The transition from the glaring, manufactured heat of the Dubai stadiums to the post-monsoon coolness of Hyderabad happened in the span of a single morning flight.
Stepping out of the SUV, Siddanth left the noise of the international airport far behind. The Shamshabad estate was wrapped in a golden mid-morning light. The gravel of the driveway crunched softly beneath his boots as he walked toward the main porch, carrying a small duffel bag.
Pushing open the heavy wooden front doors, the silence of the farmhouse washed over him. The deafening roar of the Asia Cup final, the flashing cameras, and the endless tactical meetings dissolved into the familiar scent of sandalwood incense and fresh filter coffee.
Walking quietly down the hallway, he followed the faint, rhythmic sound of a rattle.
Inside the sunlit living room, a large, colorful, padded playmat covered the center of the floor. Sitting cross-legged on the edge of the mat was Krithika. Her hair was tied back in a loose, messy clip, and she wore a soft, faded cotton kurti. She was holding a bright yellow plastic ring, gently shaking it.
Resting on the mat were the twins. At nearly seven months old, they had shed their fragile newborn stillness.
Aadhya was propped up against a large, U-shaped nursing pillow. She was babbling loudly, a continuous stream of energetic, nonsensical consonants, her tiny hands reaching aggressively for the yellow ring.
A few feet away, Rishi was lying on his stomach. He had managed to push himself up on his forearms, his dark, calm eyes tracking the movement of a soft fabric block resting just out of his reach. He wasn't making a sound, simply observing his environment with intense focus.
Dropping his bag by the doorway, Siddanth leaned against the wooden archway, just watching them.
Glancing up at the sound of the bag hitting the floor, Krithika's breath caught slightly. A wide smile broke across her tired face. She set the yellow ring down on the mat.
"You didn't say you were landing this early," Krithika murmured, keeping her voice soft so as not to startle the babies.
"The flight was routed straight through," Siddanth replied, stepping into the room. He walked over, bypassing the sofas entirely, and sat directly on the floor mat next to her.
He leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. "How have you been?"
"Busy," she sighed, though her smile never faded. She rested her head against his shoulder for a brief moment.
Hearing the new, deep voice right next to her, Aadhya stopped reaching for her toy. She turned her head. Her bright eyes locked onto Siddanth. For a second, she just blinked, processing the face that had only been on a phone screen for the last few weeks.
Then, a massive, toothless grin spread across her face. She let out a loud, happy squeal and immediately lunged forward, losing her balance against the support pillow and toppling softly onto the mat, her arms reaching out toward him.
Siddanth chuckled, a warm, heavy feeling settling instantly in his chest. He scooped her up carefully, supporting her back as he settled her into his lap. "Hello to you too," he whispered.
Aadhya wasted no time. Her tiny fingers immediately found the collar of his t-shirt, gripping the fabric with surprising strength as she continued to babble happily, trying to pull herself upright against his chest.
Across the mat, Rishi had given up on his fabric block. Hearing the commotion, he rolled over heavily onto his back with a soft grunt. He looked over at Siddanth. He stared at Siddanth, his brow furrowing slightly in serious concentration, taking in the return of his father.
Siddanth reached out his free hand, extending his index finger toward the boy.
Rishi watched the finger for a moment. Slowly, he raised his own small hand and wrapped his fingers securely around Siddanth's, holding on with a quiet, steady grip.
"They missed you," Krithika noted, watching the interaction with soft eyes. "The house feels different when you are here."
"I only have four days," Siddanth said quietly, looking down at the two small lives anchoring him to the floor. "The Rajkot camp starts on the fifth morning."
"Then we won't waste a single hour," Krithika promised, resting her hand lightly on his arm.
Footsteps echoed from the dining room. Sesikala walked into the living room, holding a small bowl of mashed fruit. Seeing her son sitting on the floor, she stopped, her face lighting up.
"Siddu," she smiled, setting the bowl down on a side table and walking over to quickly pat his cheek. "You should have called from the airport. I would have made your favorite breakfast."
"I ate on the plane, Amma," Siddanth assured her. "Where is Nanna?"
"He went to the orchards to check the irrigation lines. He will be back for lunch," Sesikala said, looking down at the babies. "Go take a bath. You are covered in travel dust. I need to feed these two their apples."
