**THE MORNING AFTER AND THE GREEN COURT**
The first morning of 2023 broke over the Deccan Plateau cool and clear. The winter fog burned away under the rising sun, casting long shadows across the lawns of the Shamshabad estate.
Inside the farmhouse, the remnants of New Year's Eve were still visible. A few plastic blocks were scattered across the edges of the Persian rug in the playroom, and the scent of baking still hung in the air from Krithika's midnight session.
It was 8:30 AM.
Siddanth Deva sat alone in the center of the sunken living room. He wore dark grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt, his beard slightly unkempt. A mug of black coffee rested on the glass table in front of him.
The house was quiet. Vikram and Sesikala had gone to the local temple for a morning pooja. Krithika was upstairs, taking an extra hour of sleep. The twins were supposedly occupied in their rooms.
Deva sank into the sofa and let out a breath. The silence was rare.
He picked up the remote and turned on the smart TV. He flipped to a global sports feed.
It was the opening stages of the 2023 United Cup, a hard-court tennis tournament in Australia.
On the screen, a singles match was unfolding. The camera from above the baseline captured the blue court. Two athletes were locked in a baseline rally. The thwack of tennis balls off the strings filled the living room.
Deva took a sip of his coffee, tracking the footwork, the weight transfer, and the endurance of the players. He appreciated elite sport in any form, and tennis, with its one-on-one isolation, always held his respect.
He watched as one player hit a deep topspin forehand to the corner, forcing his opponent backward, then stepped in and sliced a drop shot just over the net. The crowd on the television roared.
Suddenly the peace of the morning shattered.
"NANA!"
Aadhya didn't walk into the living room. She arrived like a hurricane. She was wearing bright pink pajamas with mismatched cartoon characters, her hair a tangled mess.
She sprinted across the hardwood, launched herself off the edge of the Persian rug, and crashed into Deva's side, throwing her arms around his waist and burying her face into his ribs.
Deva chuckled, wrapped his arm around her and pulled her onto his lap.
"Good morning, monster," Deva smiled, kissing the top of her head. "Are you awake, or are you sleep-tackling people?"
Aadhya pulled back, rubbing her eyes. "I am awake. I am hungry. I want Dosa."
"We can make Dosas in a little bit," Deva promised, adjusting her against his chest.
Aadhya nodded. She leaned back against him, her legs kicking over the edge of the sofa.
Then her eyes locked onto the television.
Normally, Aadhya's attention span for television lasted four minutes. Unless it was an action cartoon, she found staring at a screen a waste of time when she could be running, jumping, or climbing on the furniture.
But right now, she stared at the blue court. She watched the two players sprinting from side to side. She watched them swing the racquets.
"Nana," Aadhya asked, her brow furrowing. "What are they doing?"
"They're playing tennis, Aadhya," Deva answered.
"Why are they hitting the fuzzy green ball?" she asked, pointing at the screen.
"Because that's the game," Deva explained. "You have to hit the ball over the net in the middle. If the ball bounces twice before the other person can hit it back, you win a point."
Aadhya watched. A player on the television hit a serve down the middle. The opponent lunged but barely got his racquet on it, sending the ball flying out of bounds.
"He hit it very hard," Aadhya observed. She looked up at Deva. "Why doesn't he just smash it as hard as he can every single time? Then the other man can never catch it."
Deva smiled.ย
"Because hitting it hard isn't always the smartest way to win," Deva explained, shifting to look at her. "See how big the blue floor is?"
Aadhya nodded, her eyes glued to the court.
"If you just hit it as hard as you can straight at the other person, they can just block it back," Deva said, tracing a line in the air. "You have to be sneaky. You have to use angles."
"What is an angle?" Aadhya asked.
"It means hitting the ball to the empty spaces," Deva explained, pointing at the TV as a rally began. "Look at the man in the white shirt. Watch where he hits the ball. He hits it all the way to the far left corner. Now the man in the red shirt has to run very, very fast to go get it."
Aadhya watched the man in the red shirt scramble across the screen, barely returning the ball.
"Now," Deva whispered, leaning in close. "The man in the red shirt is stuck on the left side of the court. The whole right side is empty. What should the man in the white shirt do?"
