Inside the master bedroom, the darkness was slowly giving way to the pale, cool blue light of pre-dawn filtering through the heavy curtains. The digital clock on the bedside table read 5:15 AM.
Siddanth Deva's internal clock, honed by years of relentless international touring and disciplined athletic conditioning, woke him on time.
He slipped out of the large bed with silence, his bare feet stepping onto the soft carpet. Moving toward the walk-in closet, he grabbed a clean, dark grey athletic t-shirt and a pair of black training shorts.
As he pulled the t-shirt over his head, a soft rustle of fabric echoed from the bed behind him, followed by a low, rumbling sigh from the floor.
Deva turned around. Krithika had rolled over onto her side, pulling the duvet up to her chin. Her dark hair was a messy halo across the white pillows, her eyes blinking slowly against the dim light. At the foot of the bed, Ronnie was sprawled out on his back, his large paws twitching lazily in the middle of a dream.
"Good Morning," Deva said, walking over to the edge of the mattress. He leaned down, resting a hand on the mattress, and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. "Go back to sleep. The monsters won't be up for another hour."
Krithika let out a small, tired breath. She looked at him, taking in his training clothes, and then looked toward the window.
She pushed the duvet down and sat up, rubbing her eyes.
"I'm coming with you," Krithika announced, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and carefully avoiding Ronnie's sleeping form.
Deva stopped walking toward the door. He turned back, raising an eyebrow in surprise. He looked at the clock, then back at his wife.
"Why?" he asked simply.
Krithika stretched her arms over her head, letting out a soft groan as her shoulders popped. She dropped her hands to her lap and looked up at him.
"Because we are stuck in this house indefinitely, and if I keep eating Amma's cooking without moving, I'm going to have to buy a new wardrobe when the world finally opens again," Krithika explained, her voice finding its usual crisp clarity as the sleep faded. "I want to get into better shape."
She paused, a small mischievous glint appearing in her dark eyes. She tilted her head, looking at him with a teasing smirk.
"Besides," she added. "You're a beast in bed every night. You leave me exhausted. I think I need to up my game just to survive you."
Deva froze for a fraction of a second. The corner of his mouth twitched, slowly curving upward into a smug little smirk. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning his weight against the doorframe, looking too pleased with himself.
Krithika saw the expression and immediately pointed a warning finger at him.
"Stop smirking," she scolded lightly, though she was fighting a smile of her own. "That wasn't a compliment."
Deva let out a chuckle. "Sounds like a compliment to me."
Krithika rolled her eyes. "Don't let it go to your head."
"My head is grounded," Deva replied smoothly, watching her walk toward the closet. "Are you sure you want to do this right now?"
"I am sure," she said from inside the closet. A moment later, she stepped back out.
She looked down at the comfortable, faded cotton t-shirt and the loose, soft pajama pants she had worn to sleep.
Deva looked at her outfit, his amusement returning.
She caught his look and immediately crossed her arms. "I'm going for workout, Siddanth Deva. Not a photoshoot for a fitness magazine."
Deva laughed out loud, holding his hands up in surrender. "I didn't say a word."
"Your face said plenty," Krithika muttered, walking past him into the bathroom to tie her hair back and splash cold water on her face.
Five minutes later, they stepped out into the quiet, carpeted hallway of the first floor. They moved silently past the closed door of the nursery, where Rishi and Aadhya were still fast asleep, and made their way down the wide wooden staircase, accompanied by the familiar click of Ronnie's nails against the wood as he decided to join them.
The ground floor was cool, the air conditioning having run quietly through the night.
As they walked toward the back of the house, a faint, familiar scent drifted through the hallway. The rich aroma of brewing tea leaves, crushed cardamom, and boiling milk.
They stepped into the open-plan kitchen.
Sesikala was already awake. She was standing by the large marble island, wearing a simple, comfortable cotton saree, pouring steaming, golden-brown tea between two steel tumblers to cool it down and build a perfect layer of froth. Ronnie immediately trotted over to her, pushing his wet nose against her hand in a bid for an early morning treat.
She looked up as Deva and Krithika walked in, pausing her pouring. She looked from her son in his training gear to her daughter-in-law in her pajamas.
