Chapter 64: The Sound of Thunder
The morning after the Delhi heist, the world looked different. Not literally—the sun still rose over the Aravalli hills, baking Jaipur in a golden haze—but the lens through which the world viewed Aryan Sharma had shifted irrevocably.
He wasn't just "The Wonderkid" or "The Mumbai Prodigy" anymore. He was the "Match Winner."
At the breakfast buffet in the Rambagh Palace, the atmosphere was raucous. The foreign players—Shane Watson, Graeme Smith, Sohail Tanvir—were laughing, banging tables, and dissecting the previous night's victory.
"Did you see Sehwag's face when you scooped McGrath?" Shane Watson asked, piling bacon onto his plate. "He looked like he'd swallowed a lemon."
"I think he was more shocked that a 15-year-old has better knees than him," Aryan quipped, grabbing a glass of orange juice.
