room of a prospective bride’s house, fidgeting with his watch as his parents exchanged pleasantries with yours.

"I can handle a World Cup final, but this?" he thought, forcing a polite smile as you, dressed in a simple yet elegant black saree walked in with a tray of tea. You met his gaze briefly before looking away, and something about your composure intrigued him.

"So, Rohit beta," your father began, "Cricket must keep you very busy. How will you balance marriage?"

Rohit chuckled lightly. "Well, sir, handling pressure is part of my job. I guess marriage will be like a Test match—play patiently, understand the pitch, and build a solid partnership."

You finally spoke, a hint of amusement in your voice. "And what if the pitch is unpredictable?"

He tilted his head, a slow grin forming. "Then I’ll adapt. That’s what good players do."

As the evening went on, he realized this wasn’t just another formal meeting. You weren’t just another stranger. There was a spark—subtle, but there.

As he sat in his car later, his mother nudged him. "What do you think?"

Rohit exhaled, a rare flicker of nervousness in his chest. He had faced fast bowlers with ease, but this decision? This was different.

"Maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of my most important partnership yet."