"What are you two doing wandering around in the dark?" Sesikala asked, her voice hushed out of habit, while her free hand affectionately scratched Ronnie behind the ears.
"We're going to the gym, Amma," Deva explained, walking over to pour himself a glass of plain water.
Sesikala raised an eyebrow, looking at Krithika. "Both of you?"
"I need to move," Krithika smiled, leaning against the counter. "Otherwise I'll just sit on the sofa all day."
"Exercise is good," Sesikala approved with a firm nod, taking a sip from her steel tumbler. She looked content in her quiet, early-morning kitchen sanctuary.
"Can you keep an ear out for the twins?" Deva asked, setting his empty glass down in the sink. "They usually sleep for another hour, but just in case one of them wakes up early."
"Go, go," Sesikala waved them off dismissively. "The children are fine. They are still fast asleep. I will listen for them. Don't injure yourselves."
Thanking her, Deva and Krithika left the kitchen, stepping out through the heavy rear glass doors onto the paved pathway that led toward the back of the estate. Ronnie trailed faithfully behind them.
The morning air was cool. The sky was shifting from dark blue to a pale, bruised purple. They walked side-by-side along the manicured garden path, passing the large, still surface of the swimming pool.
They moved towards the gym which was beside the pool. He pushed the gym door open, flipping a switch on the wall. The bright, sterile LED lights snapped on, illuminating the space. The air conditioning kicked in with a low hum, circulating clean, cool air that smelled faintly of rubber matting and sanitizing spray. Ronnie nudged past their legs, found a cool spot near the corner cable machine, and immediately collapsed into a heavy pile of fur to supervise.
Krithika stepped inside, looking around. She had been in here a few times, but usually only to fetch Deva when dinner was ready.
Along the wall facing the glass windows sat the cardiovascular equipment: two high-end treadmills, a pair of sleek exercise bikes, and a heavy-duty cross trainer. The center of the room was dominated by an expansive area of thick, shock-absorbent black mats.
To the right, a massive, commercial-grade squat rack stood bolted to the floor, flanked by neatly organized racks of colorful, adjustable plates. A dedicated cable machine station occupied the far corner, alongside a row of heavy, solid steel dumbbells ordered by weight. In the stretching area, foam rollers, resistance bands, and medicine balls sat neatly in their designated bins.
Krithika looked at the heavy squat rack, then down at her pajama pants. "I suddenly feel underqualified to be in this room."
Deva walked over to the sound system panel, and played ambient, rhythmic playlist that provided background energy without being overwhelming.
He turned back to her, a reassuring smile on his face.
"You aren't going to touch the squat rack today," Deva promised, walking over to the stretching mats. "Because you are new to training, you should not try to copy what I do. My workouts are designed for explosive athletic output and maintaining muscular endurance under fatigue. If you try to do my routine, you won't be able to walk up the stairs for a week."
"I appreciate the vote of confidence," Krithika muttered dryly.
"It's just physiology," Deva chuckled softly. He grabbed two thin, blue yoga mats and rolled them out side-by-side on the floor. "We start gently. The goal today is simply to introduce your muscles to movement, get your heart rate slightly elevated, and establish basic mobility. No heavy weights. Just technique."
He gestured for her to step onto the mat.
"We start with a warm-up," Deva instructed, stepping onto his own mat. "If you jump straight into lifting, you risk tearing something cold. We need to lubricate the joints."
For the next ten minutes, Deva guided her through a series of dynamic mobility movements. It was gentle. They did slow neck rotations, large arm circles to open up the shoulder joints, and gentle torso twists. He showed her how to perform high knees while walking in place, focusing on engaging the core to lift the leg rather than just swinging it up.
"Keep your chest proud," Deva corrected gently, watching her posture. "Don't hunch your shoulders forward. Imagine there's a string pulling the top of your head toward the ceiling."
Krithika adjusted her posture, feeling a subtle stretch in her lower back. The movements were simple, but performing them with focused intention was surprisingly warming. A very faint, light sheen of sweat began to form on her forehead.
"Alright, muscles are warm," Deva noted, satisfied with her mobility. "Let's get the heart rate up slightly. Five minutes on the treadmill. Just a brisk walk, no running."
Krithika stepped onto the sleek treadmill. Deva set the speed to a comfortable, elevated walking pace and added a very slight incline.
