The last two weeks of June passed in a strange, suspended reality. To the outside world, Siddanth Deva was the reclusive superstar who had vanished from the public eye. The media speculated about secret training camps in the Himalayas or a hidden injury.
But to Krithika, he was just Siddarth Reddy—the guy who texted her at 11 PM to ask if she was awake, who sent her photos of his "dinner", and who needed constant bullying to study.
Their digital relationship had evolved. It wasn't just about exams anymore.
June 21st, 1:00 AM
Headache:I can't sleep. Too much coffee.
Me:Count sheep. Or count the number of times you kicked my chair today.
Headache:Ha ha. Very funny. Tell me a story.
Me:Once upon a time, there was a girl who studied for her exams instead of texting. The End.
Headache:You are the worst storyteller in history. Goodnight, loser.
They developed a rhythm. A check-in in the morning. A rant about the heat in the afternoon. A study panic in the evening. A wind-down chat at night. Deva found himself guarding this secret life fiercely.
The exams rolled by.
Advanced Accounting (Tuesday): Crushed it. Deva even intentionally made a calculation error in the Balance Sheet to ensure he didn't get 100%.
Management Accounting (Thursday): The final boss. They destroyed it. Krithika walked out of the hall looking like she had won the lottery.
---
Date: June 25th, 2011 (Saturday).
Location: Outside the Exam Center, Mehdipatnam.
Time: 1:15 PM.
The final bell had rung. The papers were submitted. The degree was, for all intents and purposes, secured.
Deva walked out into the sunlight, pulling off his mask for a second to wipe the sweat from his upper lip before snapping it back on. He felt lighter. The academic burden was gone.
But a heavier burden was waiting.
July 1st: Report to Chennai for the England Tour camp.
July 10th: Fly to London.
July - September: The England Series. Four Tests, Five ODIs.
He was going to be gone for three months. He was going to be on TV every single day. The disguise of "Siddarth Reddy" was about to face its biggest threat yet.
Krithika was waiting by her purple Scooty. She was beaming.
"We are free!" she shouted, high-fiving him. "No more books! No more invigilators! I am going to burn my hall ticket!"
"Don't do that," Deva laughed. "You need it for the results."
"Details," she dismissed. She leaned against her bike, looking at him. The smile faded slightly, replaced by a thoughtful expression. "So... this is it? Exams are done."
"Yeah," Deva said, shifting his weight. "We survived."
"So when do we meet again?" she asked casually, though her eyes were intense. "Next week? Movie? Or are you going to disappear into your rich boy life?"
Deva took a deep breath. He had rehearsed this lie in front of the mirror.
"I... I can't meet next week," Deva said. "Actually, I can't meet for a while."
Krithika frowned. "Why? Are you going to Mars?"
"Village," Deva lied smoothly. "My dad's ancestral village. In... Adilabad district. Remote area."
"Okay," she said slowly. "For how long? A week?"
"October," Deva dropped the bomb.
"October?!" Her jaw dropped. "That's three months! What are you doing in a village for three months? Farming?"
"Land disputes," Deva said, using the ultimate Indian excuse that no one questioned. "Grandfather's property. Court cases. Family drama. My dad needs me there to handle the paperwork and the... locals. It's a mess."
"And you can't come back on weekends?"
It was a cruel lie. He would be in London playing in front of millions. But he couldn't tell her that.
Krithika stared at him. She looked disappointed. Visibly so.
"Three months," she repeated. "That sucks."
"Yeah," Deva said, feeling a pang of guilt. "It does."
She kicked the tire of her Scooty. Then she looked up, determination in her eyes.
"Well then," she declared. "We are not going home now."
"We aren't?"
"No. If I'm not going to see you for three months, we are hanging out today. Right now. The whole day."
"Okay," Deva said. "Where to?"
"Prasads," she said. "We watch a movie. Any movie. Whatever has seats. Then we hit the arcade. Then we go to Necklace Road and walk. I want the full tour."
Deva grinned behind his mask. "You're the boss. Lead the way."
---
Location: Prasad's IMAX.
Time: 2:30 PM.
They didn't get tickets for a blockbuster. They got tickets for a B-grade Bollywood horror movie that was apparently so bad it was good. The theater was half-empty, which suited Deva perfectly.
They sat in the back row. Deva kept his mask on, using the "AC sensitivity" excuse again, though Krithika just rolled her eyes at it now.
The movie was atrocious. The ghost looked like a man in a bedsheet. The hero overacted.
But they laughed. They laughed for two hours straight.
"Look at that CGI!" Krithika whispered loudly. "My Scooty has better graphics than that ghost!"
"I think the ghost is scared of the hero's acting," Deva whispered back.
---
Location: Fun Zone.
Time: 5:00 PM.
"Rematch," Krithika declared, marching into the arcade. "Tekken. I want to beat you again."
Deva cracked his knuckles. "You got lucky last time."
They loaded the card.
