The first thing that caught Mohit’s eye was the beard.
Or, to be more precise, the effort that went into growing it.
When Sidharth walked into the studio, Reshma’s assistant, who was trailing a standard three paces behind, leaned back in his leather chair, narrowing his eyes as he took in the sight.
Three weeks had changed something in the boy.
He was still strikingly handsome, the kind of face that would need a serious accident to mar it.
But the once pristine Dharma shine was starting to fade.
His hair had grown longer, cascading over his forehead like bangs.
The stubble along his jawline had thickened, though his cheeks still had enough patchiness that makeup would eventually be necessary to even it out.
What was even more captivating were his eyes.
There were faint purple shadows under them, giving him a look that was both tired and mature.
“Sidharth,” Mohit called out.
Sid flashed a subtle, easy smile.
“Sir.”
“Come here.”
As Sid approached, Bhushan Kumar glanced up from his phone a few feet away.
The studio around them buzzed with the usual pre-production energy: a camera crew adjusting a jib, costume assistants hauling racks of denim and leather, and a makeup artist laying out brushes like they were surgical instruments.
Mohit reached out, pointing a finger at Sid’s jaw.
“You look different.”
Sid instinctively touched his cheek.
“Good different?”
“Maybe.”
Bhushan stood up and walked over to join them, squinting at Sid for a moment.
“He’s looking thinner.”
“I’m not thinner,” Sid replied mildly.
“You look thinner.
I’ve been exercising.”
“Face,” Mohit corrected, noting the tighter lines around Sid’s mouth.
“What’s been going on?”
“Exercising more,” Sid said.
“And sleeping less?” Mohit shot back.
“Living a disciplined routine.”
“Just don’t overdo it,” Mohit warned, frowning.
“I don’t need a walking skeleton.”
“I wasn’t pushing that hard.”
It was mostly true.
He still managed to squeeze in about five hours of sleep each day.
His mornings kicked off with learning alongside Vishwas Kaka, followed by Barry’s workshop, and then late-night sessions with musicians who were still finding their footing.
He’d often find himself glued to films until 3:00 AM, fitting in guitar practice whenever he could.
Sleep had become an afterthought, crammed into the tiny gaps left in his busy schedule.
Mohit circled him slowly, like an auctioneer sizing up his goods.
“What kind of research are we talking about?”
“Music, mostly,” Sid replied, keeping it intentionally vague.
Bhushan raised an eyebrow, while Mohit crossed his arms, clearly wanting more.
“Explain.”
“I’ve been hanging out with musicians.”
“What kind of musicians?”
“Working ones.” Sid paused, feeling the weight of Mohit’s unwavering gaze.
“Struggling ones, mostly.”
Bhushan shot a quick look at Mohit, who didn’t break his intense stare at Sid.
Feeling a bit ridiculous, Sid pressed on before they could dismiss him.
“I wanted to get a feel for the phase before someone hits it big, like Rahul.
The not-so-glamorous side.
You know, restaurant gigs, weddings, basement rehearsals, session work.
The folks hustling for just one playback chance.”
“And?” Mohit prompted.
Sid shrugged, a bit dryly.
“It’s a lot messier than I expected.”
“What else?”
Sid scratched the back of his neck, contemplating whether to share more.
“I’m picking up a bit of guitar.”
Mohit’s posture eased just a bit.
“Good.”
“Very little,” Sid quickly added.
“Still useful.”
Sid hesitated, debating whether to reveal more.
“And…
I’m learning Powada.”
The noise in the studio seemed to fade for a moment.
Mohit blinked, while Bhushan frowned, looking genuinely thrown off.
“What?” Bhushan asked.
“It’s a Maharashtrian folk performance,” Sid explained.
“I know what Powada is.
I’ve been around long before you were born,” Bhushan said, rubbing his temples.
“Why on earth are you learning Powada?”
Sid couldn’t help but think of Vishwas Kaka, standing tall in that narrow Lalbaug courtyard, projecting his voice across the brickwork without a mic, captivating an audience of birds and passersby.
“Voice,” Sid said, keeping it straightforward.
“And projection.
It’s all about storytelling through music.”
“Where’s that happening?” Mohit asked, his curiosity clearly sparked.
“Lalbaug.
