(Aanya’s POV)

I swear I didn’t even sleep properly last night.

My brain kept replaying one sentence on loop:

“You’re going to watch India vs Australia LIVE. And Aarav Singh… LIVE.”

At some point around 3 AM, I even sat up and whispered dramatically to the darkness:

“Bas ek baar… ek baar Aarav ko saamne dekh loon.”

So naturally, at 6:00 AM, I woke up before my alarm, before the sun, and definitely before my mother’s daily “uth jao Aanya!” attack.

For a second, I lay there staring at the ceiling, my heart doing full-on bhangra inside my chest.

“Is this real?” I muttered.

And then it hit me again. The match. The crowd. The energy. AARAV.

I shot up from the bed like a possessed squirrel. My blanket tangled around my legs and I almost fell, but did it matter?

NO.

I ran to the mirror—hair messy, eyes half-swollen, face looking like a sleepy potato—but my excitement? 10/10.

“Today,” I told my reflection with utmost seriousness, “you are going to behave like a normal human being.”

My reflection stared back like: Lol, sure.

Whatever. I brushed, showered, and towel-dried my long wavy hair, deciding to leave it in a ponytail so I wouldn’t look like a storm victim in stadium photos.

And then… the moment.

I opened my cupboard and pulled out the jersey.

AARAV SINGH

#07

My heartbeat actually slowed for a second—only to come back with double speed.

It wasn’t just a piece of cloth. It was emotion, devotion, madness, everything.

I hugged it to my chest like some heroine in a dramatic Bollywood scene.

“Aaru,” I whispered.

Yes. Aaru. It’s embarrassing but also healing for my soul.

I wore the jersey carefully, smoothing the fabric over my torso, as if Aarav himself stitched it for me. I paired it with high-waist jeans and white sneakers because obviously, I needed to look fangirl-but-not-crazy.

Then I leaned close to the mirror, applying kajal.

Just kajal. Nothing else.

I wanted to look cute, not like I was ready for a shaadi.

When I looked up, my hazel brown eyes almost sparkled.

Okay wow, maybe I was looking cute today.

I smiled at my reflection, biting my lip.

“Thoda zyada hi excited lag rahi ho,” I muttered.

But whatever. Today I was allowed to be insane.

My phone buzzed.

Priya:

Ready match ki Queen? Ya phir abhi bhi mirror ke saamne drama chal raha hai?

I snorted.

Aanya:

Shut up. I’m ready. Just come fast.

I grabbed my bag and tiptoed out. The house was still quiet except for faint kitchen sounds.

Mom looked at me from the stove, raising her eyebrows.

“VIP tickets?” she asked.

I nodded dramatically. “VIP, Mom. VIP. Priya ne diya!”

Mom smiled. “Good. Bas dhyaan rakhna. Drink water. Heat zyada ho to shade mein rehna.”

“Yes Mom,” I sighed, even though I knew I would spend the entire match screaming like an unhinged person.

Dad entered with his newspaper, looked at my jersey, looked at me, and said:

“Be home by nine.”

“Of course, Papa!”

He didn’t show it, but I knew he was amused.

The moment I stepped out, Priya honked her scooter twice.

"CHAL NA FANGIRL!” she yelled.

“Coming!” I shouted, jogging down.

Priya gave me a once-over and smirked.

“So you’re trying to impress your future husband?”

I smacked her arm. “Shut up! And drive.”

She laughed loudly, but honestly? Nothing could insult me today.

The entire world was cute.

The morning breeze hit my face as we zoomed through Mumbai traffic. The roads were buzzing already—cars decorated with mini flags, people wearing team India jerseys, stalls selling blue caps and face paint.

My heart was in my throat, my stomach was butterflies, my brain was glitter.

By the time we reached Wankhede Stadium, I actually forgot how to breathe.

Because the stadium wasn’t just a building—it was an entire world.

A blue world.

Crowds everywhere. People shouting. Kids holding posters. Vendors yelling “Flags! Jerseys! Face paint!”

Loud music playing. The smell of popcorn and samosas mixing with the salty Mumbai air.

My eyes went wide. My mouth actually hung open.

I whispered, “Oh. My. God.”

Priya looked at me like I had lost brain cells. “Calm down!”

“I CAN’T,” I squeaked.

“Why are you acting like you’re meeting Aarav personally?” she teased.

I clutched my chest dramatically. “Don’t give me hope, Priya.”

She laughed so loudly some people turned to look.

We walked toward the entrance and my hands were literally shaking.

This was real.

I was here.

I was actually, physically, breathing the same air Aarav would breathe in a few hours.

I looked around—kids laughing, fans chanting, couples taking selfies, uncles arguing about the pitch, teenagers running to get in first.

My heart felt like it was expanding with every step.

We scanned our tickets and entered the seating zone.

AND—

OH MY GOD.

The stadium from the inside?

A thousand times more insane.

The green field, the giant screens, the echo of people cheering, the sun glinting off the metal railings—

My chest tightened. My throat closed. My eyes welled up.

Priya gasped. “Aanya… are you CRYING?”

“I’m not crying,” I sniffed, wiping tears, “the wind just… touched my feelings.”

She shook her head, laughing.

But I didn’t care.

Because sitting here, in the huge stadium, wearing Aarav’s jersey, waiting for India to walk onto the field—it felt like a dream I had been nurturing since I was a little girl watching matches with Papa.

It felt surreal. Magical. A little overwhelming.

I sat down, clutching the edges of my seat, my heart still racing.

And then I whispered to myself…

“Aaru… I’m here.”

Little did I know…

Destiny was smiling quietly.

Because today wasn’t just match day.

It was the day my life quietly changed forever.

✨ End of chapter 3✨