Aadhya's eyes lit up.
"Hit it to the right!" Aadhya shouted, bouncing on his lap. "Hit it where he isn't looking! Make him run all the way back!"
On the screen, exactly as she had predicted, the player in white stepped in and hit a forehand down the opposite line. The player in red scrambled, but he was out of position. The ball bounced twice. Point won.
"YES!" Aadhya shrieked, throwing her hands in the air. "He made him run! He made him tired! That is very smart!"
Deva laughed. He looked at his daughter, surprised by the depth of her engagement.
"It is very smart, monster," Deva agreed. "You don't just win with your muscles. You win with your brain. You watch how the other person moves. If they are slow on their left side, you keep hitting it to their left side. You find their weak spot, and you attack it."
Aadhya was no longer kicking her legs. She was sitting still, leaning forward, watching the screen.
"I want to do that," Aadhya whispered. She looked up at her father. "Nana. I want to hold the stick with the strings. I want to hit the green ball into the empty space. I would hit it so fast they would fall down."
Deva stared at her.
He had spent the last two years trying to channel her energy into gymnastics, swimming, and running. Nothing had captured her attention like this. She didn't just like the running. She loved the combat. She loved the idea of a one-on-one battle where she could outsmart someone and beat them.
"You want to play tennis?" Deva asked.
"Yes," Aadhya nodded. "I want to smash it."
"What are we smashing at nine in the morning?"
Deva turned his head. Krithika was standing in the archway of the living room, wearing an oversized cardigan, holding a cup of tea. She looked at the television, then at Aadhya sitting still on Deva's lap.
Krithika blinked. She rubbed her eyes. She looked at Aadhya again.
"Is she... is she sitting still?" Krithika asked, as if speaking too loudly would break a spell. "She has been in here for ten minutes, and nothing is broken. She hasn't tried to climb the curtains. Is she feeling okay?"
"She's feeling highly competitive," Deva grinned, wrapping his arms around Aadhya.
"We are making the red man tired, Amma!" Aadhya announced, pointing at the TV. "He is very slow. I would beat him."
Krithika walked over and sat down on the other side of the sofa, laughing. She leaned over and kissed Aadhya's cheek. "I have no doubt you would beat him, my fierce little girl."
Krithika looked at Deva over Aadhya's head. The communication between them was instant.
She found her sport, Krithika's eyes said.
I need to buy her a racquet immediately, Deva's eyes replied.
"Alright, tennis champion," Krithika smiled, patting Aadhya's leg. "Before we conquer the world, we have to conquer breakfast. Go wake up your brother and tell him it's time for Dosa."
Aadhya didn't hesitate. The spell of the television broke with the promise of food. She scrambled off Deva's lap and sprinted toward the hallway, her bare feet slapping against the hardwood.
"RISHI! WAKE UP! WE ARE EATING DOSA AND SMASHING GREEN BALLS!" her voice echoed through the farmhouse.
Deva leaned back against the cushions. He reached out and took Krithika's hand, lacing his fingers through hers.
"A tennis player," Deva said. "God help whoever has to stand on the other side of the net against her in ten years."
"She's going to terrorize the entire junior circuit," Krithika agreed, resting her head on his shoulder. "It's the perfect sport for her. It's just her, the ball, and the opponent. No teammates to slow her down."
They sat for a few moments, listening to Aadhya trying to pull Rishi out of his bed down the hall.
It was a quiet start to 2023.
---
After breakfast, while the twins were in the playroom and Krithika was reviewing foundation emails before the holiday officially ended, Deva sat back down on the living room sofa.
He picked up his smartphone.
He scrolled through his camera roll, looking at the photos Krithika had taken the night before.
He clicked on the selfie Krithika had taken.
It was a mess of domestic chaos. Deva standing in the playroom, his face twisted into a goofy grin. Towering above him was a shaky, colorful Lego tower. Standing on Deva's shoulders, her bare feet gripping his t-shirt, was Aadhya, holding the top of his head with one hand and throwing up a peace sign with the other. On the floor next to him, Rishi was giving a serious thumbs-up, while Krithika's laughing face anchored the corner of the frame.
It was messy. It was real.