"Just walk," he instructed, leaning against the side rail of the machine. "Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Establish a rhythm."
She walked, listening to the soft whir of the treadmill belt. It felt good. The rhythmic motion cleared the remaining sleep from her mind.
After five minutes, Deva hit the stop button.
"Resistance training," he announced, walking toward a small rack holding lighter weights.
He picked up a single, light kettlebell.
"We are going to do a simple, full-body routine," Deva explained, his tone shifting into the calm, analytical cadence of a coach. "We hit the major muscle groups, establish the mind-muscle connection, and we stop before failure. First up: Legs."
He stood in the center of the mat.
"Bodyweight squats first," he said. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Point your toes slightly outward. Now, when you drop, I don't want you to just bend your knees. I want you to imagine you are sitting backward into an invisible chair. Keep your heels glued to the floor. Do not let your heels lift."
Krithika positioned her feet. She took a breath and lowered herself down.
"Stop," Deva said immediately, stepping forward. "You're leaning too far forward. Your chest is collapsing toward the floor."
He placed two fingers lightly against her upper back, right between her shoulder blades.
"Pinch your shoulder blades together," he instructed. "Look straight ahead at the wall, not at the floor. Now, push your hips back and drop."
Krithika focused on his touch, keeping her back straight. She lowered herself down. It felt different—the tension shifted entirely from her knees to her glutes and thighs.
"Good," Deva said softly, stepping back. "That is perfect. Push up through your heels. Squeeze at the top."
She performed ten slow, controlled bodyweight squats. By the eighth repetition, a genuine burn began to spread through her thighs. She let out a sharp exhale as she pushed back up to a standing position on the tenth rep, shaking her legs out.
"Okay, I feel that," Krithika admitted, breathing a little heavier.
"That means the right muscles are firing," Deva smiled.
He guided her through the rest of the circuit with the same meticulous, gentle patience.
They moved to the upper body. He set up the cable machine with a very light resistance for seated rows. He sat down first to demonstrate.
"Pull the handle toward your stomach, but don't use your biceps," Deva explained, demonstrating the smooth, pulling motion. "Pull with your back. Imagine you are trying to crush a walnut between your shoulder blades."
Krithika took the handle. She performed the movement, focusing on squeezing her back muscles.
"Slowly," Deva coached, watching her form from the side. "Don't let the weight pull your arms forward on the release. Control the negative. Three seconds pull, three seconds release."
She followed his rhythm. One, two, three. Hold. One, two, three. The controlled, deliberate pace made the light weight feel significantly heavier.
They transitioned to a light chest press using dumbbells while lying flat on a padded bench. Deva stood behind her head, acting as a spotter, his hands hovering inches below her elbows to catch the weight if she slipped.
"Breathe in as you lower the dumbbells to your chest," his voice came from above her, steady and calm. "Breathe out as you press them up toward the ceiling. Keep your wrists straight."
She completed the set, placing the dumbbells down on the floor with a heavy sigh.
For shoulders, he gave her two very light dumbbells for lateral raises.
"Just lift them to shoulder height, no higher," he said. "Don't swing your body. If you have to swing your hips to lift the weight, it's too heavy."
Finally, they moved back to the floor mats for core work.
Instead of traditional sit-ups, which Deva warned could strain an untrained lower back, he had her perform a 'dead-bug' exercise. Lying flat on her back, arms pointed at the ceiling, knees bent at a ninety-degree angle, she had to slowly lower opposite arms and legs to the floor without letting her lower back arch off the mat.
It looked simple, but the requirement of core stabilization made it brutal.
By the eighth repetition, Krithika's abdominal muscles were visibly shaking. She clamped her jaw shut, determined not to quit.
"Keep your lower back pressed into the mat," Deva reminded her softly, kneeling beside her. "Don't hold your breath. Exhale as you extend."
She finished the final rep and collapsed flat onto the blue mat, her arms flung out to her sides. She stared up at the bright LED lights on the ceiling, her chest heaving, a sheen of sweat covering her face and neck. Nearby, Ronnie lifted his head, gave her a lazy, unbothered look, and went right back to sleep.
"That... is ridiculous," Krithika panted. "I just moved my arms and legs slowly. Why does my stomach feel like it's on fire?"
