Chapter 53: Chapter 53

The umpire dislodged the bails, signaling the end of the match.

The match ended in a draw, but for Mumbai, it felt like a victory.

They had held their own against a formidable Division 1 County side in foreign conditions, posting a massive total and bowling with discipline.

The sparse but enthusiastic crowd at the County Ground in Hove rose to their feet. The applause was warm, appreciative of the grit shown by the visitors.

"Well played, lads! Well played!" a spectator with a thick Sussex accent shouted near the boundary rope.

"That number 18 is special!" another shouted, pointing at Aryan, who was shaking hands with the opposition.

The players exchanged pleasantries. Cricket, after all, is a gentleman’s game.

"Hey, young man," a voice called out with a distinct accent.

Aryan turned around to see a short, stout man with a friendly face and a legendary aura. It was Mushtaq Ahmed, the spin wizard of Sussex and former Pakistani legend.

"Good game, sir," Aryan said, removing his cap as a sign of respect.

"No ’sir’ on the field, beta," Mushtaq smiled, his eyes crinkling. "I have bowled to many great players—Sachin, Lara, Dravid. You have feet like a dancer, just like them. Reading my googly at 15 isn’t easy."

"Thank you, Mushtaq Bhai. I just watched the hand," Aryan replied humbly.

"Keep watching it. You have a bright future. Maybe one day I’ll see you in the IPL everyone is talking about," Mushtaq said, patting Aryan on the shoulder. "Here."

He handed Aryan the match ball, which he had presumably taken from the umpire as a souvenir, but decided to gift it. "A souvenir from Hove."

"Thank you!" Aryan beamed.

From a distance, Rohit Sharma nudged Ajinkya Rahane. "Look at our golden boy. Getting gifts from legends now. Next, he’ll be having tea with the Queen."

"He deserves it, Rohit. That century saved us," Rahane replied with a smile.

"Have you contacted his management?" a flamboyant man with diamond studs in his ears asked, swirling a glass of expensive scotch. He looked out at the players leaving the field.

"We tried, Mr. Vittal," a nervous assistant replied. "But his agent, Ms. Meera Kapoor, said he’s strictly under contract with the Mumbai Cricket Association (MCA) right now."

"Contracts are made to be bought," Mr. Vittal scoffed. "The auction is in a few months.

Bangalore needs a local icon, but if we can’t get Rahul, I want this kid. He has the flair. He has the ’X-factor’."

"There is a complication, sir."

"His MCA contract has a buyout clause, but it’s set high. And for the IPL, he enters the auction pool. We can’t sign him directly unless he’s an uncapped catchment player, but he’s already making waves."

"How much is the release clause for foreign leagues?"

"80 Crore Rupees, sir."

The glass halted halfway to Mr. Vittal’s lips. Silence reigned for a moment.

"80 Crores? For a 15-year-old?"

"Yes, sir. His agent is... aggressive."

Mr. Vittal stared at Aryan walking off the pitch. A grin slowly formed on his face.

"Good. High price means high value. Keep an eye on him. I don’t want Chennai or Mumbai Indians sniffing around."

"15-Year-Old Prodigy Stuns Sussex: Is Aryan Sharma the Next Big Thing?"

Rohit Sharma read the headline from a UK sports tabloid aloud, using a terrible fake British accent.

"Someone’s a star," he added, poking Aryan who was trying to untangle his earphones.

"Stop it, Bhai," Aryan groaned, snatching the paper. "It’s just one innings."

"One innings? You hit a six into the commentary box! Harsha Bhogle hasn’t stopped tweeting about it," Dhawal Kulkarni chimed in from the seat behind.

"Guess you still have some energy left," Wasim Jaffer said, walking down the aisle. "Usually, youngsters are asleep by now."

"I’m running on adrenaline, Cap," Aryan smiled.

The bus ride to The Langham hotel was relatively quiet after the initial banter.

The fatigue of a four-day game (even a shortened practice one) was settling in. Most players drifted into sleep, heads lolling against the windows.

Coach Amre sat at the front, reviewing the stats sheet. He glanced back at Aryan, who was now asleep, looking every bit the teenager he was.

"How can he look so innocent here but be a monster on the pitch?" Amre thought. "We need to protect him from burnout."

[The Langham Hotel, London]

The bus hissed to a halt, waking Aryan up. He ran a hand through his messy hair.

"Need a haircut," he muttered. "Maybe I’ll get one in Southall."

"Okay boys, listen up," Coach Amre announced as they gathered in the lobby.

"We’ve had a grueling schedule. The management and I have decided to give you a break. We have a 3-day window before we fly back to Mumbai for the start of the Ranji season."

"So, you are free for the next 72 hours. No curfew, but no scandals. I don’t want to see any of you on the front page of The Sun for the wrong reasons. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Coach!" the players chorused, their faces lighting up.

As the players dispersed to their rooms to plan their mini-vacations, Aryan approached the coach.

Amre stopped. "Yes, Aryan? Something wrong?"

