The adrenaline of a World Cup victory burns hot in the stadium—pitch invasions, interviews, locker-room celebrations that stretch into the early hours. Eventually the fire recedes, leaving exhaustion.
In the forty-eight hours after the triumph at the Melbourne Cricket Ground, the Indian national team fragmented. The calendar afforded no time for parades.
The BCCI executed its plans. The senior core—the men who had battled through Australia—were granted a rest period. A younger, rotated squad, under the interim captaincy of KL Rahul, boarded a flight across the Tasman Sea to face New Zealand in a white-ball series.
For Siddanth Deva, Virat Kohli, Rohit Sharma, and the rest of the senior group, the journey led back to the subcontinent.
The return included a layover in New Delhi. The squad was escorted through the gates of 7 Lok Kalyan Marg for a luncheon hosted by Prime Minister Narendra Modi.
The atmosphere at the residence was warm. Deva, in a black bandhgala, presented the Prime Minister with a signed World Cup jersey. The conversations were light. Virat recounted the chase against Pakistan.
Beneath the celebration, a transition was taking place.
As the players stood in the gardens, Ravi Shastri gathered the team. The Head Coach did not look tired, but there was a finality in his eyes.
"Boys," Shastri's voice cut through the chatter. "When I took this job, I told you that we weren't just going to compete. We were going to step onto foreign soil, look the opposition in the eye, and take what was ours. And you did it."
He looked around the circle, making eye contact with Rohit, Virat, and finally Deva.
"We have conquered Australia. We have conquered England. We have lifted the World Cup at Lords and the MCG," Shastri continued, emotion coating his voice. "There is no trophy left for me to help you win. The constant travel, the bio-bubbles, the living out of suitcases... it takes a toll. It is time for me to step away. I am officially stepping down as the Head Coach of the Indian Cricket Team."
Silence fell over the squad. They had known this was coming, but hearing it made it real.
"Rahul Dravid is already in New Zealand with the younger boys," Shastri announced, a smile breaking across his face. "You are in good hands. The wall will guide you forward. But never forget the fire we built here. You are the greatest touring side in the history of this country. Walk like champions."
Deva stepped forward and pulled the coach into an embrace. "Thank you, Ravi Bhai," he said. "For backing us in every difficult situation. For giving us the armor."
"You built the armor, Sid," Shastri laughed, clapping him on the back. "I just made sure nobody tried to take it off you. Go home. Get some rest. The real work starts next year."
---
Three hours later, the Nexus corporate jet was cruising at forty thousand feet, descending toward Hyderabad.
The cabin was quiet. Rahul, Deva's executive assistant, was asleep in a reclining seat. Deva sat alone in the rear section, a cup of black coffee on the table beside him.
He looked out the window at the clouds. The responsibilities of the captaincy were suspended. For the next twenty days, he was not required to analyze pitch conditions, manage fast-bowler workloads, or face the press.
SYSTEM ALERT: CAMPAIGN EVALUATION COMPLETE.
WINNING T20 WORLD CUP 2022
REWARD UNLOCKED: EXPERT PHYSICS SKILL.
Deva's breath caught.
When he had acquired the Adept Biology and Chemistry skills, the integration had been a sudden understanding of cellular structures and molecular bonds.
The Expert Physics Skill was different. It was not a download of a textbook. It was a shift in perception.
In five seconds, the laws of the universe stopped being mathematical concepts and became a native language.
Deva opened his eyes. The interior of the jet looked the same, but his brain was processing the environment with a new clarity.
He looked at the cup of coffee. He didn't just see a hot beverage; his cortex calculated the heat transfer from the liquid to the ceramic mug, the rate of entropy, the convection currents in the liquid.
He looked out the window at the wing. He could sense the aerodynamic drag. He understood the Bernoulli principle keeping the aircraft suspended, visualizing the high-pressure zones beneath the wing and the low-pressure zones above it. He could calculate the shear stress on the rivets holding the fuselage together by observing the vibration of the cabin.
Kinetic energy, gravitational constants, fluid dynamics, and quantum mechanics were no longer equations on a whiteboard. They were truths he could perceive in real time.
He exhaled, his heart rate settling. The computing power required to process this was managed by his neural augmentations.
The architect had been handed the blueprints to the universe.
---
The late afternoon sun was painting the sky purple and gold as the Range Rover pulled off the highway and approached the iron gates of the Shamshabad estate.
