The brief winter of the Deccan Plateau had given way to the dry heat of March. The mango orchards surrounding the Shamshabad farmhouse were beginning to bloom, their fragrance hanging in the afternoon air.
Inside the air-conditioned ground-floor study, the atmosphere was quiet.
Four-year-old Rishi sat cross-legged on the Persian rug. He wore a pale blue cotton shirt and dark shorts. Around him lay roughly two hundred wooden building blocks.
But Rishi was not mindlessly stacking them.
Resting on the carpet in front of him was a thousand-page hardcover textbook. The gold-embossed title on the spine read: Fundamentals of Structural Analysis: Theory and Practice. It had been pulled from the lowest shelf of Siddanth Deva's private library.
Rishi was not looking at the pictures. He traced his index finger across a two-dimensional diagram of a Roman arch, following the arrows that indicated compressive force and load distribution.
He studied the diagram for a minute before looking at the blocks around him.
Moving with care, Rishi selected two rectangular blocks and stood them upright, four inches apart. He then selected two square blocks, positioning them slightly off-center. Finally, he picked up a wedge-shaped block.
He looked at the gap at the top of his makeshift arch. Then he looked back at the textbook, specifically at the label marking the Keystone.
With a quiet breath, Rishi slotted the wooden wedge into the top of the arch.
He removed his hands.
The structure held.
He didn't smile or clap. Instead, he picked up a die-cast metal toy train and placed it on top of the arch to test the load-bearing capacity.
The wood creaked, but the arch remained standing.
"You know, when I was four, I was primarily focused on eating mud," a deep, amused voice came from the doorway.
Rishi looked up.
Vikram leaned against the oak doorframe, holding a cup of tea and watching his grandson.
"Thatha," Rishi greeted politely. He pointed toward the textbook. "The blocks push together. The weight goes down the legs."
Vikram walked into the study and sat on the edge of a leather armchair. He looked at the textbook, then at the arch.
The boy's eidetic memory wasn't simply recording images. He was processing and applying advanced physics through a child's vocabulary.
"That is right, Rishi," Vikram smiled. "It's called compression. The stones squeeze together so they don't fall."
Rishi considered this. He looked at the arch and tapped one of its supporting legs.
"If the leg breaks," Rishi noted, looking at Vikram, "the train falls down. It breaks."
"Yes," Vikram agreed. "Which is why we build strong legs."
"I need more blocks," Rishi decided, turning back to the pile. "To make it stronger."
"You build it stronger, my boy," Vikram chuckled, standing up. "I'm going to leave you to your engineering."
While Rishi was studying structures, his sister was busy with something very different.
The midday sun beat down on the artificial turf nets at the rear of the estate.
Siddanth Deva wore dark athletic shorts and a sweat-soaked grey T-shirt. He wasn't holding a cricket bat. A size-three football rested at his feet.
Standing three yards away was Aadhya, bouncing from foot to foot with endless energy.
She wore a yellow sports jersey and turf-grip shoes. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy ponytail.
"Again!" Aadhya shrieked, clapping her hands. "Nana, again!"
Deva smiled, wiping sweat from his temple.
"Alright, monster, listen to me," Deva said, his voice calm. He stepped over the ball and demonstrated the movement.
"When you step over the ball, you are leaning backward," Deva explained, pointing at her feet. "If you lean backward, you can't run away fast. Point your toes straight at me. When your foot goes over the ball, I want you to drop this shoulder."
He tapped his left shoulder.
"Make me think you are going left. Then you push the grass away hard and go right. Sell the trick."
Aadhya watched closely.
"Drop the shoulder," she repeated seriously. "Push the grass."
"Exactly," Deva nodded, stepping back and nudging the ball toward her. "Show me."
Aadhya trapped the ball under her sole and took a breath.
She lunged forward. Her right foot swept over the ball. Her toes pointed straight. Her left shoulder dipped toward the turf.
Deva shifted his weight slightly to his right, playing along with the feint.
The moment he moved, Aadhya exploded forward. She used the outside of her right foot to push the ball in the opposite direction, driving off the turf and moving past him.
The ball rolled behind him.
Aadhya threw both hands into the air and screamed.
"I WIN! I TRICKED YOU! I WIN!"
She sprinted around the turf, ignoring the heat.
Deva turned around with a grin.
"You tricked me," Deva conceded, walking over and lifting her onto his shoulders.
Aadhya grabbed his sweaty hair.
"I dropped the shoulder, Nana! I pushed the grass!"