There’s an old master there, Vishwas Kaka.”
“Every day?”
“Most mornings.”
Bhushan looked at Sid, genuinely puzzled.
“Is this for the film?
I mean, Rahul’s a pop-rock star.”
“It started because of the film,” Sid confessed.
“And now?”
Sid paused to think.
“Now, I just enjoy it.”
That response did more than any polished PR line could.
Mohit’s usually tight-lipped expression softened into a rare, faint smile.
“Good,” he said quietly, pointing a finger at Sid’s chest.
“Keep it up.”
Bhushan shook his head, glancing between the two.
“So, is he playing a Marathi folk singer now?”
“No,” Mohit replied, not even looking at Bhushan.
“He’s learning to use his voice without lip-syncing on a mic.
Can you sing anything yet?”
“My master says I’m still too rough around the edges,” Sid answered.
“We’ll put that to the test later.”
Sid immediately regretted bringing up music at all.
Before he could retract his words, the double doors at the far end of the studio swung open.
A young woman stepped in, accompanied by a casting coordinator.
Sid recognized her instantly.
For a brief, disorienting moment, a wave of future memories washed over him.
Aashiqui 2.
The pouring rain.
Tum Hi Ho.
Posters plastered on every auto-rickshaw in Mumbai.
Her rise to fame—Ek Villain, Haider, ABCD 2.
Years of hits that would define a decade of Hindi cinema romance.
And in a distant, hazy reality, Bunty had once linked Sidharth Malhotra with her in a completely different light.
But none of that had happened yet.
Dressed in simple blue jeans and a soft top, her hair fell naturally over her shoulders, completely unstyled.
There was none of the polished, star-like aura she would eventually have.
She appeared small, impossibly young, and noticeably anxious.
The casting director guided her over, and Mohit stood up.
“Shraddha.”
She offered a soft, slightly nervous smile.
“Hi, Mohit sir.”
Her gaze then shifted to Sidharth.
She halted mid-step.
Sid had to suppress a grin.
The way she was staring at him, with an open and unguarded curiosity, was hard to miss.
Mohit noticed it too.
“Great.
Meet your male lead.”
Shraddha blinked, a flush creeping into her cheeks.
“I—”
“This is Sidharth,” Mohit introduced smoothly.
Sid reached out his hand, but as he caught sight of her anxious expression, a playful impulse took over his better judgment.
He lowered his hand, gave a slight bow, and said in crisp, formal Marathi: “Namaskar.
Mi Sidharth.
Tumhala bhetun anand zala.” (Hello.
I am Sidharth.
Pleased to meet you.)
Shraddha’s eyes widened in surprise.
Beside them, Bhushan slowly lowered his phone.
Mohit looked on, puzzled.
Shraddha’s surprise faded in an instant, replaced by a bright spark of excitement.
She immediately responded in rapid-fire, native Marathi, a fluid stream of words that completely flew over Sid’s head.
He caught only a few words: where, learn, how long.
He raised a hand in mock surrender, replying in carefully articulated Marathi: “Lalbaug madhye.
Ek kaka mala shikavtat.” (In Lalbaug.
An uncle is teaching me.)
The unmistakable Punjabi accent in his pronunciation was thick.
Shraddha picked up on it right away, her lips breaking into a wide, genuine laugh.
“Thoda Punjabi Marathi aahe,” she teased.
(It’s a little Punjabi-Marathi.)
Sid chuckled.
“Ata tari.” (For now.)
She launched into another quick response, but now she was speaking at a normal conversational pace.
Sid missed the first few words and soon began to lose track, his expression giving him away.
Shraddha paused, laughter bubbling up.
“Too fast?” she asked in English.
“Way too fast,” Sid admitted in Hindi.
“My Marathi ends right about there.”
“You speak pretty good Marathi.” she pointed out, grinning.
“Fake it till you make it,” Sid chimed in.
Mohit cleared his throat, glancing back and forth between the two of them.
“Are we done here?”
Both of them turned to him, and Mohit wore an exaggerated expression of mild offense.
“I invite two Hindi film stars to my studio, and within two minutes, I’m completely sidelined.”
Shraddha’s hands flew to her mouth.
“Sorry, sir!”
Sid adopted his most serious face.