As the gates swung open, revealing the mango orchards and the driveway, Deva felt the remaining tension of the World Cup campaign leave his muscles.
The SUV rolled to a halt at the base of the veranda steps.
Before Rahul could put the vehicle in park, a streak of golden fur bounded across the lawn. Ronnie let out a series of barks, his tail wagging so hard his entire back half was shaking.
Deva pushed the door open and stepped into the Hyderabad air. He dropped to one knee, catching the dog as it launched itself at his chest, laughing as Ronnie licked his face.
"I missed you too, buddy," Deva said, ruffling the dog's ears.
He stood up, looking toward the wooden double doors of the farmhouse.
His family was waiting.
Vikram, Sesikala, Subba Rao, and Suma stood on the veranda, their faces radiating pride. Standing at the front of the group, holding a brass thali, was Krithika.
She wore a dark blue cotton saree. Her hair was pulled back, and her eyes were shining.
Deva walked up the stone steps, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers. He knew better than to argue with Telugu tradition.
Krithika stepped forward. Resting on the brass plate was a mound of burning camphor, its flame cutting through the dusk, alongside a copper vessel filled with water mixed with turmeric and kumkum, rendering it red.
She performed the Aarti. She circled the burning camphor in front of Deva's face three times clockwise, the scent of the smoke filling the air between them. She then took the vessel of red water, circled it around him to absorb the negative energy, and poured the liquid onto the stone steps, neutralizing the weight of the world's gaze.
Finally, she reached out, her thumb pressing a round dot of red kumkum onto the center of his forehead.
"Now," Krithika whispered. "You can come home."
Before the moment could linger, the wooden doors behind the grandparents burst open.
"NANA!"
The twin shriek was deafening.
Aadhya and Rishi, having been forced to wait inside until the rituals were completed, exploded onto the veranda.
Aadhya sprinted across the stone tiles. Rishi was a fraction of a second behind her, his face split into a grin.
Deva dropped to his knees in the middle of the veranda.
Aadhya hit his chest first. Deva caught her, wrapping his left arm around her waist. Rishi collided with his right side a millisecond later, throwing his arms around Deva's neck.
Deva scooped both of them up, pulling them against his chest. He kissed the tops of their heads, listening to their overlapping babbles.
Deva laughed. "I missed you so much, monsters."
"You got the cup!" Aadhya shrieked, grabbing two handfuls of his beard and shaking his head. "I saw on the TV! You got the big shiny cup!"
"I did," Deva smiled, looking into her eyes. "And I promised we would race as soon as I got back. Is your pony ready?"
"My pony is very fast!" Aadhya declared, pointing at her sneakers.
"You batted very well, Nana," Rishi added, resting his cheek against Deva's collarbone.
"Thank you, buddy," Deva chuckled, standing up, balancing one on each hip.
He walked into the house, greeting his parents and his in-laws, accepting their blessings. The pressure of being a national icon was replaced by the reality of being a son, a husband, and a father.
An hour later, the dust of travel had been washed away.
Deva had spent forty-five minutes soaking in a hot bath in the master suite, letting the heat melt the aches out of his muscles. He changed into white sweatpants and a red t-shirt, his hair still damp.
He walked downstairs to the dining room.
The teakwood table was laden with a feast. Sesikala and Suma had spent the afternoon in the kitchen. There were no protein shakes, no measured meals, and no dietary restrictions.
There was steaming white rice. Gongura mutton curry. Crispy pesarattu with ginger chutney. A bowl of avakaya.
The family sat around the table. The conversation was loud and overlapping.
Subba Rao and Vikram debated the winter yields for the estate's mango orchards. Krithika detailed her visits to the Nexus Foundation pediatric wards. Aadhya attempted to negotiate for a larger portion of payasam, while Rishi separated the curry leaves from his rice, organizing them into a pile on the edge of his plate.
---
The peace of the homecoming lasted twelve hours.
The next morning, Deva was sitting on the rear veranda, enjoying a cup of black coffee as the sun burned the dew off the lawns. The air was cool.
His phone, resting on the wicker table, vibrated.
The caller ID displayed Arjun.
Deva swiped the screen, bringing the phone to his ear. "Morning, CEO."
"I gave you one night to sleep, Sid. I consider that generous," Arjun's voice crackled through the speaker. He didn't sound like a man managing a conglomerate. He sounded like a kid who had unlocked a vault.
