The morning after the kiss felt illegal.

Not morally.

Publicly.

Arjun Kapoor woke up to 327 missed calls.

His PR manager.

Board members.

Sponsors.

His mother.

And one message from the team group chat.

Pant:

Bro kissed in front of 80k people and slept peacefully??

Rohit:

Captain, do we need permission slips before expressing emotions now?

Virat:

Next match strategy: win → kiss → repeat.

Arjun groaned.

Then smiled.

At breakfast—

He entered the dining hall.

Every single teammate stared.

Silence.

Then Pandya clapped slowly.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced,

“the man who turned cricket into a rom-com.”

Applause.

Arjun raised an eyebrow.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

Ashwin smirked.

“Neither does subtlety, apparently.”

Pant leaned in.

“So tell us—

was it premeditated or pure impulse?”

Arjun sipped coffee calmly.

“Match awareness,” he replied.

“Right moment. Right shot.”

Laughter exploded.

Across the city—

Ruhe Sharma faced her own tribunal.

Three best friends.

One living room.

Zero mercy.

“You kissed the Indian captain. In a stadium,” Neha screamed.

Ruhe removed her spectacles calmly.

“He kissed me.”

Meera gasped.

“DON’T DOWNPLAY THIS.”

Anjali squinted.

“So… how is he in real life?”

Ruhe smiled innocently.

“Overconfident. Annoyingly principled.

Plays straight when he should sweep.”

Pillows flew at her.

Then the media arrived.

Outside Ruhe’s office.

Outside her apartment.

Everywhere.

A reporter shoved a mic forward.

“Ms. Sharma, are you influencing team finances through personal relations?”

Ruhe folded her arms.

“Are you influencing journalism through stupidity?”

The reporter blinked.

She continued sweetly,

“If loving someone disqualifies women from their careers,

we should audit society first.”

Mic drop.

Again.

At practice—

Arjun struggled to focus.

Because Ruhe sat in the stands.

Not hiding.

Not apologizing.

Watching.

Pant noticed.

“Captain,” he whispered loudly,

“your girlfriend is disrupting national productivity.”

Arjun shot him a look.

“She’s observing.”

Virat laughed.

“Sure. Observing how badly you’re missing.”

Arjun missed another ball.

Groans.

Ashwin patted his shoulder.

“Relax. Even legends lose balance when emotionally aligned.”

Later—private moment.

Practice nets emptied.

Arjun approached the stands.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

Ruhe smirked.

“You kissed me in public.

This is your version of concern?”

He smiled.

“I’m worried the world might scare you.”

She stepped closer.

“You underestimate how much I enjoy watching men panic.”

His laugh was soft.

Genuine.

“You’re dangerous,” he said.

She leaned in.

“So are you.

Difference is—I don’t pretend otherwise.”

Evening news blared everywhere.

HEADLINE:

Love, Cricket & Controversy — Who Is Ruhe Sharma?

Panels debated.

Supporters argued.

Trolls attacked.

Arjun watched silently.

Then turned the TV off.

“This will get ugly,” he said.

Ruhe shrugged.

“I deal in ugly truths daily.”

He reached for her hand.

Public risk.

Private certainty.

She didn’t pull away.