"Because your deep stabilizing muscles haven't been forced to work like that in a long time," Deva chuckled softly, sitting cross-legged next to her mat. He handed her a cold bottle of water. "Drink."
She took the bottle, pushing herself up onto her elbows to take a long, grateful drink.
She lowered the bottle, wiping a bead of sweat from her cheek. She looked down at her stomach, pulling the hem of her loose t-shirt taut for a moment. The reality of pregnancy and the shifting landscape of her body over the past two years was a quiet, lingering thought in the back of her mind.
"Sid," Krithika asked, her voice dropping into a slightly more vulnerable, hesitant register. She looked over at him. "Will working out like this... will it leave more stretch marks? Or get rid of the ones I have?"
"Krithi," Deva said gently, holding her gaze. "Working out isn't going to magically erase stretch marks, and anyone who tries to sell you a gym routine promising that is lying to you. Stretch marks are influenced by genetics, by how the skin stretches, and by the changes your body went through to bring Rishi and Aadhya into the world. They are a reality."
He reached out, his hand resting lightly, affectionately over hers.
"The goal here isn't to punish your body for changing," Deva continued, his voice steady and deeply comforting. "The goal is simply to make it stronger. To give you more stamina so you don't feel exhausted chasing the twins around the garden. Train gradually. Don't suddenly try to transform yourself in a week. Your body did something incredible. We are just helping it rebuild its foundation."
Krithika looked at him, feeling a tight knot of emotion in her throat. The sincerity in his eyes grounded her insecurities.
She let out a slow breath, offering a soft smile. She squeezed his fingers.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Always," Deva smiled back.
He let go of her hand, leaning back slightly, resting his weight on his palms.
Krithika looked at him. She was breathing heavily, her hair stuck to the back of her neck with sweat, her muscles trembling with fatigue after a mere thirty minutes of light movement.
Deva, who had been demonstrating the movements alongside her, was perfectly dry. His breathing was so slow and even he might as well have been sleeping. The physical conditioning required to play international cricket was on full display.
"I don't understand how you make this look so easy," Krithika muttered, eyeing him with a mix of awe and mild annoyance. "You aren't even sweating."
Deva let out a soft laugh. "Krithi, I have been training professionally since I was a teenager. I spend hours every day conditioning my central nervous system to handle explosive loads. Do not compare your first thirty-minute beginner session to my baseline. It's an impossible metric."
She sighed, knowing he was right, but still feeling the unfairness of the contrast.
She took another sip of water. "I guess I just need to be more consistent. And stop eating the leftover sweets from the kitchen."
"If you want to improve your health and stamina, the exercise we just did is only one part of the picture," Deva explained calmly. "Training provides the stimulus. But what you eat, how deeply you sleep, and whether you keep doing it consistently over months—that matters just as much. You have to feed the recovery."
Krithika lowered the water bottle, her eyes narrowing as a mischievous thought crossed her mind.
"That is very sound advice, Siddanth," Krithika noted, her voice dripping with dry sarcasm. "However, I don't see you maintaining much of a diet. Just last night, I watched you eat an entire plate of Amma's mutton biryani, followed by three pieces of double ka meetha, and then you drank a massive glass of whole milk before bed."
Deva threw his head back, laughing loudly, caught out by the undeniable truth of her observation.
"Fair point," Deva conceded, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. "But my situation is slightly different. My basal metabolic rate is unusually high, and I burn thousands of calories a day just maintaining my muscle mass and executing my training routines. My body burns the biryani as raw fuel before it even has a chance to store it."
He paused, offering a concession. "But even for me, nutrition matters. If I eat poorly for a week, my recovery slows down, my joints ache, and I feel sluggish on the pitch. You don't have to starve yourself. Just prioritize protein, eat the vegetables, and don't make the double ka meetha a daily habit."
"Easy for you to say," Krithika grumbled playfully, though she appreciated the balanced perspective.
"Alright, time to wrap it up," Deva said, standing up smoothly from the mat. "Cool-down."
He guided her through five minutes of very slow walking on the treadmill to bring her heart rate down naturally, followed by ten minutes of gentle, static stretching. He showed her how to stretch her hamstrings, open her chest, and relieve the tension in her lower back.
When the stretching concluded, they both sat back down on the blue mats.