Round 1: Deva picked King. Krithika picked Ling Xiaoyu again.
Deva decided to win this one. He used a perfect grapple combo.
K.O.
"Hey!" she hit his arm. "You practiced!"
"I visualized," Deva teased.
Round 2: Air Hockey.
This was a war. The puck flew across the table at dangerous speeds. Deva used his [Chronos Perception] to defend his goal like a wall.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
"How are you doing that?" Krithika screamed as he blocked a shot that was basically a blur.
He let the next shot in.
"Goal!" she cheered. "1-1!"
They played Time Crisis, shooting digital terrorists side by side. They played the claw machine (Deva spent 500 rupees trying to win her a stuffed Pikachu and failed, blaming the "rigged claw" instead of his own lack of skill).
By the time they left the arcade, they were exhausted, sweating, and buzzing with sugar from sodas.
---
Location: Necklace Road, Hussain Sagar Lake.
Time: 6:30 PM.
The sun was setting over the Hussain Sagar, casting a golden shimmer on the rippling water. The giant statue of Lord Buddha stood in the center of the lake, calm and imposing.
Deva and Krithika walked along the promenade. It was crowded with families, couples, and ice-cream vendors, but the anonymity of the crowd was comforting. Deva kept his cap low, his mask on.
They found a quiet spot near the railings and leaned against it, looking out at the water. The wind blew Krithika's hair across her face. She tucked it behind her ear.
"So," she said, breaking the silence. "Adilabad. Land disputes."
"Yeah," Deva said, looking at the Buddha. "Boring stuff. Lawyers. Panchayats."
"Will you... have a TV there?" she asked. "The England tour starts in July. Deva will be playing."
Deva smiled. "Yes, there is a TV. I will watch it."
"You better," she said. "Because if Deva scores a century at Lord's, and I have no one to scream about it with, I will be very annoyed."
"I'll try to watch," Deva promised. "For you."
She turned to look at him. Her eyes were searching his masked face.
"You know," she said softly. "You are a weird guy, Siddarth. You have expensive shoes, you know tax laws, you have reflexes like a ninja, and you disappear for months to a village. You are like... a puzzle with missing pieces."
"Maybe I'm just a simple guy with a complicated life," Deva said.
"Maybe," she conceded. "Or maybe you are Batman."
Deva laughed. "I wish. This Batman has a better car."
They stood there for a while, watching the city lights turn on, reflecting in the dark water. It was a moment of perfect stillness.
"I'll miss this," Krithika said, her voice barely a whisper. "The texting. The arguing. The... partnership."
Deva felt a lump in his throat. He realized he would miss it too. The England tour would be intense. The pressure would be suffocating. He wouldn't have this—this normalcy.
"I'll text you regularly. I'll be back," Deva said firmly. "October. Before Diwali."
"You better be," she warned. "And when you come back... no mask. I want to see the chipmunk face healed. I want to see the real Siddarth."
Deva looked at her. The real Siddarth.
"Deal," he said.
---
They walked back to the parking lot where their bikes were. The ride was over.
Krithika put on her helmet. She sat on her Scooty. She didn't start the engine immediately.
"Hey," she said.
"Yeah?"
"Good luck. With the land dispute. Kick some ass. Don't let the villagers bully you."
"I won't," Deva smiled. "I have a good teacher."
She grinned. "Bye, Hero."
"Bye, Headache."
She started the bike and zoomed off, merging into the evening traffic. She waved once without looking back.
Deva stood there until her tail light disappeared into the sea of red lights.
He took off his mask. He breathed in the humid, polluted air of Hyderabad. It tasted like freedom. And it tasted like a secret.
He put the mask back on. He unlocked the Pulsar.
"October," he whispered to himself.
By October, he would have played at Lord's. He might have scored runs. He might have failed.
But for now, he had a flight to catch. The kit bag was packed. The Indian jersey was waiting.
Siddanth Deva revved the engine. The student was gone. The boyfriend-ish figure was gone.
The Devil was back. And England was waiting.
---
The sun was setting over Shamshabad, painting the sky in hues of bruised purple and fiery orange. Siddanth Deva rode his Pulsar up the long gravel driveway, the engine's thrum the only sound breaking the evening stillness. He parked the bike in the garage, covering it carefully.
He walked towards the back of the farmhouse, drawn by the sound of laughter.
In the cattle shed, the golden light filtered through the wooden slats, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Vikram Deva and Sesikala were standing near the feeding trough.
Vikram was laughing, a hearty, belly-shaking sound that Deva hadn't heard often enough during the stressful years of his cricket training. He was holding a bunch of fresh lucerne grass, teasing 'Lakshmi', their prize buffalo. Every time Lakshmi stretched her neck to take a bite, Vikram pulled it back slightly, cooing at her like she was a toddler.
"Look at her, Sesi," Vikram chuckled. "She's greedy today."
