Sidharth felt like he was caught in two completely different movies, which, in a way, he actually was.
In one reality, he sported long hair, a scruffy stubble, tired eyes, and wrinkled shirts.
In the other, he was meant to embody Abhimanyu Singh: polished, youthful, impeccably groomed, and looking like a college student who had a personal stylist lurking behind the chemistry lab, secretly crushing on him.
When he returned for the Student of the Year promotions, a makeup artist spent nearly twenty minutes scrutinizing his face with a look of disapproval.
“This is a problem,” she announced.
Sid glanced at his reflection in the mirror.
“I’ve kind of grown fond of it.”
“I haven’t.” She tilted his head back and forth.
“T-Series asked for this?”
“The director wants it.”
“Naturally.”
A second makeup artist approached, assessing the situation.
“What’s the issue?”
“Continuity.”
“Oh.”
Sid looked between the two of them.
“I feel like I’m a medical case.”
“Shh.”
The solution involved careful trimming, makeup magic, and strategic angles during promotional photoshoots.
Shaving it all off was not an option since Aashiqui 2 filming would kick back up right after the promotions.
Karan Johar was frustrated, Mohit Suri stood his ground, and Reshma spent hours on the phone trying to mediate between two stubborn production houses.
In the end, everyone came to terms with the fact that Sid would just appear a bit older at certain promotional events.
Inside the chilly press room, Sid wished he hadn’t left his jacket behind.
Huge Student of the Year posters adorned the back wall.
Varun Dhawan and Alia Bhatt settled into two of the main chairs, with Sid taking a seat next to Alia.
Three newcomers.
Three students—at least on paper.
Sitting across from them was entertainment journalist Komal Nahta, notes in hand and ready to go.
As a publicist from Dharma signaled the start of the interview, cameras began to flash.
Nahta greeted the trio with a warm smile.
“Big day for you all?”
“Very,” Varun replied.
Alia let out a nervous laugh.
“Very, very big.”
“I’m just pretending to be calm,” Sid chimed in with a grin.
Nahta chuckled before focusing on Varun.
“So, Varun, being David Dhawan’s son, you’ve been around film sets your whole life.
Did you always feel like acting was your destiny?”
Varun smoothly launched into his answer, sharing a polished story about his time as an assistant director, his upbringing in the film world, and his journey to establish his own identity beyond his father’s fame.
Sid listened quietly, having heard variations of this story many times before.
Then Nahta turned to Alia.
“Alia, your family is a cornerstone of Hindi cinema—Mahesh Bhatt, Pooja Bhatt, Soni Razdan.
How do you feel about the comparisons that are bound to happen?”
“A lot,” Alia confessed with a self-conscious laugh, diving into her thoughts on expectations, her childhood spent watching films, and her desire to create her own path.
“Did your father offer you any advice?” Nahta asked.
Alia chuckled softly.
“A lot.”
The room shared a polite laugh.
Questions flowed back and forth between Varun and Alia, covering everything from Varun’s dance training to Alia’s physical transformation for her role, David Dhawan’s thoughts on the trailer, and Mahesh Bhatt’s feedback.
Sid maintained his smile, but by the fifth question, he started to see a pattern.
By the seventh, it was undeniable.
Finally, Nahta turned his attention to Sid.
“Sidharth, you come from a modeling background.”
Sid straightened up a bit.
“Yes.”
“How does acting compare?”
It was that age-old question about models making the leap to acting.
“Very different, sir,” Sid replied with a smooth confidence.
“In modeling, you convey an entire vibe through just one still image.
But in cinema, there’s no hiding.
You have to maintain a character throughout scenes, react genuinely to your co-star, manage your lines, and adjust your voice—”
Nahta nodded eagerly but jumped in.
“And Karan noticed you?”
“Actually, I—”
“Because Karan has an incredible knack for spotting new talent,” Nahta continued, bringing Varun and Alia into the mix.
“Was he tough on all three of you?”
The conversation had already moved on before Sid could finish his sentence.
Varun picked up on the slight immediately.
“Very strict,” he interjected, steering the attention back to Sid.
“Especially with Sid.”
Nahta glanced over, a bit taken aback.
Varun pressed on.
“Because Sid didn’t grow up on sets like I did.
He had to learn everything from scratch, and fast.”
It was a clear attempt to bring Sid back into the limelight.
Sid met Varun’s gaze with a grateful smile.
“Thanks for having my back.”
Alia laughed, jumping in to help ease the moment.
“He used to look so scared sometimes!”