Krithika immediately lay flat on her back, staring blankly up at the ceiling. Her arms and legs felt heavy, filled with the dull, satisfying ache of muscles that had been properly engaged. She closed her eyes, letting out a long, exhausted groan.
Deva sat comfortably cross-legged beside her. He looked down at her exhausted form, looking unbothered, refreshed, and perfectly energetic.
Krithika opened one eye. She saw him sitting there, looking like a fitness magazine cover model who hadn't done a single minute of work.
She gave him an annoyed glare.
Deva saw the glare. An amused smile spread across his face.
"Don't," Krithika warned, pointing a tired finger at him from the floor. "Do not say a single word."
Deva pressed his lips together, holding his hands up in silent surrender, his eyes dancing with mirth. He didn't speak. He simply sat there, radiating obnoxious levels of fitness, while his wife mentally plotted his demise from the floor.
After resting on the mats for another ten minutes, allowing her breathing to return to normal, Krithika finally found the energy to stand up.
Deva wiped down the equipment they had used, turned off the air conditioning, and hit the light switch. They stepped out of the gym, closing the glass door behind them.
The sun had fully risen now, casting a bright, warm golden light across the estate. The morning air had lost its initial chill, settling into a comfortable, breezy warmth. They walked back along the paved path toward the farmhouse, the quiet isolation of the lockdown feeling less oppressive in the daylight.
As they approached the heavy rear glass doors of the main house, the quiet peace of the morning was shattered by a loud, high-pitched, demanding voice.
"No! My!"
Deva and Krithika exchanged an amused look. The monsters were officially awake.
They stepped into the living room. The space, which had been perfectly organized when they left an hour ago, was already showing signs of toddler occupation. A small pile of plastic building blocks lay scattered across the woven rug.
Vikram was sitting in his usual deep armchair by the window. He was dressed in a comfortable cotton shirt and trousers, holding a delicate porcelain cup and saucer. The rich, spicy aroma of Sesikala's cardamom tea wafted from the cup. Ronnie was sitting obediently beside the armchair, his heavy head resting on Vikram's knee, clearly hoping a morning biscuit would materialize.
Standing directly between Vikram's knees was Aadhya.
She was wearing a bright yellow cotton dress, her medium length dark hair sticking out at wild, unpredictable angles from sleep. She was staring at the porcelain cup in Vikram's hands with wide eyes.
She reached her small, chubby hands up, her fingers grasping the air.
"Tea!" Aadhya babbled loudly, her voice ringing with the unquestionable authority that only a two-year-old possessed. "My tea!"
"No, Aadhya," Vikram said gently, moving the saucer slightly out of her reach. He offered her a warm, grandfatherly smile. "This is Thatha's tea. It is hot. And it is not for little girls. It will give you a tummy ache."
Aadhya did not accept this logical explanation.
Her lower lip immediately pushed out, forming a devastating, trembling pout. She stomped her bare foot against the carpet, her face scrunching up in frustration.
"Tea!" she yelled again, pointing an accusing finger at the cup. She took a deep breath, preparing to unleash a full-volume, glass-shattering tantrum.
Vikram's eyes widened slightly in panic. He looked across the room toward the kitchen archway.
"Sesikala!" Vikram called out, a hint of desperation in his voice. "We have a crisis! Can we make her tea? Quickly!"
Krithika leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms, entertained by the standoff. Sid chuckled softly, watching his father negotiate with a tiny terrorist.
From the kitchen, Sesikala emerged, wiping her hands on a towel. She took one look at Aadhya's trembling lower lip and Vikram's panicked expression, and immediately understood the assignment.
"Wait one minute, Aadhya," Sesikala promised smoothly, turning back into the kitchen. "Ammamma is making special tea for you."
Aadhya paused. She sniffled, the tantrum suspended in mid-air, and turned her head to watch the kitchen doorway with suspicion.
Inside the kitchen, Sesikala moved with practiced, grandmotherly efficiency. She took a small steel saucepan and poured in a cup of fresh, full-fat milk. She heated it gently until it was warm, but safe to drink.
To mimic the color of tea, she reached for a small jar of homemade, unsweetened cocoa powder. She stirred a tiny pinch into the warm milk, just enough to turn the white liquid into a pale, convincing shade of light brown.