"What is it, Arjun?" Deva asked, smiling.
"It's finished," Arjun breathed out. "The lockdown project. The prototype is assembled. It's ready for a shakedown."
Deva's posture shifted.
They had designed an electric hypercar in lockdown.
"The Vayu is ready?" Deva asked.
"The Nexus Vayu is currently loaded into a climate-controlled transport truck," Arjun confirmed. "I've rented out the private testing track near the aerospace Special Economic Zone on the outskirts of the city for the entire day. No press. No cameras. Just us and the engineering team."
"I'm on my way," Deva said, standing up. Then he paused. "How's Anjali? She's eight months now, isn't she?"
"She is," Arjun said, the adrenaline in his voice dropping a notch. "Uncomfortable, and she made it very clear she is not spending the day on her feet. Doctor wants her resting."
"Good. Tell her I asked." Deva looked back toward the house, where Aadhya's voice carried from the kitchen. "I'll bring the twins. They've earned a day out with their father."
"We built a reinforced rear seating module so they could ride in it," Arjun said. "Closed track. It'll be safe. See you in an hour."
Deva found Krithika in the kitchen, a mug of tea in her hands, the twins arguing over whose shoes were faster.
"Our new car is ready," he said. "I'm taking the twins to the track for a few hours. Closed circuit. No press."
Krithika studied his face, then the twins, then nodded. "Don't let Aadhya talk you into anything stupid. And bring them back before they forget they have a mother."
"I'll bring them back loud and sticky. That's the deal."
He crouched to the twins' height. "Who wants to see the fastest car in the city?"
Aadhya's hand shot up so fast she nearly overbalanced. Rishi only nodded, but his eyes have a spark in them.
Ninety minutes later, the Range Rover pulled off the highway, navigating a guarded access road that led into the industrial sector surrounding the Hyderabad airport.
The private testing track was a three-kilometer ribbon of asphalt, featuring high-speed curves and a one-kilometer straightaway designed for top-speed telemetry testing.
Deva parked near the pit lane garages, unbuckled the twins, and walked them toward the open bay of Garage 1. Aadhya pulled on his hand the entire way. Rishi walked half a step behind, taking in the concrete, the cables, the smell of rubber.
Arjun was already there, standing with a group of Nexus automotive engineers in black polo shirts.
Resting in the center of the garage, surrounded by diagnostic screens and telemetry cables, was the vehicle.
It was striking.
The Nexus Vayu (Sanskrit for Wind) did not look like a traditional automobile. It looked like a stealth fighter fused with a Le Mans prototype. The bodywork was matte exposed carbon fiber, devoid of paint to save weight. The aerodynamics were aggressive—a low front splitter, side air intakes to cool the battery packs, and an articulating rear wing.
There were no side mirrors; they were replaced by camera pods. The interior was wrapped in alcantara, dominated by a curved heads-up display powered by the Jnana OS.
Aadhya broke away from Deva's hand, marching up to the side of the car. She placed her hands on her hips, inspecting the Pirelli P-Zero tires.
"Is it fast, Babai(Arjun)?" Aadhya demanded, pointing at the wheel.
"It is the fastest thing on four wheels, Aadhya," Arjun promised.
"Good," Aadhya nodded, satisfied.
Rishi walked over, standing next to his sister. He didn't look at the styling. His eyes were locked onto the finned aerodynamic diffuser underneath the rear bumper.
"The air goes under the car," Rishi stated, looking up at Arjun. "It gets squeezed. It makes the car stick to the road so it doesn't fly away."
The lead aerodynamic engineer, a woman holding a tablet, stopped typing. She stared at the four-year-old.
"Yes, buddy," Deva smiled, placing a hand on Rishi's shoulder. "That's exactly what the diffuser does. It creates downforce."
"Let's see if the theory holds up," Arjun announced, clapping his hands. "We have a professional test driver ready to do a shakedown run. We need to ensure the battery thermal limits and the brake-by-wire systems are functioning before we put anyone else in it."
A professional driver, clad in a racing suit and helmet, climbed into the cockpit of the Vayu. The engineers disconnected the telemetry cables.
Because it was an electric vehicle, there was no roar of a V12 starting up. There was only a high-pitched electronic whine as the inverters activated.