“I did not.”
“Oh, you definitely did.”
“When?”
“During the first dance rehearsals!”
“Oh, for sure,” Varun added with a cheeky grin.
Sid looked between them, shaking his head.
“You two have suddenly become very bold now that the cameras are on.”
For a few delightful moments, the spotlight was on the three of them—talking over one another, Varun playfully teasing Sid about his dance mishaps, Alia both defending and poking fun at him, and Sid jokingly accusing them of plotting against him.
Then Nahta smoothly shifted the interview back to Alia.
“Your weight loss journey has attracted quite a bit of media attention…”
Sid maintained his polite smile, even as a subtle chill settled behind his eyes.
He wasn’t upset; he got how the industry worked.
Varun had the famous last name—Dhawan.
Alia had two—Bhatt and Razdan.
They brought with them established stories, instant recognition, and headlines that practically wrote themselves.
A journalist could easily ask Varun about his dad, his brother Rohit, or those childhood memories with Salman and Govinda.
With Alia, there was no shortage of topics about her father Mahesh, her sister Pooja, and her mother Soni.
But Sidharth Malhotra?
He was just a model.
An outsider.
Karan Johar’s latest find.
To the world of entertainment journalism, his background didn’t offer much in the way of immediate intrigue.
The thought of nepotism flickered through his mind, but the truth felt more mundane than malicious.
No one was trying to slight him, nor had anyone instructed the journalist to overlook him.
His co-stars weren’t at fault for the families they were born into.
The conversation simply flowed toward those whose lives were already intertwined with fame.
That’s how privilege operated—quietly, seamlessly, without the need for a villain.
Sid crossed his legs, his smile steady.
His moment would come.
If people weren’t asking questions today, he’d just have to make himself interesting enough that eventually, they wouldn’t be able to ignore him.
This pattern played out in multiple press interactions.
Sid found himself fielding questions about his looks, his modeling career, whether he was getting more attention from women since the trailer dropped, if he was single, or if he felt insecure standing next to two star kids.
That last question nearly made him chuckle.
Varun and Alia were asked about their craft and acting; Sid was asked if being good-looking was an advantage.
He handled every question with polite grace.
Alia started to catch on too.
During one interview, when the host asked her what she had learned from Karan, she replied, then added, “Honestly, Sid probably learned the most.
He came on board without a clue about how a film set works.”
The interviewer glanced over at Sid, who took the opportunity to flash a dry smile.
“I still don’t know anything.”
Varun burst into laughter.
“So true.”
“But I know a bit more than I did before,” Sid chimed in smoothly.
The journalist shot a quick smile at Sid before turning back to Varun to ask about his dad.
As soon as they stepped away from the cameras, Alia whispered, “That was so rude.”
Sid took a sip from his water bottle.
“What was?”
“You know what.”
Varun walked beside them, noticeably quieter.
He had picked up on it too.
“Forget it,” Sid said, shaking his head.
“No,” Alia insisted, her cheeks flushed with real annoyance.
“We’re the three leads of this film!”
“What?”
“Don’t go picking fights with journalists on my behalf just because they’re not asking me enough questions.”
“I’m not fighting!”
“You’ve got your fighting face on right now.”
She frowned.
“What fighting face?”
Sid mimicked her tense, scowling look, which made Alia playfully slap his shoulder while Varun burst out laughing.
“He’s got a point, you know,” Varun teased.
“Shut up, Varun.”
Sid smiled, appreciating their quiet camaraderie, but he didn’t want their pity—especially not from them.
The late-afternoon press session dragged on.
By the time the last cameras turned off, all three were completely wiped out.
Varun threw his arms up and stretched until his back popped loudly.
“God,” Varun groaned.
Alia winced.
“That’s disgusting.”
“It feels amazing.
My cheeks hurt from smiling all the time because they won’t ask me questions.”
Sid leaned back, watching Varun with an amused, calculating expression.
Varun slowly lowered his arms, growing cautious.
“What?”
Sid’s smile grew wider.
“What?”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I just stumbled upon something pretty intriguing about you.”
Varun’s eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in.
“From who?”
“Shraddha.”
Varun froze like a deer in headlights.
Alia, who had been lost in her phone, perked up.
“Shraddha?”
Sid leaned back in his chair, a smirk forming.
“Apparently, little Varun Dhawan was quite the dramatic romantic hero back in the day.”
Varun’s shoulders slumped.
“No way.”
Sid burst into laughter, while Alia darted her gaze between them, sensing a juicy story.
