Bombay, 1988 — Sapphire Studios, Andheri
The air on set was heavy with heat, dust, and noise. Stagehands shouted orders, reflectors flashed blinding gold, and camera cranes groaned as they swung into position. The floor smelled of film reels, sweat, and cheap perfume — the scent of ambition.
Arjun Malhotra stepped onto the soundstage for the first time wearing a pressed white shirt and blue trousers — his Aarzoo costume. A makeup artist brushed powder along his jawline while a lighting technician adjusted the overhead spots. His reflection in the mirror looked surreal — the small-time actor who once begged for auditions was now standing in front of a film camera.
His hair was neatly styled; his eyes, dark and calm, carried a quiet focus that felt older than his years. Around him, dozens of crew members buzzed with the rhythm of a world he had only watched from afar.
"Arjun! Over here!"
Director Rajiv Chopra waved him toward the set. Rajiv looked the same as ever — crisp linen shirt rolled to the elbows, sunglasses even indoors, a cigarette hanging lazily from his lips.
"First scene of the day," Rajiv said, clapping his hands. "You and Rhea, final confrontation sequence. Don't overthink it — keep it raw."
Arjun nodded. "Understood, sir."
Beside him, Rhea Sharma walked up in costume — a flowing red dress, her hair styled in soft curls. Her expression was unreadable, poised between professionalism and fatigue. Under the studio lights, her skin shimmered faintly with the layer of foundation and effort that came with movie magic.
"You ready?" she asked quietly.
"Always," he said, with that half-smile she'd already learned to recognize.
The camera rolled.A moment of silence — then Rajiv's voice: "Action!"
Arjun stepped forward, delivering his line with intensity. "You think walking away will save you? We both know the world outside won't wait."
Rhea turned sharply, her voice trembling but strong. "Then maybe it's better that it doesn't wait for me!"
Her eyes glistened. For a second, the studio disappeared — it was just the two of them, suspended in the emotion of the story.
"Cut!"
The clapperboard snapped shut.
Rajiv grinned. "Perfect. That's the fire I wanted."
The crew clapped politely before moving on to the next setup. Rhea exhaled, brushing her hair from her face.
"You make it look easy," she said.
"It isn't," he replied softly. "It just looks that way."
Between takes, Arjun wandered around the set, watching the machinery of filmmaking unfold — cameras reloaded with 35mm film, lights repositioned by sweating crewmen, assistants scribbling notes on continuity. Every movement had purpose; every second, money burned.
He realized how little of the movie was about acting — it was about timing, patience, and control.
Nearby, Sameer Khan — who had landed a secondary role — stood in front of a makeup mirror, rehearsing lines and checking his reflection every few seconds. He looked every bit the charming rival, both on and off-screen.
"Arjun, my man!" Sameer called, grinning. "How's the hero treatment?"
Arjun smirked. "Less glamorous than I thought."
"That's because you haven't shot a dance sequence yet," Sameer laughed. "Wait till they make you rehearse twelve hours in forty degrees. Then you'll understand true suffering."
"Looking forward to it," Arjun replied dryly.
Later that evening, the team broke for lunch. The canteen buzzed with chatter — actors, extras, crew members, all eating from metal trays. Rhea sat across from Arjun, picking at her food while scanning the call sheet.
"You ever get nervous before a scene?" she asked suddenly.
He looked at her, thoughtful. "Not anymore. I guess I've already lived through too many."
She tilted her head. "You say strange things sometimes."
"Maybe I've seen too much of the future," he said before catching himself.
She raised an eyebrow, amused. "Poetic."
They shared a small smile — one that lingered longer than expected.
A few days later, Aarzoo's outdoor shoot began at a coastal location near Madh Island. The salty wind carried the scent of the sea and sweat as cameras rolled over the golden sand. Arjun watched the crew construct massive sets, cranes lifting reflectors against the sky.
Here, under natural light, everything looked different — beautiful, chaotic, alive.
Between shots, Rajiv pulled him aside. "You've got instincts, kid," he said. "That's rare. Don't lose it chasing stardom."
Arjun nodded. "Thank you, sir."
"But remember," Rajiv added, exhaling smoke, "Bollywood doesn't run on talent alone. It runs on timing, politics, and public memory. Be smart."
Arjun understood exactly what he meant.
By the time shooting wrapped for the day, the sun dipped low, turning the horizon crimson. Crew members packed up equipment, their laughter echoing against the crashing waves.
Rhea sat nearby, tying her hair as she looked out at the water. "It's strange," she said softly. "We spend all day pretending to be other people. Then, when it's over, I don't even know who I am anymore."
Arjun joined her on the rock. "Maybe that's what acting really is," he said. "Not losing yourself — just learning to live with all your versions."
She smiled faintly, glancing at him. "That's very deep, Mr. Malhotra."
He looked at the setting sun, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Or maybe I've just had more time to think than most."
When the day ended, Arjun stayed back as the crew dispersed. The empty set glowed under fading light. He touched one of the props — a glass bottle used earlier in a scene — and smiled.
For the first time since his reincarnation, he felt at home.This wasn't the chaos he feared. It was the chaos he was meant for.
He could see it now — the long road ahead, the films yet to be made, the fame, the heartbreak, the legacy.
Bollywood wasn't just a dream anymore. It was his battlefield.
And Arjun Malhotra was just getting started.
End of Chapter 5