It was early evening. The intense heat of the day had finally broken, leaving behind a warm, comfortable breeze that drifted through the open veranda doors of the main living room.
The entire family was gathered together.
The sprawling living space had become the center of their universe over the past several weeks. Vikram and Subba Rao occupied the two large armchairs, both wearing comfortable cotton kurtas. Sesikala and Suma sat together on the main sofa, peeling a large bowl of fresh mangoes from the estate's orchards. Krithika was sitting cross-legged on the thick woven rug, while Anjali sat on the floor a few feet away, leaning her back against the base of the sofa. Ronnie lay stretched out between them, serving as a massive, breathing footrest for Krithika.
Siddanth Deva sat beside Krithika on the rug, his back resting comfortably against the edge of the coffee table. He wore a t-shirt and loose track pants.
A few feet away, the twins were engaged in their own evening routines.
Aadhya was currently attempting to organize a collection of brightly colored plastic blocks. Her definition of organization primarily involved carrying three blocks across the room, dropping them near Ronnie's sleeping form, picking up two different ones, and running back. She moved with unflagging toddler energy, occasionally using the dog's side as a launchpad, which he accepted with nothing more than a heavy sigh.
Rishi, true to his nature, was sitting quietly near the television stand, holding a wooden puzzle piece. He turned it over slowly in his hands, inspecting the grooves and edges with concentration of a tiny engineer.
The large OLED was displaying a live video feed directly from Facebook.
Sitting in a simple, well-lit room on the screen was the legendary playback singer, S. P. Balasubrahmanyam. He wore a gentle smile, a high-quality microphone positioned in front of him.
The lockdown had devastated the livelihoods of thousands of stage musicians, background singers, and instrumentalists whose incomes relied on live performances and studio recordings. Recognizing the quiet crisis unfolding in the background of the pandemic, SPB had organized a series of online, live-streamed concerts. The premise was simple: he would sing, interact with his fans, and raise funds to support the struggling artists of the music industry.
The family watched the screen with rapt attention.
"It is so good to see him looking well," Sesikala remarked, pausing her work with the mangoes to watch the legendary singer speak to the camera. "His voice hasn't changed at all. It still sounds the way it did thirty years ago."
"Some voices don't age," Vikram agreed, adjusting his spectacles. "I remember listening to his songs on the radio when we were in college. The man has sung in almost every language in this country. He is an institution."
On the television, SPB finished a beautiful, soulful rendition of a classic Tamil melody. He took a sip of water, smiling warmly as he looked at a tablet screen off-camera, reading the comments flowing in from thousands of viewers across the globe.
"Thank you, thank you so much," SPB said, his voice rich and humble. "I am seeing so many wonderful messages from all of you. We are all sitting in our homes, waiting for this difficult time to pass, but music always finds a way to connect us, doesn't it?"
Deva watched the screen, a quiet smile on his face. He admired the man immensely. Not just for the unparalleled talent, but for the grace with which he carried his legacy, choosing to use his platform to lift up the people standing in his shadow.
Deva pulled his smartphone from his pocket.
"Does anyone want to request a song?" Deva asked, looking around the room.
His parents did not even hesitate. The response was immediate and unified.
"Jamurathri," Vikram and Sesikala said almost at the same time.
Subba Rao laughed from his armchair, pointing a finger in agreement. "Excellent choice. From Kshana Kshanam. You cannot beat the melody of that song."
Suma nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, please ask for that one. It is perfect for a quiet evening."
"Alright," Deva smiled, unlocking his phone.
He opened the Facebook app and navigated to the live stream. In the corner of the video feed, a UPI ID and a bank account number were clearly displayed for donations to the artists' relief fund.
Before typing his request, Deva opened his NEXUS Pay app. He copied the UPI ID, entered the payment details, and authorized a transfer of ₹10,00,000.
A small green checkmark appeared on his screen, confirming the transaction. The money would go directly to the musicians who were currently sitting in their homes, worrying about how to feed their families without their daily wages.
Deva switched back to the Facebook live stream. The comment section was moving at a blinding speed, a continuous waterfall of emojis, song requests, and greetings.
He tapped the comment box. He wanted to ensure the greeting felt personal and respectful.
He typed: "Namaskaram SPB sir, nannu gurthu pattara?" (Hello SPB sir, do you recognize me?)
He hit send.
With over fifty thousand people currently watching the stream, the comment was instantly swallowed by the scrolling wall of text. But SPB, sitting in his room, had a dedicated monitor displaying highlighted interactions and donations.
