Meera stared at Frame Four. Virat was looking down, a faint smirk playing on his lips. He knew. He absolutely knew the chaos he was causing.
Rohan, the bowler from Patna, sat in the barber's chair two hours later. The clippers buzzed. A pile of dark curls fell to the floor. He watched in the mirror as the fade emerged—first the temples, then the clean nape. It wasn't exactly the same. It never was. But as the barber held up a hand mirror to show the back, Rohan felt a jolt.
That night, as the notifications finally died down, Virat sat in his apartment, scrolling through the memes, the praise, and the parodies. He chuckled at one comparing him to a roman gladiator.