The outdoor location for Kitni Mohabbat Hai was buzzing even before sunrise. Reflectors leaned against walls, spot boys rolled cables across the street, and makeup artists carried their kits from van to van.
Bani stepped out of her vanity van in a soft peach salwar, the morning light catching the shimmer on the fabric. Her hair was pinned back for the scene, and a thin script folder rested in her hand.
"Shot in five minutes!" the assistant director called.
She nodded, walking toward the set—but not before glancing at her phone. A small, quiet smile crossed her face. The Bitcoin mining app's dashboard was glowing with green bars. Overnight, the rigs running in her apartment had processed another small batch. Tiny numbers, yes—but she knew they added up over time.
Her tech setup back home was minimal: a modified PC with cooling fans humming steadily, hidden in a corner of her studio apartment. She'd learned to monitor it between takes, like some people checked Instagram.
As the cameras rolled, she stepped into her character—Arohi—delivering a line with the right mix of hurt and defiance. Arjun's character shot her a look, the director shouted "Perfect!", and the crew shuffled to reset the scene.
During the break, she sat in the shade, sipping coconut water and checking her mining pool stats again. It was a small, secret thrill—her other life ticking along while the acting one took center stage.
By evening, when the last outdoor scene wrapped, she'd earned both applause from the director and a little more Bitcoin in her wallet. A productive day on two fronts.
Bani had just wrapped her day. Her scripts were stacked neatly on the study table, the mining rig in the corner whirred softly like a lullaby. She changed into a loose T-shirt, pulled her hair into a bun, and sat on her bed scrolling through messages.
A new notification blinked in her cousin brother's group chat:
"Check out my new app! Live on both iOS & Android. One link for all 👉 [Instagram]"
Bani blinked at the name. Instagram?
She tapped the link. Within seconds, a clean, simple interface opened up—photo feed, filters, like button. She tilted her head, half-smiling.
"Hmm… photo sharing app? But so many already exist. What's different here?" she murmured.
She scrolled deeper, experimenting with the filters. A few taps later, she uploaded her very first picture: a behind-the-scenes snap from today's outdoor shoot—the vanity van, the clapperboard leaning against a chair, a golden streak of sunlight breaking through.
Within minutes, likes trickled in—from cousins, co-actors, and even the assistant director who followed her instantly.
She grinned.
This is different. Feels like a stage, but inside the phone.
Her cousin pinged again:
"This app will change how people connect. Trust me."
She replied with a teasing voice note:
"Bas kar genius! If this really becomes big, I'll post my first award pic only here."
She laughed to herself, not knowing she was holding a piece of the future—something as disruptive as Bitcoin, just in a different way.
By nine, the hustle of her real world took over. The Balaji Telefilms van picked her up, the ride rattling through Mumbai's chaotic traffic. As today's schedule was an outdoor shoot for Kitni Mohabbat Hai. The director wanted a softer, natural-light sequence, so they were headed to a park-like location.
Wardrobe handed her a pastel kurta, the makeup team worked quickly. Bani kept her script pages on her lap, silently rehearsing her lines.
"Ready, Bani?" the assistant director asked.
She nodded, slipping into character as easily as breathing. When the cameras rolled, her posture shifted, her voice found its rhythm, and for a few minutes she was no longer herself — she was Arohi.
The sun dipped low when the day's shoot finally wrapped. Her ride home was slow, the traffic an endless sea of brake lights. Bani used the time to re-read the script for tomorrow, her pencil scribbling little notes in the margins.
At home, she cooked herself a light meal, then spent an hour on her studies — something she refused to compromise on, no matter how busy acting made her. Only after that did she check her phone again.
Instagram was buzzing. Friends had posted selfies, food photos, silly filters. She scrolled once, twice, then put it away.
"This is for them," she thought, switching off the screen. "My path is different."
---
Night settled. The mining rig whirred quietly beside her desk, a reminder of her hidden parallel world — numbers, patience, and the future. She wrote in her journal, reflecting on what she'd done well in acting today, and what needed sharpening.
Before lying down, she glanced once more at her cousin's excited message about Instagram. She smiled faintly. "Apps will come and go… but my real work, my real dream — that's what stays."
With that, she switched off the light, curling into bed. The hum of the city faded into the steady rhythm of her small but determined life.
The city had long fallen into its night rhythm when Bani sat at her desk, the glow of her laptop illuminating the small studio. Most actors her age would be posting selfies on Instagram or celebrating a new episode. But Bani wasn't most actors.
She leaned back in her chair, eyes fixed on the blank notepad in front of her. Her mind wasn't on lines, scripts, or costumes — it was on the future.
In my first life, Facebook bought that little green app for nineteen billion dollars… WhatsApp.
She tapped her pen against the desk. That deal had shaken the tech world. Billions for something so simple: a messaging app. No ads, no fuss, just communication. And in the years that followed, it became an inseparable part of life.
Her lips curved into the faintest smile. If they could build it, why not me? This time, the chance should be mine.
---
Her magical space shimmered into being, a place where time bent differently. Here, days stretched like weeks, and hours gave her the gift of focus. She didn't need to hire developers, didn't need an office. The space itself gave her tools — coding libraries, design modules, testing frameworks — everything she could imagine.
She worked relentlessly. User interface sketches filled her notebooks. Sleek, clean, efficient — nothing flashy, just pure utility. Messages should send instantly. No confusing menus. Just one tap and you're connected.
Next three months went by the end of it, she had a working prototype. A chat app — encrypted, fast, simple. She named it quietly, choosing a short and memorable word, one that could travel across cultures.
When she pressed "Run" for the first time, a message pinged across her laptop and phone in perfect sync.
It worked.
Her heart raced, not with the thrill of acting, not with the applause of fans — but with the quiet triumph of creation. She wasn't just following the future. She was rewriting it.
---
Back in her real apartment, she glanced at her phone where Instagram buzzed with new updates. She ignored them. The mining rig whirred softly behind her. But tonight, her gaze lingered on her new app.
This is my weapon, she thought, saving the code to multiple encrypted drives. When the right time comes, the world won't know what hit them.
She closed her laptop, exhaustion finally tugging at her eyes. Tomorrow she would return to shooting, smiling as Arohi on camera, a simple actress in everyone's eyes. But beneath that mask, she carried a secret empire waiting to be born.