It was a quiet Wednesday evening when Bani received the call.
Not from a friend, not from college — but directly from Mr. Prasad Bidapa's office.
> "Bani, we'd like to meet you with your father. Prasad sir has something important to discuss — it's regarding a TV audition in Mumbai."
The tone was calm, but the message rang like a bell in her mind. Her father, sitting nearby with the newspaper, looked up as she ended the call.
> "Appa… they asked for both of us. Can you come with me tomorrow evening to his studio?"
He nodded without a second thought. He had seen Bani's discipline and quiet ambition grow over the last few months. This wasn't just about a few shoots anymore.
---
The Next Day – At Prasad Bidapa Studio, Bangalore
The waiting room was softly lit and peaceful. Her father sat beside her, clearly out of place in the world of models and creatives, but dignified as always in his crisp white shirt and dark veshti.
When they were called in, Mr. Bidapa greeted them with warmth and respect.
> "Bani, I want to talk to you both about an opportunity. It's not confirmed yet — but I've shared your pictures with a leading production house in Mumbai. They liked your look for a new serial under the Balaji banner."
Bani's breath caught for a moment. She glanced at her father, who was listening intently.
> "They've asked if you can travel to Mumbai and give a screen test. The role is not fixed — but you're shortlisted. Since you're still a minor, we need your father's consent. If you both agree, we'll prepare your portfolio and brief you for the audition. Travel, stay, and essentials will be taken care of."
---
A Moment of Silence
Her father asked a few practical questions. Was she safe? Would someone accompany her? What was the nature of the role?
Prasad Bidapa answered everything calmly.
> "We're not pushing her into anything. But she deserves the chance. And frankly, they don't find grounded girls with this kind of presence often."
Bani stayed quiet, heart beating fast. This could be the real door. The shift from runway and shoots to something with national reach.
---
Decision
As they stepped out into the evening sun, her father looked at her and said:
> "If your heart says yes, we'll go. Just remember who you are, and stay focused."
Bani nodded, already feeling the weight of her next steps.
She wasn't chosen yet. But she had a seat at the table — and that meant something.
The boarding gates were quiet at 6:10 AM, but Bani's mind wasn't.
She sat beside her father, clutching her soft backpack. On the other side sat Shreya, one of Prasad Bidapa's senior associates, a calm and well-spoken woman in her early 30s, assigned to accompany them to Mumbai.
Her father hadn't said much since leaving Mysore, but his presence next to her gave her a strange strength.
> "You focus on the audition. I'll handle the rest," he had said, before boarding.
---
Midair Mastery
As the flight took off, Shreya handed Bani a thin file with printouts of three sample scenes—two dramatic, one casual. The dialogues were all in Hindi.
Though Bani understood the basics from school and TV, she had never performed in Hindi before.
She began mouthing the words slowly.
That's when the space inside her stirred again.
Like a soft current, invisible but alive.
Her fingers pressed lightly on the printed script. In seconds, the knowledge transferred. Not just words, but tone, pacing, natural rhythm. She wasn't reading anymore — she was feeling the scenes.
By the time the seatbelt sign came on, she could recite every line — switching from emotional pauses to confident comebacks with surprising clarity.
Shreya looked at her with raised eyebrows.
> "You said this is your first Hindi script?"
Bani smiled. "Yes. But I've been… preparing in my own way."
Her father just quietly nodded, proud but as always — private about it.
---
Landing in Mumbai
They landed at Chhatrapati Shivaji Airport by mid-morning.
Bani stepped out, wind sweeping across her tied-back hair, and looked at the stretch of buildings, billboards, and the endless city buzz.
Everything felt bigger, noisier — but not overwhelming.
> "We'll rest today. Tomorrow you have two rounds — monologue and scene pairing," said Shreya, guiding them to a waiting car.
As they drove through Andheri's lanes, Bani spotted banners of current Balaji shows. Faces of lead actors. Big smiles. Perfect hair.
Somehow, she didn't feel smaller.
---
Evening Practice
They stayed at a quiet serviced apartment arranged by the studio.
That evening, while her father made tea in the kitchenette, Bani sat near the window and rehearsed — not loudly, but with emotion, pausing after each line, correcting her tone. The knowledge transferred through space had blended seamlessly with her instincts.
She wasn't copying — she was creating.
By nightfall, Shreya confirmed:
> "Tomorrow at 11:00 AM, Studio C. You'll go in second. The casting head will be there. Be natural, don't push it."
Bani nodded. She looked at her father, who gave her a silent thumbs up and turned off the lights.
The audition room had gone silent long before Bani left it.
Though she had stepped out with a polite smile and steady steps, her heart carried a quiet swirl of emotion. Not nervousness. Not disappointment either. Just… the weight of something unfinished.
She sat beside her father in the waiting area, quietly drinking the bottle of water someone from the crew had handed her. He looked at her face, searching for signs — but found only calm.
> "You did your best," he offered.
> "Yes," she nodded. "But I don't think it was mine to get."
Just then, Shreya approached. Her expression was unreadable, as if she herself wasn't sure what to make of the update she had just received.
> "They've asked if Bani can come back tomorrow," she said, addressing both father and daughter.
Bani raised her eyebrows slightly.
> "For… another role?"
> "They didn't say. Just asked for her to come in by 10 a.m. Same place. Final round — that's all they said."
Her father glanced at Bani and then back at Shreya.
> "Should we prepare anything?"
> "No specific script given. It might be improv. Or another short scene. But nothing to worry about."
Bani was puzzled, but she didn't ask more. Somewhere inside, she sensed that something had shifted — but she couldn't yet tell in which direction.
> "Okay," she simply said. "We'll come."
---
Behind Closed Doors
Inside one of the production rooms, three people sat around a monitor, replaying Bani's audition clip on a loop. It was shaky, recorded on a mobile, but her presence still came through. There was a natural rhythm in her tone, a grounded energy that didn't scream for attention — but still held it.
> "She's not polished," one of the assistants noted.
> "But she doesn't need to be," said another. "She looks like someone we can shape. Pair her with karan tomorrow and see how they hold the scene together."