Deva opened his official Vibe and Twitter accounts. He attached the photo.
He typed a caption:
Starting 2023 by trying not to drop the monster. Happy New Year from our chaos to yours.
He hit post.
He locked his phone and tossed it onto the coffee table, walking away to go find his children.
Within three minutes, the notification light on his phone began to blink. Within five minutes, it was a solid stream of light. Within fifteen minutes, the servers managing the global trending topics began to recalculate.
@CricketNerd_IND: I am genuinely malfunctioning right now. I just watched Siddanth Deva stare down Shaheen Afridi without blinking at the MCG, and now he is grinning like a massive dork while his daughter stands on his head to build a Lego tower. The duality of this man is terrifying and beautiful. ๐ญโค๏ธ๐
@FanGirl_Sid: OH MY GOD LOOK AT HOW BIG THE TWINS ARE! ๐ฅบ Rishi looks like he just inspected the structural integrity of that tower and approved it for building codes. And Aadhya is an absolute queen for conquering the Captain of India! Happy New Year to the royal family! โจ๐จโ๐ฉโ๐งโ๐ฆ
@MemeCentral_Desi:
English Fast Bowlers: "How do we get Siddanth Deva out?"
Aadhya Deva: "Just stand on his shoulders and make him build blocks lol."
The King finally has a weakness, and she is four years old. ๐๐งฑ
@DesiSarcasm:
BCCI: "Captain, we need you fully rested for the Sri Lanka series next week."
Deva: "Best I can do is act as a human scaffolding for a wobbly Lego project at midnight." ๐๏ธ๐
@Local_Uncle: Very nice to see our Captain spending quality time with his family. The modern athletes should learn from this. No loud parties, no clubs. Just staying at home with the children. Very good values. Happy New Year, Siddanth beta! ๐๐ฎ๐ณ
@Priya_Vlogs: Krithika's face in the corner of this selfie is everything! You can just tell she is trying so hard to take the picture before the entire tower collapses on her husband's head. The Deva household is just pure, beautiful chaos. ๐โค๏ธ
@Stats_Guy99: Siddanth Deva's 2022 Stats:
* IPL 2022 Winner ๐ย * T20 World Cup Winner ๐
* Bilateral Series Sweeps: 4 ๐งน
* Number of times bullied by a 4-year-old: Countless.
ย The math checks out. ๐๐
@VFX_Guru_Official: I have literally built 3D physics simulations that are more structurally stable than that Lego tower. I give it exactly 1.4 seconds after this photo was taken before the entire thing crashed to the floor. Deva likes living on the edge. ๐ฅ๐งฑ
@BlueBleeders: The rest of the world sees the terrifying "Architect" who calculates run chases like a supercomputer. We get to see the guy who lets his kid stand on his head. This is why he is the most loved captain we've ever had. ๐๐ฎ๐ณ
@TiredParent_Life: I feel so seen right now. It doesn't matter if you have a billion dollars in the bank and a World Cup trophy on your shelf. When your toddler demands that you become a ladder, you become a ladder. That is the universal law of parenting. ๐ช๐ถ
@Shoaib_Akhtar_Fan: This is the man who made our bowlers run around the MCG until they couldn't breathe? He looks so harmless here! Deva bhai, please bring this nice, smiling energy to the pitch next time instead of the terrifying death stare. ๐ต๐ฐ๐ค๐ฎ๐ณ
@Gamer_Boy007: Bro, Aadhya has better balance standing on a moving human being than I do walking on a flat sidewalk. She definitely inherited the apex predator genes. ๐งฌ๐ฆ
@BCCI_Insider: The PR team at Nexus is probably having a panic attack right now trying to figure out how to monetize this wholesome content, while Deva just casually posted it and went to eat breakfast. He does whatever he wants. ๐ฑโ
@HistoryBuff_IN: Years from now, when historians look back at the legendary era of Siddanth Deva, this photo needs to be framed right next to the image of him lifting the World Cup. It captures the complete man. ๐ผ๏ธโจ
@Sanju_Fan_Club_Kerala: Happy New Year to the best Captain! Thank you for backing our boys in 2022! Have a great holiday with the family, skip! The Orange Army and the Blue Army love you! ๐๐ฅ
@CricCrazyJohn: I zoomed in on Rishi's face in the background. The kid literally looks like a tiny CEO approving a massive infrastructure project. He is not cheering; he is evaluating. The Deva genetics are too strong. ๐๐
@UK_Cricket_Pundit: A brilliant, grounding image of the Indian captain. It is impossible to hate this man. He plays the game harder than anyone else on the planet, but leaves it all at the boundary rope. A true ambassador of the sport. ๐ฌ๐ง๐
@TeluguBidda_99: Our Hyderabad boy showing the world how to properly celebrate the new year! Family first, everything else second! Can't wait to see you smash the Sri Lankans next week, Sid Anna! ๐ฅ๐
@Vibe_Official_Trends: Siddanth Deva has officially shattered the platform engagement records for the first day of 2023. This single photo has generated more traffic in two hours than the entire global New Year countdown streams. The King's influence is absolute. ๐๐ฅ
The internet roared. Inside the farmhouse, the phone remained locked on the coffee table. Deva was oblivious. He was sitting on the floor of the playroom, helping Rishi sort the broken Lego pieces by color and size, preparing for the next build.
