The past three months had been a whirlwind for Bani. Every day on the serial set had taught her something new — about acting, about patience, and about herself. The early jitters had slowly faded, replaced by quiet confidence as she delivered scene after scene with growing ease.
Just last month, after much careful thought and saving, Bani had rented a small studio apartment just a few minutes from the shooting location. The cozy little space was modest but perfect — no more long commutes on crowded local trains or buses. She could now wake up later, get ready without rush, and reach the set fresh and energized. It felt like a small but meaningful victory in her journey.
This morning, as she prepared to leave for the Balaji Telefilms office, her heart fluttered with anticipation. Rumors about pay hikes had been circulating, but nothing was confirmed. She hoped her hard work would be recognized.
The Balaji office buzzed with activity when she arrived. After a brief wait, she was called into a conference room. The senior producers and casting director greeted her warmly.
"Bani, we've been very impressed with your dedication and growth over these past few months," said the casting director. "We want to offer you a new contract. Your pay will be increased to ₹55,000 per month, effective immediately."
Relief and excitement swelled inside her. Signing the contract felt like sealing a promise to herself — that all the struggles, were worth it.
Walking out of the office, contract in hand, she thought about the little studio apartment she now called home. It was no longer just a place to sleep — it was her sanctuary, a space that supported her dreams.
Bani smiled, knowing this was a step closer to the bright future she had always imagined.
That evening, Bani returned to her studio apartment, the contract folded neatly in her bag. The tiny space welcomed her with familiar warmth—the soft glow of the string lights she had carefully hung, the neatly arranged books on the shelf, and the small potted plant she had nurtured since moving in.
She paused by the window, looking out at the city lights blinking alive as dusk settled. For a moment, the noise and bustle faded away. This quiet corner was hers—a place where she could breathe, think, and plan.
The air inside the makeup room was unusually light that morning. Someone had stuck a little paper calendar on the mirror, with the upcoming two red-marked days circled in green ink. Public holidays. For the rest of the crew, they were just dates to catch up on sleep. For Bani, they were a chance to breathe.
She had been quietly wishing for a short trip home for weeks, the thought of her mother's cooking and the smell of fresh jasmine in the courtyard tugging at her whenever she scrolled through her phone gallery. But in the relentless rhythm of daily shooting, days blurred together, and "time off" often meant nothing more than getting to sit for ten minutes between shots.
During lunch break, she caught the production manager in the corridor.
"Sir… about the upcoming holidays," she began cautiously. "If it's possible… I'd like to visit my family. Just for three days. I've already spoken to costume, and I can pre-shoot the rest of my scenes."
He gave her a quick glance, then sighed in the way people do when their mental calendar is already overbooked.
"You're not the only one who's asked," he said, pulling out a worn notepad. "Raghav wants to go to Pune. Meera's got her cousin's wedding. But…" He tapped the pen against his chin. "We're in block shooting right now. If we pack in some extra hours before the holidays, I can give you those three days."
Bani's heart leapt, but she kept her voice even. "I can come early for call time. And shoot late if needed."
The next few days became a whirlwind. Scenes were rearranged so she could film entire sequences in a single stretch, jumping from emotional confrontations to light-hearted moments in the same afternoon. Sets were switched faster than usual, props shuffled aside to make way for the next location. Even the spot boy seemed to be moving quicker, ferrying tea and water with military precision.
By the time the public holiday dawned, Bani's work was already in the can for the next week's episodes. She packed her small suitcase the night before, slipping in a Mysore silk saree she'd been saving to show her mother.
When she finally boarded the bus home, the city lights trailing behind her like a ribbon, she felt something rare in the chaos of her new life — a sense of pause.
And in a way, that pause made her appreciate the madness even more. Because here, in the world of rolling cameras and endless retakes, every stolen day felt like a gift.
There were two days of public holidays, but Bani got one extra day off since she was shooting an additional scene earlier than planned.
She decided to use the time to buy gifts for her family. She bought a Fastrack watch for her brother and cousins, and Titan watches for her father, uncle, aunt, and mother. This time, she didn't use her space magic—she wanted the happiness of buying the gifts herself.
For herself, she copied a Fastrack belt watch and a Titan chain watch using her ability.
The final scene wrapped up under the yellow glare of studio lights. It was close to midnight, yet the crew moved around like restless fireflies, packing up cables, folding backdrops, and exchanging quiet jokes. Bani, still in costume, signed off her last continuity check and slipped into the dressing room. The makeup artist gave her a tired but warm smile.
"You're lucky," he said, "most of us will be here until dawn."
Bani only nodded. She was lucky. The director had called her earlier in the day to say that her extra scene would be shot ahead of schedule, freeing her from work for the next few days. With Diwali just around the corner, that was a gift.
By the time she reached the airport, the terminal was half-asleep. It was the strange hour where time seemed to hang in the air—too late for night owls, too early for morning risers. She pulled her hood over her head and moved through the quiet security checks.
At 4:30 a.m., boarding was announced. She found her seat by the window and fastened her seatbelt, exhaling slowly. The gentle hum of the engines grew into a steady roar as the plane began its climb. City lights glittered below like a fallen sky, and for a brief moment, she forgot the weariness in her bones.
The cabin was dim, passengers lulled into sleep. Bani leaned her head against the window and let the cold glass soothe her forehead. She thought of her family—her father's quiet pride, her mother's warm hands, her cousins' noisy laughter—and smiled. She didn't need her space magic for this trip; reality itself was enough.
When the plane touched down, the first blush of dawn was spilling across the horizon. She stepped out of the arrivals gate, the crisp morning air filling her lungs, and waved down a taxi.
Home was only an hour away.