The month of April 2020 descended upon India not with the usual rising heat of approaching summer, but with anxiety.
The initial novelty of the nationwide lockdown had evaporated. The empty streets were no longer a curious spectacle; they were a grim reminder of a world that had suddenly ceased to function. Television news channels, which had once thrived on loud political debates and sports analysis, were now consumed by climbing graphs, rising infection rates, and deeply distressing footage from around the globe.
Hospitals in major metropolitan cities were beginning to feel the first terrifying waves of pressure. The medical infrastructure was straining under the sudden influx of patients requiring respiratory support, while the doctors, nurses, and frontline workers faced an invisible enemy with dwindling resources and mounting exhaustion.
During this time Siddanth Deva opened the vast, multi-billion-dollar resources of his empire and instructed his executives to remove practical obstacles wherever the government needed them removed.
The most significant initiative involved NEXUS City.
The massive, newly constructed residential and commercial township, originally designed for all the companies under NEXUS, was temporarily handed over to the state government. The sprawling, high-tech complex was rapidly repurposed into a massive support facility. Empty apartment blocks were converted into structured quarantine zones. The large halls became temporary medical wards and logistical staging areas for medical supplies.
But the most immediate, human impact of the Nexus response was felt in the hospitality sector.
Several luxury Nexus-owned hotels across Hyderabad, Mumbai, and Delhi were made exclusively available to healthcare workers.
Late one evening in central Hyderabad, a young emergency room doctor walked into the lobby of a five-star Nexus hotel. She was wearing faded scrubs, her face deeply creased with the angry red marks of wearing a tight N95 mask for fourteen consecutive hours. She was drained and terrified of carrying the virus back to her elderly parents and young daughter in her small apartment.
She approached the reception desk, her voice barely a whisper. "I was told... the hospital administration said there might be a room?"
The receptionist, standing behind a newly installed plexiglass barrier, didn't ask for payment or a credit card. He simply looked at her hospital ID, offered a warm, deeply respectful smile, and slid a sterilized keycard across the counter.
"Room 412, doctor," the receptionist said gently. "There is hot food waiting for you in the dining hall, available twenty-four hours. Thank you for everything you are doing."
The doctor took the keycard. She didn't say anything. She simply lowered her head, a single tear of relief slipping down her cheek as she walked toward the elevators, knowing she could finally sleep without putting her family in danger.
Stories like this multiplied across the country. Nexus trucks moved silently through the night, delivering food to stranded daily wage workers, transporting emergency medical equipment, and providing digital infrastructure for government tracking systems.
While the Nexus empire fought the logistical war on the surface, the true battle was being waged in the basement.
Inside the basement of the Shamshabad farmhouse, the climate-controlled server room was a hive of continuous, silent activity. The massive LED screens dominating the main workspace were never turned off.
VEDA had been running millions of complex molecular simulations continuously for weeks.
Deva had spent the early hours of his mornings and the late hours of his nights sitting in the heavy leather chair, directing the AI, cross-referencing the accumulating global clinical data with his own staggering comprehension of chemistry and molecular biology.
It was late April when the math finally aligned.
The basement was quiet. Deva was sitting at the desk, a cup of cold coffee resting near his keyboard, with Ronnie curled into a heavy, snoring heap at his feet. He was staring at the central monitor.
The screen was not flashing red. There were no warning sirens or error logs.
Instead, a complex, three-dimensional holographic model of a synthesized molecule was rotating slowly on the screen. It was perfectly anchored into the active binding site of the viral protease structure, neutralizing its replication mechanism with flawless, unbreakable thermodynamic stability.
On the adjacent screen, the schematics for a lipid-nanoparticle delivery system—the foundational architecture for an mRNA vaccine—glowed in steady, calm green text. The degradation tests had passed. The stability metrics were absolute.
It was not a magic potion. It was not a cure that could be instantly injected into a billion arms tomorrow morning. Deva knew that the grueling path of animal testing, clinical human trials, immune-response validation, and regulatory approval still lay ahead.
But the hardest part—finding the lock, and forging the chemical key—was done. The science was sound.
Deva simply sat back against the leather upholstery, closing his tired eyes for a long moment. He felt the heavy, crushing weight of the past three months slowly begin to lift from his chest.
"So," Deva said, his voice quiet in the empty room. "We have a way forward."
"Affirmative, sir," VEDA's smooth voice resonated from the overhead speakers, causing Ronnie's ears to twitch momentarily. "The candidate treatment compound exhibits a 99.8% binding efficacy with negligible predicted toxicity in simulated human serum. The vaccine platform design demonstrates total stability. The next mandatory phase is biological validation and clinical trials."
"VEDA,"
"Yes, sir. How shall we proceed with the data?"
