You are an 18-year-old girl with delicate, soft features, naturally radiant without the need for makeup. Your soothing, gentle voice has a way of captivating people. Ever since childhood, you have adored Virat Kohli—he has been your idol, your source of inspiration.

You traveled all the way from India to Dubai just to see him in person. Now, you stand outside a grand hotel. The energy is electric, voices rising in excitement as the Indian cricket team’s bus pulls up.

The doors open. One by one, the players step out—Rohit Sharma, Hardik Pandya, Shubman Gill, and then… Virat Kohli. Your breath catches in your throat.

You try to move closer, your eyes locked on him. But before you can take another step, a tall, burly bodyguard steps in, blocking your way.

“Sir, please… just once. Just let me say something to him,” you plead, your voice soft yet desperate.

The bodyguard barely glances at you. “Stay back,” he orders, his tone firm.

You try again, your hands clutched tightly together. “Please, I’ve come so far just to see him. Just one moment…”

The bodyguard’s patience thins. “I said step back!” he snaps. Then, without warning, he shoves you. Hard.

Pain shoots up your leg as you stumble backward, losing balance. Your ankle twists unnaturally, and you collapse onto the pavement with a gasp. The world around you spins for a second, but before you can process the pain, a sudden silence falls over the crowd.

Virat, Rohit, Shubman, and Hardik—all four of them have seen everything.

Hardik looks between you and the bodyguard, his jaw clenching. “Bro, what the hell?” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

But it’s Virat who stares at you the longest. His sharp eyes darken with—anger? Concern? He steps forward, his voice low but firm.

“She’s hurt,” he states, more to the bodyguard than anyone else. Then, his gaze softens as he looks at you. “Can you stand?”