The room was smaller than Ahan had expected.
Not a studio. Not even close. It looked more like a repurposed office—plain white walls, a couple of chairs pushed against one side, a folding table with a tape recorder on it, wires running lazily across the floor. One video camera stood on a tripod, unmoving, impersonal. No lights. No mirrors. No dramatics.
It immediately took some of the edge off.
Three people sat behind the table. None of them introduced themselves. One of them—a man in his early forties, glasses, slightly receding hairline—studied Ahan openly, not bothering to hide it. The other two glanced down at papers, then back at him, like they were cross-checking something that already matched.
Ahan stood where he was told to stand. A strip of tape on the floor marked the spot.
"Relax," the man with the glasses said, almost casually. "Just look into the camera."
Ahan did.
The lens didn't intimidate him. It never had. Zayn's camera had taken that fear out of him months ago—long nights in cramped rooms, standing still while someone adjusted focus, learned angles, cursed lighting. This was just another black circle staring back at him.
"What's your name?" the man asked.
"Ahan Choudhary."
"Age?"
"Nineteen."
"Engineering student?"
"Yes."
No follow-ups. No encouragement. Just quiet observation.
"Okay," the man said. "We'll do something simple."
He slid a thin sheet of paper across the table. Not a script. Barely half a page.
"Read it once," he said. "Then look up."
Ahan read.
It wasn't impressive. No dramatic monologue. Just a short situation—boy meets girl, says something slightly awkward, tries to recover. Everyday stuff. Almost deliberately plain.
He read it again, slower this time, then set the paper down.
"Whenever you're ready," the man said.
The room went quiet.
Ahan took a breath. He didn't overthink it. That was something Zayn had drilled into him early on. Don't perform for the camera. Let the camera find you.
He spoke the lines.
They came out… fine. Not remarkable. His voice didn't soar or break in the right places. He missed a beat, rushed another. Anyone listening closely could tell he wasn't trained.
But when he looked up—when the moment in the lines asked him to hesitate, to doubt—his eyes did something unplanned. Something instinctive. They held. They searched. They carried a thought that hadn't been written.
One of the people behind the table leaned forward slightly.
"Again," the man with the glasses said. "This time, don't say the last line."
Ahan nodded.
He started again. Same lines. Same structure. But this time, when the moment came, he stopped. Let the silence sit. His mouth opened, then closed. His eyes shifted, almost apologetic, almost resigned.
Cut.
"That's fine," the man said.
Ahan blinked. "That's it?"
"Yes."
No clapping. No feedback. No reassurance.
"We'll contact you," the man added, already reaching for the next file.
Ahan nodded, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands.
"Thank you," he said, because politeness was something he understood.
He stepped out into the corridor, heart beating faster now that it was over. Zayn stood up immediately when he saw him.
"How was it?" Zayn asked.
Ahan shrugged. "Okay."
"That's it?"
"They said they'll contact me."
Zayn studied his face, trying to read something deeper. "Did you mess up?"
"Probably."
Zayn smiled anyway. "That's fine."
They walked out together into the afternoon sun. Traffic roared past, horns blaring, vendors shouting.
----
The freezer door was open just enough to let the light spill out in a thin, accusing line across the kitchen floor.
Ahan stood there barefoot, one hand already inside the ice-cream box, spoon clenched between his fingers like a weapon. Vanilla. The good one. Bought for guests. Technically not his.
He scooped quickly, efficiently—years of practice—when a voice behind him said, far too cheerfully, "Bhaiya?"
He froze.
Very slowly, he turned his head.
Kajal stood at the kitchen entrance, still in her school uniform, backpack abandoned on the floor. Ten years younger than him and already dangerously observant. Her hair was tied into two uneven plaits, and her eyes—unfortunately inherited from him—were sharp with amusement.
"What are you doing?" she asked, stretching the words.
"Nothing," Ahan said instantly.
She tilted her head. "Why is the freezer open?"
"Air circulation."
She squinted. "Why do you have a spoon?"
"For… science."
Kajal's lips twitched. She took one step closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Are you stealing ice cream?"
Ahan sighed. There was no point denying it with her. He raised a finger to his lips. "Shh."
Her eyes lit up. "You'll get scolded."
"I know."
She waited. Patient. Calculating.
Ahan rolled his eyes, reached back into the freezer, and scooped another generous portion into a second bowl. He handed it to her.
"If you stay quiet," he said, "you get this."
Kajal's grin was immediate and unrepentant. "Deal."
They retreated to the dining table, sitting opposite each other, feet dangling. They ate quickly, quietly, like conspirators mid-heist. The clink of spoons against ceramic sounded dangerously loud in the otherwise calm house.
"This is good," Kajal whispered.
"Because it's stolen," Ahan whispered back.
They were three spoons in when they heard it.
A cough.
Behind them.
Not a casual cough. A deliberate one.
Both siblings stiffened.
Slowly—very slowly—they turned around.
Paridhi Choudhary stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression dark and unreadable. She was still in her saree from work, hair neatly tied back, eyes sharp with the kind of disappointment that didn't need volume.
"What," she asked calmly, "are you two doing?"
For half a second, there was silence.
Then chaos.
"He took it first," Kajal blurted, pointing at Ahan with her spoon.
"She blackmailed me," Ahan said at the exact same time. "She threatened to tell you."
Paridhi closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose.
"I bought that ice cream for guests," she said.
Kajal immediately looked repentant. Ahan attempted a sheepish smile.
Before Paridhi could continue, she suddenly remembered why she had come here. "Ahan. Zayn called."
Ahan's stomach tightened.
"He said it's urgent," Paridhi added, giving him a look that suggested this better not be nonsense. "Talk to him."
Ahan stood up, heart suddenly beating faster. He walked toward the living room, his mind already racing ahead.
This is it, he thought.
Zayn would tell him he didn't get selected. He'd sound sympathetic, dramatic even. Ahan would sigh, pretend to be disappointed. Maybe even mope for an evening. And then—relief. Everything would go back to normal.
Engineering. Predictability. Safety.
So why did the idea leave a faint, unwelcome heaviness in his chest?
He picked up the receiver.
"What is it?" Ahan asked, keeping his voice neutral.
On the other end, Zayn sounded like he might explode.
"Bro!"
Ahan winced, pulling the receiver slightly away from his ear.
"You got it," Zayn said, breathless. "You got the main role."
The words didn't register immediately.
"What?" Ahan said.
"You're in," Zayn continued, voice tumbling over itself. "Lead. They want you. They called me. They were very clear."
Ahan hung up.
Just like that.
The receiver slammed back into its cradle with a loud, final sound that echoed through the house.
In the kitchen, Kajal and Paridhi both looked up.
"That didn't sound good," Kajal whispered.
Ahan stood there for a moment, staring at the phone like it might ring again and correct itself. His mind felt strangely blank, as if someone had wiped the board clean without asking.
Slowly, he turned.
Paridhi and Kajal were peeking around the kitchen corner now, curiosity overriding caution.
"What happened?" Paridhi asked.
Ahan swallowed. He opened his mouth, closed it again. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to feel. Excitement? Fear? Pride?
All he felt was unsteady.
He took a deep breath and forced a smile. It came out tight, uncertain.
"You know," he said slowly, "Tips Films?"
Paridhi's brow furrowed.
Kajal's eyes widened. "Like… movies?"
Ahan nodded.
"They… called," he said. "For something."
Paridhi straightened. "What kind of something?"
Ahan hesitated. The word felt heavy in his mouth.
"A film."
Silence settled over the room.