"Identify the major public research institutions and collaborative scientific networks currently working on the protease inhibitors and mRNA stabilization," Deva instructed. "I want you to use the datasets we've compiled and subtly integrate our findings into their existing research pathways."
Deva leaned forward, tapping a pen against the desk. "Hack into their private servers. Slightly change the specific molecular structures, the binding models, and the stabilization data in their scientific databases and collaborative pre-print servers they are using. Frame the data so that their own analytical models will naturally flag it as the next logical step in their research."
"You are authorizing the anonymous distribution of the breakthrough, sir?" VEDA asked, processing the parameters. "The respective scientific institutions will independently verify the data and claim the public discovery."
"Yes," Deva nodded, a quiet, resolute smile touching his lips. "Let them discover it. Let the virologists and the researchers be the heroes on the news. They earned it. We just need to give them the map."
"Executing data integration protocols now, sir," VEDA confirmed softly. "The relevant scientific communities will encounter the data points within the next forty-eight hours."
With the heavy burden of the COVID research finally lifted from his shoulders, Deva's late-night visits to the basement workspace underwent a transformation.
He didn't stop going downstairs. His mind was too active, too heavily augmented by the system to simply sleep for eight hours. But the urgency was gone.
Now, the basement became a playground for his intellect.
Sitting in the quiet hum of the server room, Deva began casually sketching out solutions to long-term engineering and infrastructural problems, utilizing the full, combined might of his Grandmaster Tier skills and the Tony Stark template.
On one massive screen, a complex chemical diagram rotating slowly. Deva was exploring the foundational chemistry of solid-state lithium-ion batteries. He was trying to solve the problem of thermal stability and energy density. He played with the atomic structures, designing new electrolyte compounds that could theoretically double the range of the Nexus EV vehicles while eliminating the risk of battery fires.
On a secondary screen, fluid dynamic simulations were running.
He had begun sketching conceptual designs for advanced aerodynamics. He drew sleek, futuristic fuselage models for private jets and commercial aircraft, attempting to reduce drag coefficients to lower fuel consumption. VEDA ran virtual wind-tunnel tests on his designs, occasionally highlighting structural weaknesses, which Deva would immediately correct with a few rapid keystrokes.
He moved from aircraft to drones. He drafted concepts for heavy-lift, autonomous quadcopters that could be deployed for rapid agricultural spraying or disaster response logistics.
But his most ambitious conceptual project sat on the far right monitor.
It was a highly theoretical, early-stage blueprint for a Molten Salt Thorium Reactor.
India possessed some of the largest thorium reserves on the planet, but the technology to safely and efficiently convert it into clean, large-scale nuclear energy was still in its infancy. Deva spent hours staring at the screen, running thermodynamic models and safety protocols, imagining a future where Nexus could quietly hand the Indian government a blueprint for energy independence.
He wasn't trying to build a reactor in his basement. He was just doing the math, preparing the concepts for a day when the world would be ready for them.
These intense, highly technical sessions were frequently, and beautifully, interrupted.
One afternoon, while Deva was deep into a fluid dynamic calculation regarding drone lift capacity, the heavy basement door clicked open.
Ronnie trotted in first, his tail wagging a happy rhythm, immediately making a beeline for his favorite spot under the desk. Deva turned his chair around just as Aadhya marched into the room, holding a half-eaten biscuit. Rishi trailed behind her, holding Krithika's hand.
"You've been down here for four hours, Sid," Krithika said, leaning against the doorframe. "You need to see the sun."
Before Deva could answer, Aadhya waddled over to the main workstation. She saw the bright, glowing colors of the aerodynamic simulation on the screen and immediately reached her sticky, biscuit-covered hand toward the expensive monitor.
"Whoa, nope," Deva laughed, quickly catching her hand and lifting her into his lap, moving her safely away from the keyboard. "We don't touch the math, Aadhya."
Rishi walked over slowly, standing next to Deva's chair. He simply stared at the rotating 3D model of the drone on the screen, captivated by the spinning rotors, while giving Ronnie's ear a gentle, absentminded stroke.
"You're corrupting them with engineering already," Krithika smiled, walking over and resting a hand on Deva's shoulder.
"Just showing them the family business," Deva replied, kissing Aadhya's cheek and standing up, leaving the billion-dollar concepts rendering silently on the screens. "Come on. Let's go outside."
The days blurred into weeks.
In the background, the television news occasionally murmured from the living room. The global situation remained grim. The lockdown extended. The cases rose. But occasionally, a news anchor would report on a promising new treatment protocol being tested by medical researchers, or a sudden, unexpected acceleration in mRNA vaccine stability trials coming out of a collaborative international laboratory.
The atmosphere in the farmhouse was remarkably lighter.
With the crushing weight of the COVID research finally transitioned to the global scientific community, Deva found himself with pockets of free time he hadn't experienced in months.