---
The New Year holiday was a fragile thing. By the morning of January 2nd, the atmosphere in the Shamshabad farmhouse had shifted.
The father in sweatpants was gone.
Siddanth Deva walked down the wooden staircase. He was wearing the dark blue travel polo of the Indian national team, the BCCI crest over his heart, paired with dark trousers. His beard had been trimmed. His shoulders were set.
The holiday was over. The international calendar had arrived at his doorstep.
Sri Lanka had already landed in India for a three-match T20I and three-match ODI series. It was the first bilateral assignment of the new year, the start of the runway leading to the 50-over ICC World Cup on home soil later in 2023.
Waiting for him in the foyer were his two kitbags, packed and resting near the front doors.
Also waiting for him was his family.
Krithika stood near the console table, a sad smile on her face. Beside her, the twins stood on the hardwood floor, fully aware that the bags meant their father was leaving again.
Deva walked over to them. He dropped to one knee, bringing himself to eye level with his children.
"Alright, monsters," Deva said. "Nana has to go to work for a little while."
Aadhya marched up to him, wrapped her arms around his neck, and squeezed him.
"You go hit the ball, Nana," Aadhya commanded, her voice muffled against his collarbone. She pulled back, placing her hands on his shoulders, looking him in the eye. "And you bring me the shiny cup. The big one. I have new dinosaurs, and they need a house. The cup is a good house."
Deva laughed. His daughter was sending him into an international contest to procure real estate for her plastic toys.
"I will do my best to get you the shiny cup, Aadhya," Deva promised, kissing her forehead. "Be good for Amma. Don't tackle your brother."
Aadhya offered a shrug, refusing to make any promises regarding her brother's safety, and stepped back.
Deva turned to Rishi.
His son was standing straight, his hands in the pockets of his shorts. He looked at the kitbags, and then at his father. He gave his father a hug.
"Goodbye, Nana," Rishi said. "Do not waste energy running too much. Hitting the ball all the way to the fence is more efficient. Less steps."
"I will try to be as efficient as possible, Rishi," Deva agreed, accepting the advice. "Take care of your mother and your sister."
"I will," Rishi nodded.
Deva stood up, his knees popping slightly. He turned to Krithika.
The banter faded. Krithika stepped into his arms, wrapping her hands around his waist, resting her cheek against his chest. She breathed in the scent of his cologne, a scent that meant he was leaving.
"I hate this part," Krithika whispered, her eyes closed.
"I know," Deva murmured, kissing the top of her head.ย
"Go lead them, Sid," Krithika said, pulling back, offering him a smile. She reached up and smoothed the collar of his national team polo. "Show them why you're the Devil. Call me when you land in Mumbai."
"I will. I love you."
"I love you too."
Deva turned. He gripped the straps of his kitbags and hauled them onto his shoulders. He walked out the wooden doors of the farmhouse, down the stone steps, and into the waiting Range Rover.
The door closed with a thud. The SUV pulled away, gliding down the driveway and passing through the iron gates.