The Vayu rolled out of the garage, pulling onto the pit lane.
Deva lifted both twins onto the pit wall so they could see over the concrete barrier.
The driver turned onto the main straightaway. He didn't ease into it. He engaged the launch control.
The acceleration was violent and silent. The car vanished, rocketing down the kilometer-long straightaway. The only sound was the tearing of the tires against the asphalt and the whistling displacement of the air.
Aadhya screamed—delight, not fear. Rishi did not blink.
The driver took the car through three laps, testing the cornering limits and the braking zones.
When the car pulled back into the pit lane, the brakes were smoking, glowing orange, but the engineers looking at the telemetry screens were smiling.
"Temperatures are nominal. The torque vectoring is functioning," the lead engineer reported to Arjun. "The chassis is settled."
Arjun turned to Deva. "Your turn, Sid. The five-point harness seats in the rear module are ready. Take the kids for a spin. Keep it under a hundred and fifty kilometers an hour. Just a cruising lap so they can feel it."
Deva grinned. He buckled Aadhya and Rishi into the rear seats himself, checking each strap twice. Arjun climbed into the passenger seat, strapping on a helmet, while Deva slid into the driver's seat.
Deva gripped the yoke-style steering wheel. He didn't engage his racing skills. This was a drive with his children.
He pulled out of the pits. The ride was comfortable. The adaptive air suspension absorbed the imperfections of the track.
As they merged onto the main straightaway, Deva depressed the accelerator.
The car surged forward, hitting 120 kmph in a matter of seconds. The cabin was quiet, insulated by acoustic glass.
"FASTER, NANA! FASTER!" Aadhya shrieked from the back seat, kicking her legs.
Deva laughed, looking at her in the rearview mirror. "We're just cruising."
He looked at Rishi. The boy was sitting still, his head pressed back against the headrest.
"How does it feel, buddy?" Deva asked.
"The invisible hand is pushing my chest," Rishi observed, his eyes wide but unafraid. "The car wants to go forward, but my body wants to stay still. It is very heavy."
Arjun chuckled from the passenger seat. "He just described the sensation of G-force inertia. Your son is terrifying, Sid."
"He just likes the math," Deva smiled, guiding the hypercar through a right-hand curve.
They completed a lap, much to Aadhya's disappointment, and pulled back into the garage. Deva unbuckled the twins and lifted them out of the car. Arjun stepped out of the passenger side.
Deva did not unbuckle his harness.
He stayed in the driver's seat. He reached over to the passenger seat and picked up a carbon-fiber racing helmet. He pulled it over his head, securing the chin strap, pulling the visor down.
"Alright," Deva's voice came through the intercom. "Father outing is over. Clear the track. I want to see what this machine can actually do."
Arjun took both twins by the hand and walked them back to the pit wall.
The engineers scrambled, clearing the pit lane. Arjun stood at the telemetry station with Aadhya on one side of him and Rishi on the other, his eyes locked onto the monitors.
Inside the cockpit, the world transformed.
Siddanth Deva closed his eyes behind the visor.
Deva opened his eyes.
He shifted the car into its highest performance mode.
The Nexus Vayu rolled out of the pit lane, merging onto the track.
Deva didn't ease into the throttle. The millisecond the car crossed the pit-exit line, he slammed the accelerator pedal against the floorboard.
The two thousand horsepower was unleashed.
Because the car was electric, there was no torque curve. The power delivery was immediate. The G-force hit Deva's chest, pressing him back into the bucket seat.
As the hypercar rocketed down the main straightaway, Deva's perception took over.
Air resistance is a function of the square of velocity, his mind calculated as the speedometer flashed past 300 kmph. He could feel the active aerodynamics of the car shifting. The rear wing flattened out, reducing drag to maximize top speed. He could sense the friction coefficient of the Pirelli tires fighting the asphalt, keeping the car stable.
Approaching Turn 1—a ninety-degree right-hander—at 320 kmph, a normal driver would have panicked.
Deva didn't flinch.
He waited until the final millisecond. He slammed his foot onto the brake pedal.
The deceleration was brutal. He experienced nearly 3G of negative force, his body straining against the five-point harness. The regenerative braking systems whined, converting the kinetic energy back into electrical power, feeding it into the battery cells.
He didn't just brake in a straight line. He executed a trail-braking maneuver.
