The airport lounge buzzed with quiet energy—businessmen on calls, families juggling luggage, and a few starstruck glances thrown at the tall guy in a cap and hoodie trying to go unnoticed.
Vignesh Puthur tugged the cap lower. He was used to the attention by now—the selfies, the whispers, the "Is that him?" looks. But today, he just wanted coffee and five minutes of peace before boarding the flight to his first international series.
"Excuse me, that's my seat."
He looked up. Standing there was a girl in jeans, dusty sneakers, a loose beige kurta, and a camera slung around her neck. Her eyes sparkled like she'd just seen something worth capturing—definitely not him.
Vignesh raised an eyebrow. "Didn't see your name on it."
She blinked, clearly unimpressed. "Well, it had my backpack on it. And I don't see your name either, Mr. Hoodie."
He smirked. A rare moment. Someone who didn't recognize him—or didn't care.
And that was how Vignesh met her. The girl who had stories in her lens, not stadiums. And who had no idea she'd just argued with the country's biggest cricket crush.
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