The father was left behind in Shamshabad. The Captain of the Indian National Cricket Team was en route.
---
The transition from the farmhouse to the Nexus corporate jet was a necessary airlock.
The aircraft was idling on the private tarmac at the Hyderabad airport. Deva climbed the stairs, welcomed by a nod from the flight attendant.
As the jet roared down the runway, pushing him back into the seat, Deva closed his eyes.
He opened the laptop screen. He pulled up the data packets compiled by the Indian analytics team regarding the Sri Lankan squad.
Sri Lanka was a dangerous, unpredictable team. They had just won the Asia Cup months ago, playing aggressive cricket under Dasun Shanaka. They possessed mystery spinners like Maheesh Theekshana and Wanindu Hasaranga, bowlers designed to choke the scoring rate in the middle overs.
Deva didn't just look at their bowling averages. His mind, augmented by the Expert Physics Skill, broke down their mechanics.
He watched a clip of Hasaranga bowling his googly. Deva analyzed the release point. He noted the slight drop in the bowler's shoulder when the wrong'un was delivered. He calculated the revolutions on the ball and the trajectory on the red-soil pitches of Mumbai and Pune.
If he pitches it on a length on off-stump, it will skid and turn into the pads, Deva processed. We don't sweep him early. We use the depth of the crease, wait for the ball to do its work, and punch him through the off-side against the spin. We neutralize the mystery by refusing to guess.
He spent the ninety-minute flight to Mumbai in silence, absorbing the data, building the architecture for the series. He was planning bowling matchups, identifying which of his fast bowlers would target which Sri Lankan opener, and visualizing the field placements.
By the time the Nexus jet touched down at Chhatrapati Shivaji Maharaj International Airport, the blueprint was complete.
---
The team hotel in South Mumbai was a fortress of security. The lobby was cordoned off, guarded by local police and private details.
Deva walked through the revolving glass doors, his kitbags over his shoulder. The smell of the hotel lobby was the smell of the international circuit.
He headed straight for the team room on the third floorโa conference hall converted into a lounge, complete with catering, gaming consoles, and massage tables.
Deva pushed the doors open.
The room was quiet. Sitting at a round table near the windows overlooking the Arabian Sea was a solitary figure.
Rahul Dravid, the Head Coach of the Indian cricket team, was leaning over a digital tablet, his reading glasses perched low on his nose, holding a cup of green tea. The Wall of Indian cricket radiated calm. He was the counterweight to the fire Deva brought to the captaincy.
Dravid looked up as the door opened. A smile spread across his face. He took his glasses off and stood up.
"Sid," Dravid greeted. "Welcome back. I trust the New Year was peaceful?"
"It was perfect, Jammy bhai," Deva replied, shaking the coach's hand, dropping his bags near the door. "Quiet, grounding, and exactly what I needed. How are the boys looking?"
"They arrived last night," Dravid noted, gesturing to the empty room. "They are currently in the gym doing their recovery sessions. The energy is fantastic. Winning a World Cup does wonders for a dressing room's confidence. But we have to make sure they don't get complacent. Sri Lanka is a proud team. They will come at us hard in the powerplay."
"Let them come," Deva said, walking over to the table and pouring himself a bottle of water. "If they attack, they take risks. We just need to hit our lengths and let them make the mistakes. Has Umran arrived?"
"He's here," Dravid confirmed, a smile touching his lips. "He is practically vibrating with energy. I think he wants to bowl 160 clicks tomorrow."
"I'll have a word with him," Deva noted. "Pace is useless without control."
Before they could go deeper into tactics, the doors of the team room burst open.
The quiet of the room was annihilated.
Hardik Pandya swaggered in, he was wearing designer sunglasses indoors, a gold chain around his neck, and a grin that stretched from ear to ear. He was holding a protein shake, but he looked like he was walking into a nightclub.
Behind him, the Indian squad poured through the doors.
Suryakumar Yadav was laughing at a joke being told by Ishan Kishan. Yuzvendra Chahal was skipping into the room, holding a smartphone and recording a vlog.
The transition from the solitary focus of the flight to the camaraderie of the dressing room was instant.