“Truly sorry, sir.”
“Alright.
Sit down.”
But beneath his stern demeanor, Mohit was secretly thrilled.
The wall had crumbled in just five seconds.
No stiff introductions, no polite, empty chatter, and definitely no awkward maneuvering.
Shraddha had relaxed the moment she heard her native language, and Sidharth had embraced the role of the self-deprecating fool without a hint of fragile male pride.
Mohit understood that chemistry wasn’t just about two attractive people gazing at each other.
It was about being on the same wavelength.
“Let’s see how this plays out in front of the camera,” Mohit said, gesturing toward the mark in the center of the room.
The first test was all about lightness.
“Picture this: you’re at a café,” Mohit instructed, setting the scene.
“You’ve known each other for three weeks.
The attraction is palpable, but neither of you has mustered the courage to say it out loud.”
He turned to Shraddha.
“You’re late.”
Then to Sid: “You’re trying to act like you’re not annoyed.”
Well, that didn’t require much acting; he’d felt that firsthand with Alia more times than he could count.
Sid scanned the empty, minimalist space.
“Are we talking an expensive café or a cheap dive?”
Mohit frowned.
“Why does that even matter?”
“Because it changes how justified my annoyance is,” Sid replied dryly.
“If I paid for an eighty-rupee coffee that’s now cold, I’d be furious.”
Bhushan couldn’t help but smile, while Shraddha stifled a giggle behind her hand.
Mohit rubbed his forehead in exasperation.
“Expensive.
Very expensive.
Is that motivation clear?”
“Crystal clear,” Sid confirmed.
“Great.
Action!”
Shraddha took a step back, inhaled deeply, and then glided into the scene as if she were pushing open a heavy glass door.
“Sorry!” she exclaimed, sliding into an imaginary booth across from him.
Sid dramatically checked a nonexistent watch on his wrist.
“You’re only…” He paused, letting his gaze rise to meet hers with a flair for the theatrical.
“…forty-five minutes late.”
“Twenty!” she shot back without missing a beat.
“We were supposed to meet at eleven.
It’s nearly noon now,” Sid pointed out, leaning back in his seat.
“Traffic,” she replied, leaning in with wide eyes that screamed innocence.
“Mumbai has traffic every single day, Shraddha.
That’s like blaming the sun for shining.”
“So you knew there would be traffic,” she retorted smoothly.
“Which means you should have anticipated my lateness.”
Sid held her gaze, maintaining a straight face for three long seconds before a small smile crept onto his lips.
“You’re scarily good at deflecting blame.
Maybe that’s just a talent every woman possesses.”
Shraddha feigned shock, her expression genuine.
“That’s so harsh.”
Then, resting her chin on her hand, she added, “And yet, here you are.
You could have left if you were getting impatient.”
Sid didn’t skip a beat.
He let the silence linger for a moment, his eyes flicking to her lips for just a heartbeat before returning to her gaze.
“I thought about it,” Sid murmured.
“Then why didn’t you?”
“The coffee was pricey,” he replied flatly.
“I told you that.”
Shraddha burst into laughter, a bright, unscripted sound that filled the quiet studio.
“You’re terrible and such a cheapskate.” Visit g.com for the full chapter.
“And you’re late.”
She leaned in closer across the imaginary table, her eyes locked onto his.
“So why are you smiling?”
Sid caught himself, forcing his lips into a straight line.
“I’m not.”
“Too late.
I saw it; you can’t hide it now.”
From behind the monitor, Mohit remained silent.
It was seamless.
Neither actor was trying to outshine the other; they were simply anticipating each other’s lines, moving together like two dancers perfectly in sync.
“Cut,” Mohit said softly.
Sid broke character, rolling his shoulders back.
Shraddha glanced at him, her eyes sparkling.
“Honestly, you’re way better than I thought you’d be,” she said, her honesty refreshing.
Sid gasped, dramatically placing a hand over his heart as if wounded.
“How cruel!”
“No!
I didn’t mean—”
“I’m outta here,” Sid announced, turning toward the door.
“Bhushan ji, you can cancel the contract.”
Now Shraddha was laughing, reaching out to grab his sleeve.
“I meant from the trailer!
Student of the Year!