On the television screen, SPB paused, squinting slightly as he read something on his monitor.
A warm smile broke across his face. He let out a rich, echoing laugh.
"Well, look who is here," SPB said, leaning closer to his microphone, his eyes crinkling with delight. "He asks if I recognize him. Who in this country can forget the captain of Indian sports? Namaskaram, Siddanth. It is a very pleasant surprise to see you joining us this evening. I hope you and your family are staying safe and healthy during this lockdown."
In the living room, Krithika turned to Deva, her eyes wide with amusement. "He actually saw your comment."
"He has a good moderation team," Deva chuckled.
The moment SPB said Deva's name out loud, the comment section on the right side of the television screen exploded. The scrolling text blurred into an unreadable frenzy of activity.
Anjali pulled out her own phone, opening the stream just to read the reactions.
"Bava, the chat is losing its mind," Anjali laughed, scrolling rapidly with her thumb. "Look at this."
She read a few of the fictionalized comments aloud:
Wait, is Siddanth Deva actually in the chat right now?!
Captain! Bring the World Cup to the stream!
OMG SPB and Deva in the same place. Legends.
Anna, please tell the BCCI to start the matches again, we are dying of boredom.
Did anyone see the donation ticker? He just dropped 10 Lakhs!
Massive respect to Siddanth for supporting the musicians.
Deva watching SPB is the most wholesome lockdown content ever.
Deva typed a second message into the chat.
"I think I've already said it, but it never hurts to say it again. Big fan of you, sir."
On the screen, SPB read the message and laughed again, pressing his hands together in a gesture of humility.
"Likewise, Siddanth. Likewise," SPB responded warmly. "You bring immense pride to all of us on the cricket field. We watch you play with great joy."
SPB looked down at his monitor again, his expression turning slightly more serious, filled with gratitude.
"And I also want to thank you, Siddanth," SPB continued, his voice echoing through the farmhouse speakers. "I see the contribution you just made to the musicians' relief fund. That is a very, very generous gesture. On behalf of all the artists who are struggling right now, who cannot go to the studios or the stages, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. It means a great deal."
SPB adjusted his glasses. "Now, since you are here, Siddanth... is there a song you want me to sing for you and your family?"
Deva quickly typed his parents' request: "Jamurathri — Kshana Kshanam."
SPB smiled, a look of nostalgia crossing his face.
"Ah. 'Jamurathri'," SPB said softly, leaning back in his chair. "That is an exceptional choice. One of my favorites. A beautiful composition by M. M. Keeravani, and written by the great Sirivennela Seetharama Sastry. It is a song meant for a quiet, peaceful night. Let us see if I can do it justice for your family."
The living room fell silent.
SPB closed his eyes. The subtle, digital backing track of a soft flute and gentle percussion began to play.
He took a breath, and began to sing.
The voice that emerged from the speakers was timeless. It carried the weight of decades of emotion, yet it was smooth, wrapping around the room like a warm blanket. The melody of "Jamurathri" was notoriously haunting and beautiful, a lullaby designed to soothe the anxieties of the night, and SPB delivered it with effortless grace.
Sesikala rested her head back against the sofa, her eyes closed, a nostalgic smile on her face. Beside her, Suma was swaying very slightly to the rhythm, lost in the magic of the music. Vikram and Subba Rao sat in stillness, respecting the mastery of the performance.
Deva sat on the rug, his arm resting casually over Krithika's knee. For a few minutes, he was just a man sitting in his living room, listening to a beautiful song with his family.
As the final, lingering note of the melody faded away into silence, the room remained quiet for a long moment, reluctant to break the spell.
On the screen, SPB opened his eyes, offering a gentle smile to the camera.
Deva picked up his phone and typed one final message into the chat.
"Thank you for the song, sir."
SPB read the comment and nodded warmly. "My pleasure, Siddanth. My pleasure. Stay safe."
With the interaction concluded, SPB smoothly transitioned back to addressing the rest of his global audience, reading other comments and preparing for his next song.
Deva placed his phone face-down on the coffee table.
"That was wonderful," Vikram sighed, looking satisfied. "He hasn't lost a single fraction of his range."
"It makes you forget everything else going on right now," Subba Rao agreed, nodding slowly. "Just talent."
"I haven't heard that song in years," Krithika said, resting her chin on top of Aadhya's head. "It's so calming."