He was sitting in the living room, a laptop resting casually on his knees, while a video call occupied the screen.
Virat Kohli's face filled the window. The Indian vice-captain was sitting in his Mumbai apartment, looking restless and bored, wearing a simple t-shirt.
"I am telling you, Sid, if I have to do one more set of burpees in my living room, I am going to lose my mind," Kohli complained, running a hand through his rapidly growing, unkempt beard. "There is no space. I try to do a shuttle run and I hit the dining table."
Deva chuckled, leaning back into the sofa cushions. "You live in a massive penthouse, Virat. Stop complaining. You have more square footage than most indoor stadiums."
"It doesn't feel like it," Kohli groaned. "I miss the grass. I miss the sound of the ball hitting the bat. When do you think the BCCI is going to let us assemble for a training camp? August? September?"
"Not anytime soon," Deva replied honestly. "The government isn't going to authorize a national sports gathering until the case numbers drop significantly. You need to pace yourself. Don't burn out trying to maintain match fitness in a living room. Just maintain your baseline."
"Easy for you to say," Kohli muttered playfully. "You have an entire enclosed turf net on your estate. You're probably facing a bowling machine at 150 kilometers an hour every morning."
As they were talking, the sound of rapid toddler footsteps echoed across the floor.
Aadhya marched into the living room. She was wearing a bright yellow dress. She had a plastic toy phone in one hand. She stopped in the middle of the rug, spotting Deva sitting on the sofa with his laptop. Ronnie was sprawled out next to the sofa, completely unfazed by her sudden entrance.
She immediately abandoned her original destination and waddled over to the sofa, stepping right over the dog's midsection, her eyes locking onto the glowing screen.
"Come here," Deva smiled, reaching out and lifting her easily onto his lap.
Aadhya sat on his knee, leaning forward to stare at the screen. She saw the bearded face looking back at her.
"Hey, Aadhya!" Kohli grinned brightly. He waved at the camera. "How are you doing? Are you giving your dad a hard time?"
Aadhya stared at the screen for three seconds, her brow furrowed in concentration as she processed the face.
She pointed a tiny, chubby finger directly at the webcam.
"Kohli!" she announced proudly.
"Yes! That's right!" Kohli laughed loudly, clapping his hands together. "You're getting so big!"
Aadhya stared at him for five more seconds. Having successfully identified the man on the screen, she decided the interaction was no longer interesting. She simply picked up her plastic toy phone, wriggled off Deva's lap, dropped to the floor, gave Ronnie a firm pat on the head as she passed, and marched out of the living room toward the kitchen without looking back once.
Deva and Kohli stared at the empty doorway.
The silence stretched for a moment before both men burst into loud, echoing laughter.
"Well," Kohli chuckled, shaking his head. "She clearly has much more important things to do. I have been dismissed by a two-year-old."
"She runs a very tight schedule," Deva agreed, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. "I'll let you get back to your dining-table shuttle runs. Stay safe. Call me if you need anything."
"You too, Captain," Kohli smiled warmly. "See you on the other side of this."
Later that evening, the farmhouse settled into its comfortable evening rhythm.
The living room was softly lit. Rishi and Aadhya were sitting on the large woven rug, surrounded by a small mountain of soft blocks and stuffed animals. Ronnie was stretched out among them, acting as a furry, breathing barrier for their toys. Deva was sitting on the floor with them, casually helping Rishi stack three square blocks on top of each other, while Aadhya was busy trying to pull the ear off a plush elephant.
Krithika walked into the room, carrying two mugs of green tea. She handed one to Deva and sat down cross-legged beside him on the rug, wrapping both hands around the warm ceramic.
They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, watching their children play.
"I think Anjali is seeing someone," Krithika said casually, taking a sip of her tea.
Deva paused mid-motion, holding a red block in the air. He turned his head slowly to look at his wife. He raised an eyebrow.
"Who?" Deva asked simply.
"I don't know," Krithika admitted, a small frown appearing on her face. "But I am certain."
"How are you so sure?"
"Because she's acting exactly how I acted when we first started dating," Krithika explained, leaning closer and lowering her voice conspiratorially, despite the fact that the only other people in the room were toddlers who couldn't understand them. "She sits in the corner of the veranda giggling at her phone. She takes her laptop into her room and locks the door for hours. And yesterday, I walked into her room to ask her about dinner, and she was on a video call. The second she saw me, her eyes went wide, she slammed the laptop shut, and started talking really loudly about the weather."
Deva listened, an amused smile spreading across his face. He set the red block down in front of Rishi, who immediately knocked it over onto Ronnie's paw. The dog simply let out a long breath and didn't move.
"So, what do you want me to do?" Deva asked, taking a sip of his tea.
Krithika looked at him expectantly. "I don't know. You're the one with the global security apparatus and the supercomputer in the basement. Can't you find out?"