Siddanth reluctantly untangled his t-shirt from Aadhya's grip, handed her back to Krithika, and gave Rishi's hand a final, gentle squeeze before standing up. The four days had officially begun, and he intended to stretch every minute.
By the second morning, the rhythm of the house had absorbed him.
Waking up just as the sun began to lighten the sky, Siddanth found Krithika still asleep, exhausted from a rough night of teething cries. He slipped out of bed silently, walking down to the living room where his mother had already set up the playmat.
The next two hours were spent on the floor.
Sitting cross-legged, Siddanth watched the twins explore their limited mobility. Aadhya was determined to crawl. She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, rocking back and forth violently, before launching herself forward in a chaotic, uncoordinated belly-flop that gained her exactly two inches of distance. Frustrated by her lack of progress, she would slap the mat with her palms and complain loudly.
Siddanth smiled, placing a soft, colorful plush ball just a few inches out of her reach to encourage her. "Come on. Push with your knees."
Aadhya glared at the ball, babbled aggressively at it, and tried again, flopping forward and successfully grabbing the toy. She immediately brought it to her mouth, chewing on the soft fabric in triumph.
Rishi, meanwhile, had no interest in crawling. He sat propped up against the sofa cushions, holding a small wooden ring. He was slowly turning the ring over and over in his hands, staring at it with intense, unbroken concentration, investigating how it felt.
Siddanth shifted his position, lying down flat on his back next to his son. He turned his head to look at Rishi.
Rishi stopped looking at the wooden ring. He looked down at his father. For a long minute, they just stared at each other in silence. Then, Rishi slowly reached out and placed his small, warm hand flat against Siddanth's cheek.
---
In the early afternoon, the quiet domesticity was pleasantly interrupted.
The sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway announced the arrival of guests. A few minutes later, Sameer, Arjun, and Feroz walked through the front doors, carrying a few folders and a box of sweets from the city.
Finding Siddanth in the living room, surrounded by baby toys and burp cloths, Sameer immediately burst into laughter.
"Look at the Asia Cup champion," Sameer teased, dropping his jacket on a chair. "From hitting winning boundaries in Dubai to picking up plastic rattles in Shamshabad."
"Keep your voice down," Siddanth warned mildly, pointing toward the hallway. "Krithika finally got them down for a nap ten minutes ago. If you wake Aadhya up, you are the one carrying her around the garden until she stops crying."
Sameer held his hands up in immediate surrender, lowering his volume. "Noted. I do not mess with crying babies."
Arjun set his folders down on the dining table. "We won't stay long, Sid. We know you only have a few days. We just needed to finalize few bussiness deals and the logistics for the Dussehra event."
Walking over to the dining area, Siddanth gestured for them to sit. The kitchen staff brought out a tray of fresh filter coffee.
They sat around the table, keeping their voices at a comfortable, quiet murmur.
The pre-release event for the Ramayana animated movie was scheduled for October 19th, aligning with the Dussehra festival. Because of the cultural weight of the project and the massive anticipation built by the previous character teasers, the event had outgrown any standard convention center in the city.
"We locked down the Nexus Smart Stadium," Feroz reported, opening his tablet. "It is the only venue capable of handling the crowd securely. The police commissioner has already approved the traffic diversion plans for the surrounding areas."
"What is the capacity restriction for the ground level?" Siddanth asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
"We are limiting the outfield access to ten thousand people to prevent any stampedes near the main stage," Arjun explained, pulling up a digital blueprint of the stadium. "The stands will hold another forty thousand. The entry passes were made available through the Nexus app yesterday morning. It sold out."
"The stage design is finalized," Feroz added, swiping to a rendering. "We are keeping it deeply traditional. No flashing LED floors or modern concert lights. We are building a massive replica of an ancient temple courtyard right in the center of the stadium. The primary screens for the trailer launch will be suspended above the structure."
"And the guest list?" Siddanth inquired.
"Prabhas, Sushanth, Gopichand, and Rajamouli sir have confirmed their attendance," Sameer noted, reading from his phone. "We have dedicated VIP seating for the industry guests."
"Keep the VIP passes restricted," Siddanth instructed calmly. "This event is for the audience, not a networking party for politicians and producers. Focus the security on the entry gates."
"Logistics are covered, Sid," Arjun assured him, closing his folder. "You just need to show up on the nineteenth. You are introducing the final trailer."