Aadhya, however, had decided that the calming portion of the evening was officially over. She squirmed out of Krithika's lap, stood up, and immediately marched toward Deva, pointing a demanding finger at his face.
"Akali," Aadhya announced clearly. Hungry.
Deva laughed, scooping her up and tossing her lightly into the air, drawing a shrieking giggle from her. "You are always hungry, little monster. Let's go eat."
The family slowly mobilized, leaving the soothing background music of the livestream playing on the television as they migrated toward the grand dining room. Ronnie eagerly scrambled to his feet, wide awake at the mention of food, and led the procession.
Dinner was a warm, ordinary affair.
The conversation flowed naturally. Vikram and Subba Rao debated the greatest eras of Telugu cinema, trading stories about the massive theatrical releases of the 1980s and 90s.
Deva and Krithika focused on feeding two active toddlers.
Rishi was being cooperative, opening his mouth dutifully as Krithika fed him small pieces of soft roti mixed with dal. He chewed slowly, his eyes fixed on the salt shaker in the middle of the table, lost in thought.
Aadhya was treating dinner as an interactive art project. Sitting on Deva's lap, she refused to be fed by a spoon. She preferred to drop small morsels over the side of Deva's knee, where Ronnie was stationed with militant focus, efficiently catching everything before it hit the floor.
Anjali watched the exchange from across the table, shaking her head. "I don't know how you two have the patience. If she wiped chicken curry on my shirt, I would put her in the garden."
"You say that now," Krithika smiled, wiping Aadhya's face with a damp cloth. "Wait until it's your turn."
Anjali immediately choked on her water, her eyes darting away, a bright flush appearing on her cheeks. Since the revelation of her relationship with Arjun weeks ago, the family had treated the subject with gentle, teasing humor, but Anjali still found herself easily embarrassed by the implications of the future.
The laughter around the table was easy and unburdened.
By nine o'clock, the dishes were cleared, and the evening had fully settled in.
The older generation retired to the living room with cups of green tea. Krithika took the twins upstairs to begin the lengthy, chaotic process of their bedtime routine.
Deva excused himself, making his way up the wooden staircase to his private office, accompanied by the familiar click of Ronnie's nails on the wood behind him.
He pushed the heavy oak door open and stepped into the cool, quiet space. Ronnie immediately trotted over to his designated spot beneath the large window, circled twice, and collapsed heavily onto the rug. The room was dominated by his massive wooden desk and his multi-monitor workstation. He walked over, turned on the primary monitor, and sat down in the ergonomic leather chair.
He was preparing to review a series of logistical reports from the Nexus supply chain division when his phone began to vibrate on the desk.
He glanced at the screen. The caller ID displayed a familiar name.
Deva smiled and picked up the phone.
"Yuzi," Deva greeted, leaning back in his chair.
"Captain!" Yuzvendra Chahal's voice came through the speaker, high-energy and remarkably cheerful despite the global circumstances. "Good evening, bhai. How are you surviving the house arrest?"
"I'm surviving," Deva chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "I have two toddlers treating the living room like a wrestling mat, so I'm staying busy. How are things on your end? Are you driving your parents crazy yet?"
"They are ready to evict me," Chahal laughed loudly. "I've tried everything. I worked out in the living room, I rearranged my entire room, I've watched every movie on Netflix. Bhai, I am so bored. I actually miss the team bus. I miss standing in the outfield for fifty overs."
"It's a strange feeling," Deva agreed, his tone softening with understanding. "We're so used to living out of suitcases and following a schedule. Suddenly, the calendar is just blank."
"It's weird," Chahal sighed. "I try to keep my arm loose by bowling against the wall in my hallway, but it's not the same. You doing any drills?"
"I have the turf nets here at the farmhouse," Deva explained. "I hit a few balls on the bowling machine in the mornings just to keep the muscle memory intact. But without a bowler at the end of the run-up, it feels empty."
They talked for a few more minutes, sharing the familiar, easy banter of teammates who had spent thousands of hours in dressing rooms together. They discussed their diets, complained about the lack of proper outdoor cardio, and shared updates they had heard from other players in the squad. It wasn't an interview; it was just two friends checking in on each other in the middle of a confusing time.
Then, Chahal's tone shifted, becoming slightly more mischievous.
"So, bhai," Chahal asked, "are you busy right now? can you come on live for a chess match?"