She poured the 'fake tea' into a large, sturdy ceramic mug—one that wouldn't shatter if dropped—and walked back into the living room.
Aadhya tracked her movement like a hawk.
Sesikala knelt down on the rug next to Vikram's chair. She held the large ceramic mug out.
"Here is your tea, Aadhya," Sesikala smiled.
Aadhya did not immediately reach for it. She was impulsive, but she was not foolish. She looked at the brown liquid in the large mug. Then, she looked up at the delicate porcelain cup in Vikram's hands. She looked back at the large mug.
Her eyes narrowed into tiny slits of suspicion. The cups were different. This was a red flag.
She pointed a finger at the large mug, then pointed at Vikram's cup. She looked at Sesikala, shaking her head slowly. The toddler translation was clear: You are trying to trick me.
Sid covered his mouth with his hand to stifle a laugh.
Sesikala, realizing she was dealing with a very observant customer, executed a flawless tactical pivot.
"Oh, you want it to be exactly like Thatha's tea?" Sesikala asked brightly.
Aadhya nodded firmly.
Sesikala turned to Vikram. She held the large ceramic mug over his delicate porcelain cup and carefully poured a tiny splash of the 'fake tea' into his real tea.
She looked at Vikram, raising an eyebrow in a silent command. Drink it.
Vikram, understanding his role in the theatrical production, immediately lifted his cup to his lips. He took a sip of the mixed liquid. He closed his eyes, let out a loud, appreciative "Ahhh," and nodded approvingly at Aadhya.
"Very good tea," Vikram announced seriously.
Aadhya watched him intently. She saw him drink it. She saw him survive. She saw him enjoy it.
The suspicion melted away.
She turned back to Sesikala, her eyes wide and eager, and reached out with both hands. Sesikala handed her the large ceramic mug, keeping her own hands hovering nearby to ensure it didn't spill.
Aadhya lifted the heavy mug to her lips. She took a small, cautious sip.
The warm milk and faint hint of chocolate hit her tongue. She paused, processing the flavor. Then, a brilliant smile broke across her face, revealing her small, white teeth.
She lowered the mug, looked at Vikram, and gave a firm, satisfied nod, validating her victory. She had secured the tea. She even reached out her free hand and gave Ronnie an approving pat on the head.
"Crisis averted," Vikram sighed in relief, taking a real sip of his own tea.
Deva and Krithika walked fully into the living room, their amusement fading into a quiet, fond appreciation for the patience of the grandparents.
"Where is Rishi?" Krithika asked, noticing the absence of her usually quiet son.
"Dining table," Sesikala pointed toward the archway leading to the formal dining room. "He is helping Suma."
Deva and Krithika walked over to the archway and stopped, leaning against the wooden frame to watch the scene unfolding inside.
The long dining table was mostly empty, save for a large silver bowl in the center. Suma was sitting in one of the heavy wooden chairs, a large basket of fresh green peas resting on the table in front of her.
Sitting beside her, elevated on his wooden highchair, was Rishi.
He was dressed in a soft blue cotton shirt and small shorts. He was not running around, nor was he demanding attention. He was sitting still, his entire universe focused on the small, green pod resting in his grandmother's hands.
Suma picked up a fresh pea pod. She didn't rush. She deliberately slowed her movements down so the boy could watch.
"Look, Rishi," Suma said softly, her voice carrying a gentle, rhythmic cadence.
She pressed her thumb against the seam of the pod. With a soft pop, the green shell split open, revealing the row of small, perfectly round peas inside. She ran her thumb down the inside of the pod, pushing the peas into the silver bowl with a satisfying clatter.
Rishi stared at the bowl. Then he looked at the empty green shell in Suma's hand. His brow furrowed in concentration.
He reached his small hand out toward the basket.
Suma smiled warmly. She picked up a fresh pod, cracked the top of the seam just a tiny fraction of an inch to make it easier, and handed it to him.
Rishi took the pod with both hands. He held it up close to his face, inspecting the green texture. He remembered the movement he had just watched. He placed his tiny thumb where Suma had placed hers.
He pushed.
His fine motor skills were still developing. His thumb slipped, and he nearly dropped the pod. He let out a soft, frustrated whine, his lower lip jutting out slightly.