"You did," Deva laughed, holding her ankles as he walked out of the nets. "You're getting too fast. Next time, I'm going to actually tackle you."
"I will tackle you back!" Aadhya threatened.
"I have no doubt you will," Deva chuckled.
Inside the farmhouse, the atmosphere was calmer, filled with the smell of food.
Krithika stood in the open-plan kitchen. She wore a pale yellow cotton kurta, her hair tied back in a loose braid. The exhaust hood hummed above the stove as she flipped a batch of mirchi bajjis in a cast-iron wok.
Beside the stove, a pot of masala chai was boiling, filling the kitchen with the smell of cardamom and ginger.
She lifted the fritters from the oil and placed them on a plate lined with paper towels.
Her phone, resting on the granite island, began to vibrate.
Krithika glanced at the screen.
Anjali.
A FaceTime request.
"Perfect timing," Krithika murmured, answering the call and propping the phone against a spice jar.
The screen connected.
Anjali appeared from her Jubilee Hills home. She didn't look relaxed. Her eyes were wide, her hair slightly disheveled.
"Krithi," Anjali said. Her voice was a tight whisper.
Krithika stopped.
"What's wrong?" she asked immediately. "Are you okay? Did you crash Arjun's car again?"
"No, I didn't crash the car," Anjali said quickly. She pressed a hand against her chest. "Krithi. I need you to listen to me very carefully. And I need you not to scream, because Arjun is upstairs on an international conference call with the Japanese suppliers, and I haven't told him yet."
Krithika froze.
She set the steel spoon down.
"Anjali," she breathed. "What did you do?"
Anjali closed her eyes for two seconds, took a breath, then looked directly into the camera.
"I'm pregnant."
The words hung in the kitchen.
For several seconds, Krithika simply stared at the screen.
Then she gasped.
She let out a loud shriek of joy.
Her hands flew to her face. Her elbow knocked a small steel bowl off the counter.
"KRITHI! I SAID DON'T SCREAM!" Anjali yelled in a whisper, waving at the camera, though she was smiling through tears.
"Oh my god! Oh my god!" Krithika yelled, grabbing the phone with both hands. "Are you sure?! Did you take a test?!"
"I took four," Anjali admitted, holding up four fingers. "They all have two lines, Krithi. I'm staring at them right now. I don't know what to do. I'm going to be a mother. I burn toast! How am I going to keep a human being alive?!"
"You are going to be an amazing mother," Krithika promised, laughing through her tears. "Arjun is going to lose his mind! When are you telling him?!"
"Tonight," Anjali said, wiping her eyes. "I'm going to tell him after his meetings."
"We are coming over tonight," Krithika declared. "We are bringing sweets. We are bringing Amma and Nanna. The entire family is coming over."
"Krithi, no, wait, maybe we should just—"
"I am bringing the biryani, Anjali!" Krithika interrupted. "I have to tell Sid! I'll call you right back!"
"Krithi—!"
Krithika disconnected the call, turned off the gas stove, and ran out of the kitchen.
She crossed the living room and burst through the rear glass doors.
"Siddanth Deva!" she yelled across the lawns.
Deva was walking across the grass with Aadhya on his shoulders.
Hearing Krithika shout, Deva immediately stopped. He scanned the area, assuming something was wrong.
He quickly lowered Aadhya and jogged toward the veranda.
"What's wrong?" Deva asked, looking at Krithika.
Krithika stopped in front of him, out of breath and smiling through tears.
"Anjali is pregnant," she gasped.
Deva froze.
Arjun was going to be a father.
A grin spread across Deva's face. He laughed, shaking his head.
"Oh, he is in so much trouble," Deva laughed. "A child is going to destroy his spreadsheets."
Aadhya, sensing the excitement, threw her hands into the air and babbled happily.
"We have to go over there tonight," Krithika said, wiping her eyes. "Amma and Nanna are going to weep."
"Go tell them," Deva instructed, shifting Aadhya to his hip. "I need to make a phone call."
Krithika nodded and went inside.
Deva walked onto the veranda, set Aadhya down, and pulled out his phone.
He speed-dialed Arjun.
The line rang three times.
"Sid," Arjun's voice came through. "I have the Japanese supplier on hold on the other line. Can this wait twenty minutes?"
Deva leaned against a wooden pillar, a smirk appearing on his face.
"Arjun," Deva said, his voice low. "I hope you have the offshore servers backed up. And I sincerely hope you haven't finalized the architectural layout for your home office."
There was a pause.