Deva smiled. Before the pandemic, during long rain delays in the dressing room or quiet evenings in foreign hotels, he and Chahal frequently played chess. Chahal, a former national youth chess champion before dedicating his life to cricket, was an exceptionally strong player. They had spent hours bent over a board, trading tactical blunders and brilliant moves.
With the lockdown in full effect, Chahal had recently taken to streaming his online chess games to entertain his fans.
"I have some time," Deva agreed, reaching out to adjust his mouse. "You streaming it?"
"Obviously," Chahal grinned. "The fans need to see me finally beat the captain. I'll send you the link on Flash Messenger right now."
"Send it," Deva said. "But don't cry when you lose in front of your audience."
"We will see about that," Chahal laughed, disconnecting the call.
Deva opened the Flash Messenger desktop application on his monitor. A few seconds later, a secure link popped up in a message from Chahal.
Deva clicked the link. The application seamlessly transitioned into a split-screen livestream interface.
On the left side of the screen, Chahal appeared, sitting in his room wearing a casual t-shirt, a gaming headset resting around his neck. On the right side, Deva's webcam activated, framing him sitting in his quiet, softly lit office. In the center of the screen, a clean, digital 2D chessboard materialized.
The moment Deva's face appeared on the stream, the viewer count, which had been hovering around a few thousand, began to skyrocket.
"Alright guys, welcome back to the stream," Chahal announced, leaning into his microphone. "We have a very, very special guest tonight. The man, the myth, the captain himself, Siddanth Deva!"
Deva offered a wave to the camera. "Good evening, everyone. Stay safe at home."
"So, Sid bhai and I have a long history of playing chess in the dressing room," Chahal explained to the audience, moving his mouse. "He thinks he's a grandmaster. Tonight, I'm going to expose him."
"Just play your move, Yuzi," Deva countered dryly, resting his chin on his hand.
Chahal laughed. He was playing with the white pieces. He immediately moved his King's pawn forward two squares.
e4
Deva responded instantly, moving his own King's pawn to meet it.
1... e5
Because this was a friendly game between teammates, they had chosen not to use a timer. There was no blitz clock ticking down, no frantic rushing. The game was meant to unfold at a leisurely, conversational pace.
Chahal brought his Knight out. 2. Nf3
Deva defended with his own Knight. 2... Nc6
They quickly settled into the familiar, deeply analyzed lines of the Ruy Lopez opening.
For the first dozen moves, the game progressed rapidly. Both men knew the standard opening theories perfectly. But as the board became more complicated, moving into the complex middle game, the pace slowed down.
Chahal leaned closer to his screen, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was an excellent player, possessing a deep understanding of positional play and pawn structures.
However, Deva was operating on a different intellectual plane. His Tony Stark-level intelligence and flawless spatial reasoning meant he wasn't just analyzing the board; he was calculating hundreds of potential branching variations simultaneously, visualizing the geometry of the pieces with clarity.
But he didn't play like a merciless machine. He didn't want to crush Chahal in twenty moves and end the stream. He played reactively, waiting for Chahal to commit, creating complex tactical puzzles on the board rather than launching an overwhelming, immediate attack.
"You're being very quiet, Yuzi," Deva noted, shifting a Bishop to a seemingly innocuous square that subtly locked down Chahal's queenside development.
Chahal stared at the move, realizing the trap exactly one second too late.
"Why do you always find these moves?" Chahal complained loudly, throwing his hands up in mock exasperation. "I literally looked at that square for three minutes and thought it was safe. You just paralyzed my Knight."
"Because you keep giving me the opportunity," Deva smiled, leaning back in his chair and absentmindedly reaching down to scratch Ronnie, who had wandered over to rest his heavy chin on Deva's thigh.
The dog's floppy ear briefly clipped into the bottom of the webcam frame, immediately causing the chat to spam 'DOG!' and 'PET HIM!' messages. Chahal laughed, waving at his screen. "Hi, Ronnie."
"I am not defending, I am repositioning," Chahal argued, dragging his Queen to a new square.
As the game developed, Chahal kept an eye on the Super Chat window scrolling rapidly on his second monitor. Fans were sending in small donations along with their questions, eager to interact with the two cricketers.
"Alright, let's take a break from my suffering and answer some questions," Chahal said, pausing his chess analysis. He scrolled up the chat log. "Okay, here's a big one for you, Sid. User 'CricketFanatic' asks: Will the Nexus Sports League happen this year?"
Deva looked at the camera, his expression grounding slightly. It was a serious question that required a sensible answer.