"It's okay. Try again. Squeeze it," Suma encouraged gently, not taking the pod away from him.
Rishi took a breath. He repositioned his thumb. He squeezed harder this time.
The pod snapped open.
Rishi gasped, his eyes going wide as the small green peas were revealed inside. He looked up at Suma, an expression of shock and triumph on his face.
He quickly used his other hand to clumsy scrape the peas out of the pod. They tumbled over the edge, dropping into the silver bowl with a loud clinking sound.
Rishi looked at the peas in the bowl. He looked at the empty shell in his hand.
A proud smile spread across his face. He dropped the empty shell onto the table, turned to Suma, and patted her arm firmly with his small hand, satisfied with his hard day of agricultural labor.
"Very good, Rishi," Suma praised, laughing softly as she handed him another cracked pod. "You are my best helper."
Standing in the archway, Krithika rested her head against Deva's shoulder.
"They are so different," Krithika murmured quietly, watching Rishi meticulously attempt to open the second pod, unbothered by the fact that his sister was currently running circles around the living room holding a mug of fake tea.
Deva wrapped an arm around Krithika's waist, pulling her close. He looked from his son in the dining room to his daughter in the living room.
"They are who they are supposed to be," Deva smiled, his voice filled with affection.
He looked down at Krithika. Her hair was still tied back, a few damp strands clinging to her forehead. The faint smell of exertion and the morning heat lingered around them.
"Upstairs?" Deva suggested quietly. "Before they realize we're here and demand to be picked up?"
"Please," Krithika sighed, pushing herself off his shoulder. "I need a shower before my muscles decide to seize."
They quietly backed away from the archway, slipping unnoticed past the living room, and made their way up the wooden staircase.
They walked into the master bedroom, the morning light now streaming brightly through the large windows, casting warm, rectangular patches across the carpet.
They grabbed clean clothes from their respective closets and moved toward the en-suite bathroom. They stepped into the warm, steamy expanse of the shower together, letting the hot water wash away the sweat of the workout and the lingering exhaustion of the early morning.
The rushing water drowned out the silence of the farmhouse. The heat loosened the tight muscles in Krithika's back and shoulders, washing away the dull ache of her first serious training session.
Nearly an hour later, they emerged back into the bedroom refreshed.
Deva was dressed in a clean, soft white t-shirt and dark jeans, running a towel through his damp hair. Krithika sat at the vanity mirror, wearing a simple, elegant cotton kurta, brushing her wet hair out, the faint scent of sandalwood soap lingering in the air.
She set the brush down, looking at his reflection in the mirror.
"I am never," Krithika announced clearly to his reflection, "letting you make me exercise for an hour again."
Deva chuckled softly, tossing his towel onto a nearby chair. He walked over, leaning down to press a light kiss to the top of her head.
"I told you," Deva reminded her gently. "The first day is always the hardest. The soreness means it worked."
Krithika looked up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly in mild annoyance.
Then, the annoyance faded, replaced by a soft smile. She reached up, resting a hand against his cheek.
"Tomorrow," Krithika said simply, confirming her commitment to the grind.
"Tomorrow," Deva agreed.
They walked out of the bedroom together, making their way back down the wooden staircase.
The ground floor was fully, beautifully awake now. The morning sun illuminated the living space. The smell of hot dosas and fresh coconut chutney drifted from the kitchen, signaling that breakfast was ready.
Vikram was sitting on the rug, attempting to build a tower out of plastic blocks, while Aadhya systematically knocked it down the moment he placed the fourth block, shrieking with laughter every time it fell.
At the dining table, Suma was wiping a small smudge of green pea mush off Rishi's chin, while the boy chewed thoughtfully on a piece of soft idli, casually dropping a small crumb over the edge of his tray that was instantly caught by Ronnie.
Sesikala walked out of the kitchen, carrying a large stack of hot plates. She saw Deva and Krithika walking down the stairs, looking clean, refreshed, and relaxed.
"Come, eat," Sesikala instructed warmly, setting the plates on the table. "Before it gets cold."
Deva pulled a chair out for Krithika, then took his own seat.
Deva picked up his coffee cup, listening to his daughter laugh as another plastic tower fell, and watched his son carefully examine a piece of idli.