"I will be there," Siddanth said.
Their quiet meeting was interrupted by a soft, distinctive wail echoing from the bedroom.
Sameer winced, looking toward the hallway. "That sounds like someone woke up."
Krithika walked out a moment later, holding a very grumpy, half-asleep Aadhya against her shoulder. The baby girl was rubbing her eyes and complaining loudly about her shortened nap.
"She heard the cars pulling in," Krithika sighed, offering a tired smile to the boys.
"I apologize on behalf of my loud engine," Sameer grinned, walking over. He made a funny face, trying to get the baby's attention. "Hey there. Remember your favorite uncle?"
Aadhya stopped crying for one second. She stared at Sameer's face, her lower lip trembling, before letting out an even louder, much more offended wail, burying her face into her mother's neck.
Sameer took a step back, looking genuinely offended. "Wow. That hurts."
Siddanth laughed softly, standing up from the dining table. He walked over, gently taking his daughter from Krithika's arms. He settled Aadhya against his chest, humming a very low, rhythmic tune while lightly patting her back.
Within thirty seconds, the crying subsided into quiet hiccups. Aadhya rested her head comfortably against his collarbone, entirely pacified by the familiar, secure hold of her father.
"It is a talent," Feroz noted, watching the instant calming effect. "The man controls cricket matches and infants with the same technique."
Arjun and Feroz finished their coffee, collected their folders, and said their goodbyes, leaving the family to their evening routine. Sameer lingered for a few more minutes, trying unsuccessfully to make Aadhya smile from a safe distance, before finally giving up and driving back to the city.
The third day brought a slow, unhurried ease to the farmhouse.
The morning sky was overcast, a cool breeze blowing through the open windows of the living room. Siddanth had decided to give the kitchen staff the afternoon off.
Standing in the massive, well-lit kitchen, he wore an apron over his t-shirt, chopping fresh vegetables with rhythmic, practiced precision. He was making a simple, comforting meal—a mild garlic and tomato pasta for Krithika, and a slow-cooked dal with tomatoes for his parents.
Krithika sat on one of the high stools near the kitchen island, watching him work. The twins were occupied in their high chairs nearby, happily making a mess with small bowls of mashed carrots.
"You haven't cooked in months," Krithika observed, resting her chin on her hand. "I almost forgot how fast you can chop an onion."
"The hotel food in Dubai was good, but nothing beats knowing what goes into the pan," Siddanth replied, tossing the garlic into a hot skillet. The rich, savory aroma immediately filled the kitchen.
"The travel schedule for this home season is brutal," Krithika mentioned quietly, looking at the calendar hanging near the fridge. "Rajkot, Hyderabad, Pune, Vizag, Thiruvananthapuram. You are going to be living out of a suitcase until November."
Siddanth stirred the pasta sauce, keeping his eyes on the stove. "The red-ball matches take a toll. But the West Indies series is crucial for the World Test Rankings. I can't afford to rest right now."
He turned down the heat and looked at her. He saw the slight, unspoken tension in her posture.
"I will be home for Diwali," Siddanth promised, wiping his hands on a towel and walking over to the island. He stood in front of her stool. "And the matches in Hyderabad mean I get to sleep in my own bed for at least a week."
"I know," she smiled, reaching out to adjust the collar of his t-shirt. "It just feels like every time you come back, the days disappear faster. Before I even get used to seeing your shoes by the door, you are packing your kitbag again."
"It is the nature of the job, Krithi," he murmured softly, covering her hand with his own.
"I am not complaining," she assured him quickly, her eyes warm. "I just want time to slow down a bit. Look at them."
She pointed toward the high chairs. Aadhya had managed to smear mashed carrot across her forehead, completely pleased with herself. Rishi was trying to pick up a single dropped pea with his thumb and forefinger, deeply focused on the tiny object.
"They were just lying still a few months ago," Krithika said, a touch of wonder in her voice. "Now they are trying to crawl, and in a few months, they will be walking. I don't want you to miss it all."
"I won't," Siddanth said firmly. "I will be here for the important things."
Vikram and Sesikala walked into the kitchen, drawn by the smell of the food.
"Something smells wonderful," Vikram smiled, looking at the stove. He walked over to the high chairs, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the orange mess off his granddaughter's face. "Aadhya, you are supposed to eat the food, not paint with it."