"What are you talking about?" Arjun asked. "Why would I need to backup the servers? Did we have a data breach?"
"Worse," Deva replied. "A biological breach. A highly chaotic, unpredictable entity is currently forming inside your house, and it is going to dismantle your carefully optimized reality."
Silence.
Deva could almost hear Arjun processing the words.
"Sid..." Arjun's voice became quieter. "Did Anjali call Krithika?"
"She did," Deva smiled, dropping the teasing tone. "Congratulations, brother."
A long breath came through the phone.
"I'm terrified, Sid," Arjun whispered. "I don't know the first thing about raising a human being. What if I drop the baby?"
Deva laughed softly.
"You're not going to drop it, Arjun," Deva promised, looking at Aadhya, who was trying to remove her shoe. "And you're going to realize very quickly that you cannot optimize a baby. They will scream at 3:00 AM, and vomit on your most expensive suits, and you are going to love every single second of it."
He paused.
"You're going to be an incredible father, Arjun. And Anjali will be an amazing mother. You two balance each other perfectly."
"Thank you, Sid," Arjun said, his voice thick with emotion.
"Don't thank me yet," Deva warned. "Krithika is currently mobilizing the entire Deva household. We are invading your house tonight. We're bringing food, sweets, and my parents, who are probably already crying."
Arjun laughed softly.
"Bring them. The Japanese suppliers can wait until tomorrow."
"See you tonight, CEO," Deva smiled.
"See you, Sid."
The call ended.
Deva lowered the phone and looked over the gardens.
His family was expanding. The empire they had built wasn't just a corporate structure anymore; it was becoming the foundation for a growing family.
By 7:00 PM, Arjun and Anjali's Jubilee Hills residence had been taken over by the Deva family.
The dining table was covered with boxes of Motichoor ladoos, Kaju Katli, and Mysore Pak. The smell of Krithika's biryani filled the house.
In the center of the living room, Anjali was surrounded by Sesikala and Suma, who were blessing her and offering advice.
Vikram and Subba Rao stood near the windows, talking with Arjun, who was still processing the news.
Deva sat on one of the sofas, holding a plate of sweets and watching his best friend try to navigate the family celebration.
At his feet, Aadhya and Rishi were trying to understand what it meant that Aunt Anjali had a baby in her tummy.
Aadhya marched over to Anjali, stood in front of her, and stared at her stomach.
"Baby in there?" she demanded.
Anjali wiped a tear from her eye and crouched down.
"Yes, Aadhya. There's a tiny baby in there."
Aadhya looked at Anjali, then at Deva, assessing the situation.
"Baby play football?" she asked.
"Not for a very long time," Deva called from the sofa. "Baby has to learn how to walk first."
Aadhya considered this.
"I will tackle baby," she declared.
Anjali burst into laughter.
"Oh god, she's going to bully my child. Bava, you have to teach her restraint!"
"She's just establishing the hierarchy early," Deva replied.
While Aadhya was planning the child's athletic future, Rishi approached Arjun.
Arjun knelt down on the carpet.
"Hey, Rishi. Are you excited to have a little cousin to play with?"
Rishi didn't answer.
He looked around the living room, studying the furniture and layout.
Then he looked back at Arjun.
"Where baby sleep?" Rishi asked.
Arjun blinked.
"What do you mean, buddy?"
Rishi pointed toward the stairs.
"Your bed not big. Baby need a bed with walls. So it doesn't fall down."
Arjun stared at the four-year-old.
Deva snorted from the sofa.
"We... we are going to buy a crib, Rishi," Arjun answered. "A bed with walls. Exactly like you said."
Rishi considered this answer. He nodded, satisfied that the problem had been addressed.
He patted Arjun's knee and walked away.
Arjun stood and looked at Deva.
"Sid," he whispered. "Your son just conducted a safety audit of my house. He's four years old. That is not normal."
"He likes order," Deva smiled. "Get used to it, CEO. You're going to have one of those running around here very soon."
The celebration lasted late into the night. They ate, laughed, and spent hours discussing names, nursery colors, and sleepless nights.
It was a moment of joy for the expanding family, protected from the noise of the outside world.
But the off-season could not last forever.
Four days later, the atmosphere inside the Shamshabad farmhouse shifted.
The warm colors of the family celebration were replaced by the routine of an impending cricket season.
The March morning air filtered through the master bedroom windows.
Two cricket kitbags lay open on the carpet.
Siddanth Deva was dressed in the official SRH travel polo and dark track pants.
The 2022 IPL season was here.