As he turned the yoke, he eased off the brake pressure. He could sense the mass shifting onto the front-left tire, compressing the adaptive suspension and maximizing the contact patch of the rubber to the road.
The car carved through the apex of the corner.
He hit the accelerator before he had even exited the turn.
The yaw angle is slipping by 1.2 degrees, Deva noted as he hit the exit curbing, the car drifting slightly. The rear diffuser is stalling under maximum lateral load.
He was not just driving the car. He was diagnosing its structural and aerodynamic flaws at 250 kmph.
He pushed the Nexus Vayu to the edge of its limits for three laps. He drifted through sweepers, punished the carbon-ceramic brakes until they glowed orange, and tested the rigidity of the carbon-fiber tub over the rumble strips.
When he brought the car back into the pit lane, the smell of burning rubber and overheated brakes filled the garage.
The hypercar rolled to a halt. The electric motors whined as they spooled down.
Deva unbuckled his harness, popped the gull-wing door, and stepped out onto the concrete. He pulled off his helmet, running a hand through his hair. His breathing was steady.
Aadhya was bouncing against the pit wall.
"FASTER than the other Uncle!" she declared.
Rishi was watching the smoking brakes. "The wheels got hot," he said. "That's why they smell."
Deva ruffled their hair, handed them off to one of the engineers with a bottle of water, and walked to the telemetry station.
Arjun and the lead engineers were staring at the screens on their tablets.
"Sid," Arjun said, looking up. "You just beat the professional test driver's lap time by four and a half seconds. That is not supposed to be possible. The car shouldn't be able to grip the track at those speeds."
Deva didn't smile. He walked over to the lead aerodynamic engineer, grabbing a tablet and a digital stylus.
"The lap time is irrelevant, Arjun," Deva said.
Deva began drawing on the tablet, sketching a modified cross-section of the rear wing.
"The car is good, but there is an aerodynamic stall occurring at high lateral loads," Deva said, pointing to his sketch. "When the chassis experiences more than 1.8 lateral Gs in a sustained corner, the airflow detaching from the front splitter is creating a low-pressure vortex that interferes with the rear diffuser. We are losing 12% of our downforce on the rear axle mid-corner. That's why the yaw angle is slipping."
The lead engineer stared at Deva. "You... you felt a 12% loss of downforce? While driving at 250 kilometers an hour?"
"I felt the rear tires lose 40 kilograms of vertical load," Deva corrected. He tapped the screen. "Increase the angle of attack on the secondary flaps of the front splitter by 2.5 degrees. It will channel the turbulent air outward, keeping the airflow under the flat floor clean. It will solve the stall."
He turned to the suspension engineer.
"The rebound rate on the front-left adaptive damper is too slow by roughly 15 milliseconds during heavy trail-braking," Deva continued. "The weight transfer isn't settling fast enough. Stiffen the compression ratio by 5%, but speed up the rebound. It will keep the contact patch of the tire flat against the asphalt when turning into a corner."
The engineers scrambled to take notes, typing the adjustments into their laptops. They weren't questioning him. The telemetry data on their screens backed up every anomaly Deva had diagnosed.
He had bridged the gap between computer simulation and the reality of the asphalt.
Thirty minutes later, the energy of the engineering debrief had settled. The technicians were plugging laptops into the car to implement Deva's software updates to the suspension and aero modules. Aadhya had been given a headset she did not need. Rishi was sitting on an upturned crate, examining a lug nut.
Deva stood near the open bay doors of the garage, holding a bottle of water, looking out at the heat rising off the empty track.
Arjun walked over, carrying two tablets. The CEO looked satisfied.
"The engineers are applying your tweaks now," Arjun said, stopping beside Deva. "They think those adjustments will shave another second off the lap time. We have built a monster, Sid."
"It's a good machine, Arjun," Deva agreed, taking a sip of water. "The power delivery is clean. Once the aero stall is fixed, it will compete with anything coming out of Maranello or Stuttgart."
"Which brings us to the next phase of the operation," Arjun grinned, tapping his tablet. "Marketing."
Deva raised an eyebrow. "I thought this was a pet project. Are we actually taking it to mass production?"
"Not mass production. Limited run. A halo car to prove that Nexus battery technology are the pinnacle of global engineering," Arjun explained. "But to sell a three-million-dollar electric hypercar to the elite, we need a stage. A stage that transcends traditional car commercials."