Aadhya giggled, grabbing her grandfather's finger.
Sesikala checked the dal on the stove, giving it an approving nod. "The consistency is perfect, Siddu. Let's eat before it gets cold."
They moved to the dining table, sharing the meal together. The conversation was light, drifting between the mango orchard yields and the upcoming festival preparations. It was an ordinary family lunch.
By the fourth morning, the inevitable shadow of departure had finally settled over the house.
Siddanth woke up early. He walked into his large walk-in closet and pulled out the heavy, reinforced black canvas bag. He packed all the essentials for the tour. He zipped the heavy bag shut, the metallic sound echoing loudly in the quiet room.
He carried the bag downstairs and left it near the front door.
Walking into the living room, he found his parents sitting on the sofas. The twins were lying on their backs on the playmat, still half-asleep, blinking slowly against the morning light.
Vikram Deva stood up, walking over to his son. He placed a firm, heavy hand on Siddanth's broad shoulder.
"The pitch in Rajkot is usually a batting paradise, Siddu," Vikram noted, his tone carrying the familiar, comforting weight of a father discussing the game. "But don't take their fast bowlers lightly. Gabriel can generate awkward bounce. Play straight."
"I will, Nanna," Siddanth nodded, appreciating the advice.
He bent down and touched his father's feet, then turned and touched his mother's feet.
Sesikala pulled him into a tight, warm hug. "Eat your meals on time. Don't push your body too hard in the practice sessions. Call us when you reach the hotel."
"I promise, Amma," he smiled, stepping back.
He walked over to the playmat. He knelt on the soft fabric.
Rishi looked up at him, his dark eyes observing the movement. Siddanth reached out and gently rubbed his thumb against his son's soft cheek. Rishi blinked slowly, leaning into the touch.
Aadhya was lying on her side, clutching a small fabric camel which Siddanth bought. Siddanth leaned down and kissed her forehead softly. She let out a small, sleepy murmur, tightening her grip on the toy, unaware that her father was leaving.
Siddanth stood up, taking a long, quiet look at his children, committing the peaceful image to his memory.
He turned and walked toward the front hallway.
Krithika was standing near the door. She was wearing a simple cotton dress, her arms crossed loosely over her chest. She watched him approach.
He stopped in front of her. The words they usually said felt redundant today. They both knew the drill, but it never made the actual moment of leaving any easier.
"Four days wasn't enough," Krithika said softly, offering a small, wistful smile.
"It never is," Siddanth agreed quietly.
He reached out, pulling her into a tight, lingering embrace. He buried his face in her shoulder, breathing in the familiar, comforting scent of her jasmine shampoo. She hugged him back fiercely, her hands gripping the fabric of his dark travel polo.
They stood there in the quiet hallway for a long moment, simply holding onto the grounding presence of each other.
"Play well," Krithika whispered against his neck. "Bring home another trophy."
"I always do," Siddanth murmured, stepping back slowly.
He picked up the heavy kitbag from the floor, slinging the strap over his shoulder.
He opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. The morning air was already beginning to warm up. Rahul was waiting near the armored Range Rover, having already loaded the secondary luggage into the trunk.
Siddanth walked down the steps. He didn't look back until he reached the car door.
He turned around.
Krithika was standing on the porch, framed by the heavy wooden doors of the farmhouse. His parents stood just behind her in the hallway. They were watching him leave.
Siddanth raised his free hand, offering a final, quiet wave.
Krithika smiled warmly, raising her hand in return.
Siddanth climbed into the back seat of the SUV. The heavy, armored door closed with a solid, isolating thud, instantly cutting off the sounds of the estate.
"To the airport, Rahul," Siddanth instructed smoothly, leaning back against the leather headrest. "Rajkot is waiting."
The engine rumbled to life. The Range Rover pulled away from the porch, its tires crunching against the gravel as it navigated the long driveway.
Siddanth looked out the tinted window as the farmhouse slowly disappeared behind the thick line of mango trees. The quiet, peaceful refuge of his family was gone. The four days had slipped through his fingers, leaving behind a profound sense of warmth and a lingering quietness.
He pulled his phone from his pocket, opening the itinerary for the West Indies series. The transition was complete. The father and the husband remained at the estate, while the captain of the Indian cricket team stared ahead, completely ready for the grueling red-ball battles to come.