"I don't think so," Deva answered honestly, his voice calm and steady. "The reality of the pandemic is that gathering large numbers of athletes, support staff, and spectators in one place is simply too dangerous right now. We don't know how long this virus is going to dictate our lives. I am not going to put the health of young athletes or their families at risk just to keep a corporate schedule."
He paused, ensuring his tone conveyed respect for the situation.
"The NSL can wait," Deva stated simply. "The athletes cannot. Their health is the priority. We will come back stronger when it is safe to do so."
"Well said, bhai," Chahal agreed, nodding. He looked back at the board, failing to find a good move, and sighed. He moved a pawn defensively.
Deva immediately slid a Rook across the board, pinning Chahal's Bishop to his King.
"Oh, come on!" Chahal groaned.
Deva chuckled softly. "Read another question, Yuzi. It'll distract you from losing."
Chahal rolled his eyes, scanning the chat again. "Okay, we have a tech question. User 'SpeedRacer99' asks: Will Nexus ever make an electric sports bike? We loved the commuter EV bike from the NSL."
Deva considered the question.
"Not for now," Deva answered clearly.
"Why not?" Chahal asked, genuinely curious himself. "You guys have the battery tech. A sports bike would sell like crazy."
"It would," Deva agreed. "But building a high-performance electric sports bike requires a different approach to thermal management and aerodynamics compared to a commuter bike. Right now, Nexus is focusing on other priorities. We are expanding our commercial EV infrastructure and stabilizing our supply chains. A sports bike is a luxury product. It's not an immediate necessity."
"So, no sports bike," Chahal summarized.
"I didn't say never," Deva smiled, leaving the door open for the future. "I just said not for now."
"Fair enough," Chahal said. He looked at the chat again. "Following up on that, another user asks: What about a luxury Nexus car? Like a sedan or an SUV?"
"There will be one in the future," Deva replied immediately, without hesitation.
Chahal laughed, shaking his head. "You just have blueprints for everything sitting on your laptop, don't you?"
"I like to stay prepared," Deva joked dryly, pushing a pawn forward to break open the center of the chessboard.
"Okay, changing sports entirely," Chahal said, reading a brightly highlighted Super Chat. "Someone asks: Will you ever own an ISL club? Or what about a European football club?"
Deva stopped looking at the chessboard for a moment, looking into the webcam. It was a question he had actually pondered during his late-night conceptual sessions.
"I have thought about it," Deva answered honestly. "Football is a beautiful game, and the infrastructure required to run a massive club is an interesting challenge. If the right opportunity appears in the future, and the financial structure makes sense, I may buy or invest in a club. But I have no immediate plans. Cricket and a tech company is enough of a headache for now."
"I can see you owning a club in Europe," Chahal mused. "Sitting in the owner's box wearing a suit, looking very serious while everyone else yells at the referee."
"I am always serious, Yuzi," Deva deadpanned.
"Sure you are," Chahal snorted. "Okay, here is the most dangerous question on the internet. You have to answer carefully. Messi or Ronaldo?"
Deva didn't even blink. He didn't pause to weigh the diplomatic consequences.
"Ronaldo."
Chahal gasped in mock outrage, leaning back in his chair. "No! You broke my heart! Messi is magic, bhai!"
The live chat exploded. The scrolling text became an unreadable blur of fire emojis, goat emojis, arguments, and cheers.
"Messi is a genius, undeniable," Deva said, his tone calm amidst the digital chaos he had just caused. "But Ronaldo is a machine built on discipline and there is hunger in him which can't be quenched. He is greatness born through willpower. As an athlete, I respect that discipline and hunger more than anything else."
Chahal shook his head mournfully. "I respectfully disagree, but I will allow it." He looked at the chat. "Wait, someone just reminded us in the chat. Cristiano Ronaldo is already a global brand ambassador for Nexus smartphones."
"He is," Deva confirmed.
"So, the user asks: Could we ever see Deva and Ronaldo together on screen for a commercial?"
Deva laughed softly, shaking his head at the memory.
"Actually," Deva explained, leaning back and resting his hands behind his head. "There was an opportunity roughly two years ago. We had a commercial campaign planned for the launch of the Nexus Apex 3. The script originally had both of us shooting together in Madrid."
"Wait, really?" Chahal asked, his eyes wide. "Why didn't it happen?"