Arjun swiped his tablet, holding the screen up for Deva to see.
Displayed on the screen was a familiar logo. A stylized gear with words written across it.
TOP GEAR.
"The BBC," Deva noted. "You want to put the Vayu on Top Gear?"
"It is the most watched automotive show on the planet, Sid," Arjun pitched. "It is the holy grail for petrolheads. The producers have already seen the preliminary, redacted spec sheet for the Vayu. They are desperate to have it on the show. They want to put it on their test track at Dunsfold Aerodrome."
"So ship them the car," Deva shrugged. "Let their tame racing driver test it."
"They don't just want the car, Sid," Arjun said, smirking. "They want the architect."
Deva frowned. "Me?"
"Yes, you," Arjun laughed. "Think about the cultural impact. The captain of the Indian cricket team, fresh off winning the World Cup, walks onto a British television show, unveils an electric hypercar built by an Indian tech conglomerate, and shatters their celebrity lap time record. The PR value is enormous."
Deva looked out at the track, then back at the twins. Aadhya was trying to wear the headset as a necklace. Rishi had not looked up from the lug nut. He felt the ache of the Australian campaign still lingering in his muscles.
"Arjun, I just got back from a two-month tour," Deva said. "I want to sleep in my own bed. I want to play football with the kids. I don't want to get on another plane to London to film a television show."
"I know," Arjun nodded, anticipating the refusal. "But look at your schedule, Sid."
Arjun pulled up a calendar on the tablet.
"You have twenty days of mandated rest before you have to report to the national camp for the Bangladesh tour," Arjun pointed out. "The Top Gear shoot only requires you to be on set at the aerodrome for one day."
Arjun lowered the tablet, looking at his friend.
"Don't go alone," Arjun proposed. "Take Krithika. Take the twins. Make it a family holiday. Rent a penthouse in Mayfair. Take the kids to Hyde Park, go see the museums. Have a vacation in London where nobody is hounding you about cricket. You shoot the car segment for four hours on a Tuesday, and the rest of the trip is yours."
Deva fell silent, considering the plan.
A family holiday. Away from the Indian media landscape, which was treating him like a living deity following the World Cup win. A chance to walk down a street without being mobbed.
"I'll talk to Krithika," Deva said. "I'm not packing the twins onto a plane without her."
"Fair. Tell her Anjali sends her love. And that if this baby ever arrives, we're taking a holiday of our own."
Deva smiled, clapped Arjun on the shoulder, and gathered the twins.
The late afternoon sun was low over the mango orchards when Deva pulled back through the gates of the Shamshabad estate.
Krithika was on the rear veranda with a book she had not been reading. She stood as the twins spilled out of the Range Rover.
"Nana went FAST," Aadhya announced, before anyone could ask. "Faster than the other man. And Babai said the car sticks to the road."
"The wheels got hot," Rishi added, as if that were the relevant data point.
Krithika looked at Deva. "You said a few hours. You also said no stupidity."
"The stupidity was me, not them," Deva said. He kissed her temple. "They did a slow lap. I did the rest after they were out of the car."
He sat down across from her. The twins had already vanished toward the lawn, Aadhya in a sprint, Rishi following at a walk.
"Arjun wants to put the car on television. Top Gear. BBC. One day of filming at an aerodrome outside London." He held her gaze. "He suggested we turn it into a family holiday. Hyde Park. The museums. A penthouse in Mayfair. Four hours of work on a Tuesday, and the rest of the trip is ours."
Krithika's eyes lit up.
The last few years had been defined by bio-bubbles, corporate takeovers, and tournaments. They hadn't taken an international family holiday since WC 2019.
"I think it's a brilliant idea," she said. "The weather in London is beautiful right now. The kids have never been to Europe. We can go to the Natural History Museum. Rishi would lose his mind over the dinosaur skeletons."
From the edge of the lawn, Rishi's head snapped up.
"Dinosaur bones?" he called. "Structurally intact fossilized remains?"
Deva let out a laugh, throwing his head back. His son's vocabulary was as alarming as it was adorable.
He looked at Krithika. He saw the excitement in her eyes. He looked at Rishi, who was already visualizing the T-Rex. He looked at Aadhya, who had no idea what London was and would treat it as another track.
He pulled out his phone and typed a message to Arjun.
*She's in. Tell the BBC to clear the runway. We're coming to London.*