"Skip!" Hardik yelled, walking across the room and pulling Deva into a hug, nearly spilling his protein shake. "Happy New Year, brother! Did you actually rest, or were you secretly in your basement building another hypercar?"
"Happy New Year, Hardik," Deva laughed, slapping the all-rounder on the back. "I actually rested."
"Skip!" SKY called out, walking over to offer a hug. "Good to see you, captain. The break was too long. I am itching to hit some cricket balls."
"You'll get plenty of chances tomorrow, Surya," Deva smiled.
Suddenly, Yuzvendra Chahal pushed his way to the front of the group. The leg-spinner was holding his smartphone up, pulling up a photograph. He had a grin on his face.
Chahal cleared his throat, demanding the attention of the entire room.
"Attention, gentlemen!" Chahal announced, waving his phone in the air. "I would like to officially welcome our fearless leader back to the camp. The man who breaks international fast bowlers for breakfast. The most terrifying man in world cricket!"
Chahal turned the screen around, shoving it into Deva's face.
Displayed on the screen was the New Year's Eve selfie. Deva standing with a goofy grin, acting as scaffolding while Aadhya stood on his shoulders to put the final piece on a wobbly Lego tower.
The squad erupted into laughter.
"Look at him!" Chahal cackled, pointing at the photo. "He looks so helpless! Forget facing Shaheen Afridi, the hardest workout the captain did all year was trying not to drop a four-year-old in pink pajamas!"
Ishan Kishan fell onto one of the massage tables, clutching his stomach. "Sid bhai! You look like a terrified construction worker! Aadhya completely owns you!"
Hardik was wiping a tear from his eye, leaning against SKY. "I'm telling you, boys. The real apex predator in the Deva family isn't him. It's his daughter. She is going to be running the BCCI by the time she's twelve."
Rahul Dravid stood near the window, shaking his head with a smile, enjoying the boys tearing strips off their captain.
Deva crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the table, a smirk spreading across his face.
He waited for the laughter to die down just a fraction.
"You're very brave today, Yuzi," Deva noted.
Chahal immediately stopped laughing. He lowered his phone, recognizing the glint in his captain's eye. "Uh... just a joke, Sid bhai. Pure respect. Pure respect."
Deva tilted his head slightly. "I'm glad you're in such a good mood, Yuzi. Because I was looking at the pitch reports for the Wankhede stadium tomorrow."
The room went quiet.
"The pitch is flat, and the boundaries are very, very short," Deva continued. "Dasun Shanaka and Bhanuka Rajapaksa are going to be targeting the short square boundaries against the spin. They are going to try and hit you out of the attack in the middle overs."
Chahal swallowed. "I... I have my variations ready, skip. I won't give them flight."
"Oh, you will give them flight," Deva corrected him, a smile on his face. "Because I am going to bowl you in the powerplay. With only two fielders outside the thirty-yard circle. Against their most aggressive opening batsmen."
The squad erupted into a chorus of "Ooooohs" and cheers.
"Skip, no!" Chahal pleaded, falling to his knees and clutching his chest. "In the powerplay?! At the Wankhede?! It's a graveyard for spinners! Have mercy! I take the joke back! The Lego tower is solid! Aadhya is a genius!"
"Actions have consequences, Yuzvendra Singh Chahal," Deva deadpanned, patting the spinner on the shoulder as he walked past him toward his kitbags. "Better start stretching your shoulders. You're going to need them."
Hardik laughed, clapping Chahal on the back as the spinner remained on the floor in theatrical despair.
The atmosphere in the team room was right. They could roast each other about their personal lives one minute and shift into tactics the next. There were no egos. There was trust, and belief in the man leading them.
Deva picked up his bags, offering a nod to Rahul Dravid.
"Get some rest, boys," Deva called out, walking toward the door. "We have an early net session tomorrow. The holidays are officially over. It's time to go to work."
The players responded with a roar of agreement.
As the doors of the team room closed behind him, Deva walked down the carpeted hallway of the hotel. He didn't feel the fatigue of the journey. He felt light, and focused.
The foundation had been secured at the farmhouse. The squad had been reunited in Mumbai. The year 2023 stretched out before him, filled with tournaments, pitches, and the pursuit of the ODI World Cup.
The captain was back. He was ready to work.