"No, sir. I just wanted to ask permission. My grandparents live in Southall. Since we have three days, can I stay with them instead of the hotel? My mom and sister are also there visiting."

Amre smiled warmly. "Of course, beta. Family is important. Just make sure you are back at the hotel by 10:00 AM on Monday for the departure.

And text Kulkarni your address just in case."

"Thank you, Coach!" Aryan said, his face beaming.

[Southall, West London]

The taxi navigated through the bustling streets of Southall.

It felt less like London and more like a cleaner, colder version of Punjab or Mumbai.

The smell of spices, tandoor, and frying jalebis wafted through the air. Signs were written in English, Hindi, and Punjabi.

The car pulled up to a modest, semi-detached brick house.

Aryan paid the driver and grabbed his kit bag. Before he could even knock, the door swung open.

A blur of motion tackled him. It was Riya.

"Easy, easy! I just played a match!" Aryan laughed, steadying his sister.

"You were amazing! We watched it on TV! Dadaji was jumping when you hit that six!" Riya exclaimed.

Behind her, Priya Sharma stood in the doorway, her eyes misting over.

"Mom," Aryan said softly, dropping his bag and hugging her.

"My brave boy," Priya whispered, kissing his forehead. "You look thinner. Are they feeding you properly?"

"Mom, I’m an athlete. I’m lean, not thin," Aryan argued weakly.

"Nonsense. Come inside. Dadi has made Gajar ka Halwa."

Inside the cozy living room, sat an elderly man with a stern face but twinkling eyes. Mr. Sharma (Senior) sat with a walking stick, a cricket ball in his hand.

"Finally decided to show up, superstar?" Dadaji grumbled good-naturedly.

Aryan touched his grandfather’s feet. "Bless me, Dadaji."

"You have the blessing of the Almighty, son. That cut shot against the spinner... pure class. Reminded me of Vishy (Gundappa Viswanath)," Dadaji said, analyzing the game immediately.

"Let the boy breathe, ji!" Dadi shouted from the kitchen. She waddled out, a tiny woman with immense energy, and pinched Aryan’s cheeks hard.

"Look at you! Handsome! Just like your grandfather before he lost his hair," Dadi teased, making Riya giggle.

The atmosphere was warm, filled with the specific kind of love only an Indian household can provide. For the next two days, Aryan wasn’t the ’Wonderkid’ or the ’Next Big Thing’. He was just a grandson, a son, and a brother.

The next morning, Aryan woke up late. No alarms, no fitness drills.

He came downstairs to find a hearty Punjabi breakfast waiting—Aloo Parathas dripping with white butter.

"Dadi, my diet..." Aryan protested feebly.

"Eat. You run so much, you burn it off blinking," Dadi commanded. Aryan obeyed.

Later that afternoon, Riya dragged him to Southall Park.

"Come on, my friends don’t believe you’re my brother," Riya complained.

They walked to the local park where a group of British-Asian kids were playing cricket with a tennis ball taped up with electrical tape.

"Oi, Riya! Who’s this?" a boy asked.

"My brother. The one I told you about," Riya said proudly.

"The one who plays for Mumbai? Yeah right, and I’m Kevin Pietersen," the boy scoffed.

Aryan smiled. "Can I have a bowl?"

The boys looked at him skeptically but tossed him the ball. Aryan didn’t do a full run-up. He just took three steps.

He released the ball. It was a leg-cutter.

The ball pitched, gripped the concrete surface, and jagged back sharply, hitting the single stump they had set up.

The boys stood with their mouths open.

"Bloody hell," one of them whispered. "It is him."

For the next hour, Aryan played with them. He didn’t dominate or show off; he just played gently, giving tips on grip and stance.

"Keep your head still, watch the ball till the end," Aryan instructed a young boy named Kabir.

By the time he left, he had signed three bats, two foreheads (at their request), and taken a dozen grainy photos on old Nokia phones.

"You’re a hero to them," Riya said softly as they walked back home.

"I’m just a cricketer, Riya," Aryan replied.

"To them, it’s the same thing."

The three days passed in a blink. It was time to leave.

Priya Sharma drove him to the hotel where the team bus would take them to Heathrow.

"We will stay here for another week with your grandparents, then we will come back to Mumbai," Priya said, her voice wavering slightly.

"Are you sure you don’t want to come back with me?" Aryan asked.

"No, Dadaji needs help with some medical appointments. We’ll be fine. Riya has her holidays," Priya assured him.

At the hotel drop-off, Aryan hugged his mother tightly.

"Take care, Mom. Don’t let Riya eat too much chocolate." Thɪs chapter is updated by n0velfire.net

"Hey!" Riya punched his arm. "Win the Ranji Trophy, idiot."

"I will," Aryan promised.

He watched them drive away until the car disappeared around the corner. A sense of determination settled over him.

He turned and walked into the hotel lobby. Rohit was there, looking refreshed but slightly heavier.

"How was the vacation?" Rohit asked.

"Great. Ready to work," Aryan replied.

"Good. Because Coach Amre looks like he wants to kill us with fitness drills as soon as we land in Mumbai," Rohit sighed.