Deva let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "I am not going to use VEDA to spy on your sister's dating life, Krithi. That feels like a violation of privacy."
Krithika sighed, knowing he was right but still burning with older-sister curiosity. "I know. But I just want to know who it is. What if it's someone weird?"
Deva thought about it for a moment. He looked at Krithika.
"Why don't you just ask her?" Deva suggested practically.
Krithika blinked, as if the idea of a direct conversation was foreign. "Just... ask her?"
"Yes. She's your sister. Find out who the person is. Once we know his name and what he does, we can decide what to do," Deva said, his tone reasonable.
Krithika nodded slowly, a determined glint appearing in her eye. She set her teacup down on the table and started to push herself up from the floor. "You're right. I'm going to go ask her right now."
Deva reached out quickly, catching her lightly by the wrist.
"Not now," Deva said softly, pulling her back down.
She looked at him, confused. "Why?"
"Because if you march into her room right now looking like an interrogator, you'll spook her," Deva explained, an amused smile playing on his lips. "She'll deny everything. Wait until tomorrow. Bring it up casually over coffee. Let her tell you when she feels comfortable."
Krithika let out a defeated sigh, but she knew he was right. She settled back down onto the rug, picking her tea back up. "Fine. Tomorrow. But if he isn't good enough for her, I am going to make you use your supercomputer to ruin his life."
"Deal," Deva laughed, leaning over to kiss her cheek.
By nine o'clock, the twins had finally exhausted their daily reserves of energy. Aadhya had become restless, whining softly and rubbing her eyes, while Rishi had simply laid down on the rug, resting his head on his stuffed elephant and falling fast asleep.
Deva and Krithika carried them upstairs, followed closely by the clicking of Ronnie's nails against the wooden floorboards, navigating the familiar, quiet routine of brushing teeth and changing into pajamas. They laid the children in their respective cribs in the nursery, pulling the soft blankets up over their shoulders.
Returning to their own master bedroom, the heavy silence of the farmhouse wrapped around them. Ronnie did two quick circles at the foot of the bed before dropping into his usual sleeping spot with a heavy sigh.
They changed into comfortable night clothes and climbed into the large bed, pulling the heavy duvet up. The only light in the room came from the soft, pale glow of the bedside lamp.
"It feels so strange," Krithika murmured softly, staring up at the ceiling. "The whole world is locked down. Millions of people are terrified. And yet... we've spent the whole day playing UNO and watching the kids build blocks. It feels like we're living in a bubble."
"We are," Deva said quietly, turning his head to look at her. "And that's okay. We prepared for this so that we wouldn't have to be afraid inside these walls."
Krithika turned on her side, facing him, resting her hand on his chest. "I like having you home this much. I know the circumstances are terrible, but... usually you're on a plane every three weeks. Having you here every single day for dinner, seeing you play with the kids... it's nice."
"I like being here," Deva smiled, shifting his arm to wrap it securely around her waist, pulling her closer.
Krithika rested her head against his shoulder. A comfortable silence stretched between them for a few minutes.
Then, her mind began to wander back to the great mystery of the evening.
"What if he's older?" Krithika asked suddenly into the quiet room.
Deva frowned slightly in the dark. "Who?"
"Anjali's mystery man," Krithika said, her brow furrowing in thought. "What if he's like, forty?"
Deva let out a soft, exasperated sigh. "Krithi, we don't even know if he exists yet."
"Okay, but what if he's from another city?" she continued, entirely ignoring his logic. "What if she wants to move to Delhi or Bangalore? My parents would be devastated."
"You are planning a relocation for a man who currently has no name," Deva pointed out dryly.
"What if we don't like him?" Krithika pressed, tilting her head up to look at him, her eyes wide with concern. "What if he's arrogant? Or what if he doesn't understand her sense of humor?"
Deva looked down at his wife, amused by her spiraling imagination. "Krithika. You are currently ten steps ahead of a conversation you haven't even had yet."
"I'm just trying to be prepared!" she defended herself, though a small smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth. "What if she refuses to tell us anything tomorrow?"
"If she refuses to tell us—"
Deva stopped talking. He shifted his weight, rolling slightly onto his side to face her.
He leaned in and pressed his lips firmly against hers, silencing the endless stream of hypothetical anxieties.
Krithika let out a soft, surprised breath against his mouth before leaning into the kiss, her hand sliding up his chest to rest against his neck. The tension of the outside world, the mystery of her sister's dating life, and the strange reality of the lockdown melted away entirely.
The kiss deepened, slow and affectionate. Deva pulled her flush against him, his other arm wrapping securely around her waist.
Krithika smiled against his lips, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. They pulled the heavy blankets around themselves, the soft glow of the bedside lamp reflecting off the quiet, peaceful walls of the bedroom as the rest of the house slept.