"Personal circumstances," Deva said smoothly, his tone closing the door on any invasive details. He wasn't going to tell a live audience of a hundred thousand people that he had cancelled a multi-million-dollar commercial shoot because of Krithika and twins. "I couldn't attend the shoot. I had to stay in Hyderabad. As a result, the commercial concept was changed, and he shot his portions solo. It was a missed opportunity, but some things are more important."
Chahal nodded respectfully, recognizing the boundary. He moved back to the chessboard, attempting a desperate, highly aggressive Knight sacrifice to break Deva's pawn structure.
Deva didn't take the bait. He calmly ignored the Knight and pushed a pawn, threatening mate in three moves.
Chahal stared at the screen, his mouth falling open. "You ignored my attack."
"Your attack was an illusion, Yuzi," Deva replied softly. "You have no backup pieces to support it."
"You are so annoying to play against," Chahal complained trying to pull a Rook back to defend his King. He glanced at the chat to distract himself from his impending doom. "Okay, quick question. User asks: What anime are you watching right now?"
"I just finished watching Demon Slayer," Deva answered easily. "The animation quality from Ufotable is spectacular. The water breathing visual effects are brilliant."
"I haven't seen that one," Chahal noted. "What are you reading?"
"I'm reading the Jujutsu Kaisen manga right now," Deva said.
Chahal laughed loudly. "Between the tech company, the cricket, and the anime, when do you sleep?"
"I'm in lockdown, Yuzi. I have to do something with my evenings," Deva joked.
"Okay, final Super Chat question before you inevitably checkmate me," Chahal said, reading a highlighted message. "This one is huge. When is Ramayana Part 3 coming?"
"The release schedule has obviously been affected by the larger global situation," Deva explained, keeping his answer grounded and realistic. "We cannot commit to a firm release date until we know that cinemas can operate safely and audiences can return without fear. We want everyone to experience the finale on the big screen, but health comes first. It will be released when the time is right."
He paused, then decided to offer the fans a small piece of exclusive news to soften the delay.
"However," Deva continued, a small smile touching his lips. "I will say this. The future of Nexus Animation does not end with the Ramayana. Our creative teams are already in the early planning stages for another animated mythology project."
The chat spiked with excitement. Hundreds of comments instantly flooded in asking if it was the Mahabharata.
"Before the chat asks," Deva intervened quickly, holding up a hand. "It is NOT the Mahabharata."
"Oh, really?" Chahal asked, surprised. "I thought that was the obvious next step."
"The Mahabharata is too vast," Deva explained, his tone reflecting a deep respect for the literature. "The political complexity, the number of characters, the philosophical depth... you cannot compress that story into a trilogy of movies without losing its soul. The Mahabharata will eventually be adapted by Nexus, but it will be a multi-season, long-form animated series. It needs time to breathe."
"That makes sense," Chahal nodded.
"Indian mythology contains thousands of incredible, standalone stories," Deva finished. "Nexus intends to explore them. We are building a universe, not just a single franchise."
With the questions answered, the conversation naturally drifted back to the chessboard.
The game had reached its breaking point. Deva had systematically dismantled Chahal's defenses, forcing the white King into a tight corner surrounded by enemy pieces.
Chahal stared at the board for a full two minutes in silence. He hovered his mouse over several pieces, calculating the outcomes, but every single line ended in a checkmate.
He let out a long, defeated sigh and clicked the 'Resign' button.
"I knew this was going to happen," Chahal laughed, shaking his head in mock despair. "You just slowly suffocated me. I couldn't move anything for the last ten minutes."
"You played a very solid opening, Yuzi," Deva offered lightly, not gloating. "You just committed your Queen too early in the middle game. You lost your support."
The live stream chat filled with 'GGs' and laughing emojis, enjoying the friendly rivalry.
"Seriously though," Chahal said, leaning back in his chair and looking at Deva on the screen. "Why don't you play some online tournaments, bhai? There are some big charity blitz tournaments happening right now. You could probably give some grandmasters a serious fight. It would be great content."
Deva chuckled softly, shaking his head.
"I appreciate the confidence, Yuzi, but I think I already have enough on my plate right now," Deva responded. "I play chess to relax. If I start entering tournaments, I'll turn it into a competition, and then it becomes work. For now, I am perfectly happy playing casually with friends."
"Fair enough," Chahal smiled. "Thank you for joining the stream, Captain. It was a lot of fun. Give my best to Krithika bhabi and the twins."
"Will do. Stay safe, Yuzi. Goodnight everyone," Deva waved to the camera.
The split-screen connection severed, returning Deva's monitor to his standard desktop.