You were so…
different back then.
Here, you feel like a whole new person.”
Sid paused, glancing down at her hand on his arm, then back up at her face.
“I’ll take that as a compliment, but only because you looked genuinely worried.”
Mohit interjected, a playful smirk on his face.
“Let’s save the flirting for when the red light is on, shall we?”
Shraddha quickly withdrew her hand, her cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink.
Sid coughed, suddenly very interested in the studio floor.
Bhushan leaned toward Mohit.
“They have chemistry,” he whispered.
“We’re not finished yet,” Mohit replied quietly, though his eyes betrayed his amusement.
He turned back to Sid.
“Sidharth.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Sing.”
Sid froze.
“Pardon?”
“You mentioned you’ve been working on music.
Sing something.”
“Sir, ‘working on it’ means I’m trying not to sound like a dying animal,” Sid said, a hint of panic creeping into his voice.
“I’m not ready for an audition.”
“No pressure,” Mohit said casually, which really meant there was a ton of pressure.
Shraddha turned to him, clearly intrigued.
“You sing?”
“I try,” Sid corrected.
“Go on,” Mohit urged.
“Anything.”
Sid took a deep breath, rummaging through his mind for something familiar, something he’d belted out a hundred times in the car or under Raghav’s watchful eye.
KK.
Sach Keh Raha Hai Deewana.
He closed his eyes for a moment, finding the right pitch.
He kept it low and raspy, deep in his chest where his voice had thickened over the past couple of weeks.
“Sach keh raha hai deewana…
dil na kisi se lagaana…”
His voice wasn’t a polished playback tool.
He wasn’t Sonu Nigam or Arijit Singh.
But he wasn’t that bad either, not like Sanjay Dutt when he attempted to sing.
As he wrapped up the stanza, an eerie silence enveloped the room, making him acutely aware of the stillness around him.
Clearing his throat, he felt a wave of nerves wash over him.
“Like I said, it’s terrible.”
“Not terrible at all,” Bhushan replied, his voice taking on a whole new energy.
It was clear that his producer instincts had kicked in.
He turned to Mohit.
“It’s got a vibe.”
Mohit was looking at Sid with an expression that sent a shiver down Sid’s spine.
“Have you ever recorded in a studio?”
“No,” Sid admitted.
“Models don’t usually get to use vocal booths.”
“You could always train,” Mohit suggested, his mind clearly racing.
Sid’s heart skipped a beat.
“Train for what?”
Mohit glanced at Bhushan, who nodded slowly in agreement.
“Maybe a promotional track,” Bhushan proposed.
“An unplugged version.
Actor’s cut.”
“Don’t get his hopes up,” Mohit cautioned Bhushan, but then turned back to Sid, a spark of excitement in his eyes.
“We’ve got real singers for the main album.
But…
maybe.”
Sid struggled to contain the grin that was threatening to break free.
Sidharth Malhotra, on a major T-Series album?
If Bunty could see this, he’d be in shock.
Shraddha nudged him.
“Now, Marathi.”
Sid groaned.
“Come on, Shraddha.
My throat is already giving up.”
“You asked ‘Marathi or Hindi’ earlier!” she insisted, arms crossed.
“You promised.”
“One can make many promises, but that doesn’t mean they have to keep every single one.”
“Just sing one line from a Powada.
Just one.”
“If I disrespect the art form in front of Mohit sir, my teacher will feel it from Lalbaug and come after me,” Sid said, trying to sound serious.
Shraddha burst into laughter.
Mohit smacked his clipboard against his thigh.
“Alright, enough of this.
This isn’t a sangeet.
We have a script to follow.”
AN: I plan to make Sid a singer in the future.
Do you want Shraddha to sing too?
Maybe the two can sing a duet.
Also the love interests- Kiara, Kriti, Shraddha.
(not sure how it will work out but I need suggestions on how to make it work without breaking too many norms)
Flings- Mrunal and Alia.
Also spoiler for the future, so skip ahead if you don’t want: I plan to make a three films in sucession with Shradda- Aashiqui 2, Ek Villain and either one of the two films- La la Land and Notebook, whichever works better.
I am leaning towards La La Land (and maybe Sid can write it too).
Maybe one of the albums will have songs sung by Sid.