Sesikala slapped his arm playfully. "Don't tease the animal. Give it to her. She needs to make milk, unlike you who just drinks tea."
"I am the supervisor," Vikram defended, finally letting the buffalo snatch the grass. He patted her black flank affectionately. "Good girl."
Deva leaned against the wooden post, watching them. It was a scene straight out of a village postcard. The World Cup, the IPL, the millions of dollars—none of it existed inside this shed. Here, the biggest concern was whether Lakshmi was eating enough grass.
"You two look busy," Deva said, stepping into the light.
Vikram turned, his face lighting up. "Ah, the scholar returns! How was the exam?"
"Done," Deva said, walking over to pat Lakshmi. The buffalo snorted, recognizing his scent. "The degree is in the bag. I am officially a graduate. Well, almost."
"Thank God," Sesikala exhaled, wiping her hands on her saree pallu. "Now I can tell Mrs. Rao that my son isn't just a ball-hitter, he is a graduate. It matters, you know."
"I know, Amma," Deva smiled.
He watched his father scratching the buffalo behind the ears. He saw the contentment in Vikram's posture. This farm was the best investment he had ever made.
---
"So," Deva started, leaning against the trough. "Since the exams are over... the holiday is over too."
Vikram's hand stilled on the buffalo. "The England tour?"
"Not yet," Deva said. "That's in July. But I have to go to Mumbai. Day after tomorrow morning."
"Mumbai?" Sesikala frowned. "Why? It's so hot there. And humid."
"Work, Ma," Deva explained. "I have a commercial shoot on Tuesday. For Fastrack. And then..." He paused, looking at his father. "On Wednesday, I have a TV shoot."
"TV?" Vikram asked disinterestedly. "News interview?"
"No," Deva grinned. "It's a game show. Kaun Banega Crorepati."
Vikram froze. He slowly turned his head to look at Deva. His eyes were wide behind his glasses.
"KBC?" Vikram whispered.
"Yes."
"With... him?"
"Yes, Dad. With Amitabh Bachchan."
Vikram Deva let out a breath that sounded like a tire deflating. For a man of Vikram's generation, Amitabh Bachchan wasn't just an actor. He was a phenomenon. He was the 'Angry Young Man' who had defined their youth. Vikram had watched Sholay twenty times in the theater. He quoted Deewar dialogues at random intervals.
"Big B," Vikram murmured, a reverent tone in his voice. "You are going to sit in front of Big B."
"Hot seat," Deva nodded.
He looked at his parents.
"Do you guys want to come? Watch it live?"
Sesikala looked at Vikram. She knew the answer before he spoke.
"Yes," Vikram said. It wasn't a casual yes. It was a definitive, absolute yes. "I want to go. I have to go."
"Vikram, what about the farm?" Sesikala asked, though she was smiling. "Who will feed Lakshmi?"
"The workers will feed her!" Vikram dismissed, waving his hand. "Lakshmi can wait! Amitabh Bachchan is waiting!"
Deva laughed. "Okay, it's settled. We fly out the day after tomorrow. We'll stay at the Taj Lands End."
"We can make a trip of it," Deva continued. "Tuesday, while I'm shooting the ad, you guys can take the car. Go sightseeing. Gateway of India, Siddhivinayak Temple, Marine Drive. You haven't seen Mumbai properly, right?"
"I haven't seen it properly since 1995," Vikram recalled. "It was Bombay then."
"It's changed a bit," Deva said dryly. "It's louder. So, are we on?"
"We are on," Vikram beamed, looking ten years younger. "I need to pack my suit. Do I need a suit? Sesi, where is my grey suit?"
"It smells of mothballs, Vikram," Sesikala scolded. "We will buy you a new shirt. Don't embarrass the boy in front of Amitabh."
---
Deva left them arguing about wardrobe choices and walked back to his room. He dialed Arjun.
"It's a go," Deva said. "Book three tickets. Business class. And upgrade the suite at the hotel. My parents are coming."
"Awesome," Arjun said. "Uncle must be flipping out. He loves Amit ji."
"He's currently trying to find a suit from the 90s," Deva laughed. "I might need to take him shopping tomorrow."
"I'll arrange the car for their sightseeing on Tuesday," Arjun noted. "And I'll tell the KBC producers to reserve the front row for them. They'll probably put the camera on them a lot, so warn Aunty to wear her best saree."
"She's already planning the jewelry," Deva said. "Thanks, Arjun."
"No worries."
Deva hung up. He looked around his room. The books were stacked in the corner, ready to be archived. The cricket kit was in the corner, ready to be unpacked.
The transition was happening again. From Student to Son to Superstar.
He walked to the window. Down below, he could still hear his father's excited voice drifting from the cattle shed, probably reciting a dialogue from Agneepath to the buffalo.
Deva smiled. Winning the World Cup was great. But giving his dad a chance to meet his hero?
That felt like a century.
He closed the curtains. It was time to pack. Mumbai was calling.