“What?
What did he do?”
“Nothing!” Varun shot back, pointing an accusatory finger at Sid.
“She’s making it up.”
“Oh, really?” Sid raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this.
“She was pretty detailed.”
Alia set her phone aside, fully engaged now.
“What did he do?”
“They used to reenact movie scenes together as kids,” Sid revealed with a grin.
Alia’s eyes widened, and then realization hit her.
“Oh!
Right!
You and Shraddha were childhood pals!”
Varun looked like he’d just been betrayed by his best friends.
“Why is everyone suddenly digging into my childhood?”
Sid brushed off Varun’s protest.
“Shraddha mentioned you two did romance scenes.”
“We were just kids!” Varun groaned, exasperated.
Alia’s eyes sparkled with mischief.
“Romance scenes?!”
“It was all pretend!” Varun insisted, trying to defend himself.
“Clearly pretend,” Sid said with mock seriousness.
“I doubt eight-year-old Varun had the budget for a real romance, even with papa Dhawan backing him up.”
Alia erupted into laughter as Varun grabbed a nearby cushion and tossed it at Sid, who caught it with ease.
“She said you always wanted to be the lead hero,” Sid added, stoking the flames.
“Every kid wants to be the hero!”
“Did she play the heroine?” Alia asked, her curiosity piqued.
“Enough, both of you,” Varun warned, though his cheeks were turning a shade of crimson.
Alia leaned in closer, relishing the moment.
“Did you sing to her?
Did you give her flowers?
Did you propose?!”
Varun hesitated for just a split second—a crucial blunder.
Sid shot up.
“You proposed?!”
“I did not propose!”
Alia gasped with flair.
“Oh, you totally did!”
“It was just a game we played!” Varun nearly shouted, which made Sid burst into laughter.
“What else did Shraddha spill to you?!”
Sid wiped a tear of joy from his eye.
“That’s enough.”
“When did you two start chatting so much?” Varun asked nonchalantly, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.
Alia’s laughter dimmed for just a heartbeat at the question.
Sid, oblivious to the slight change, replied easily, “On set.
We have long breaks between takes.”
Varun grunted.
“Tell her she’s dead to me.”
“I’ll make sure to pass that along.”
Alia smiled gently, letting the chat drift into a playful debate about where to grab dinner after their promotional whirlwind.
Still, Varun’s casual question hung in her mind.
When are you even talking to Shraddha this much?
It was a perfectly reasonable thought.
They were co-stars, spending long hours together.
Of course they talked.
Sid had never kept anything from her; he’d mentioned Shraddha before, joking about her singing, her Marathi, and their chemistry reads.
It was just work.
Alia brushed aside the slight unease.
Moments later, Sid leaned over to show her something amusing on his phone, and the thought faded into another lighthearted squabble.
Karan’s promotional schedule was unyielding.
Morning radio shows, afternoon print interviews, evening TV appearances, endless photoshoots, college visits, and music launches.
The same set of questions echoed day after day until Sid could almost predict them from the interviewer’s opening line:
How does it feel to debut with Karan Johar?
Are you nervous about the release?
Who is most like their character in real life?
Who’s the biggest flirt on set?
Who’s the best dancer?
Alia, how did you lose the weight?
Varun, what did your father say after watching the trailer?
Sidharth, how does it feel being the outsider?
Again.
And again.
And again.
At first, Sid put in the effort to come up with thoughtful, one-of-a-kind answers for each press outlet.
But by the time he hit the twentieth interview, he finally got why seasoned actors often leaned on pre-packaged responses.
It was all about self-preservation; there are only so many ways to recount the same journey before you start to lose your mind.
Still, Karan expected endless enthusiasm at every turn.
After a grueling college event, Sid stumbled backstage and flopped into a chair.
“I can’t smile anymore.
My face feels numb.”
Karan breezed past him, hardly breaking stride.
“Then just learn to fake it.”
“My cheeks are literally aching,” Sid called after him.
“Perfect.
That means the muscles are doing their job.”
Varun plopped down in the chair next to Sid with a deep sigh.
“I think I’ve said ‘it’s a dream come true’ seventeen times today.”
“Eighteen,” Alia chimed in, leaning against the wall.
Varun shot her a look.
“You’re keeping count?”
“I ran out of things to do.”
Karan spun around, clapping his hands sharply.
“Alright, kids.
Five minutes.”
A collective groan filled the room.
Karan flashed a knowing smile.
“Welcome to the glamorous life of movie stars.”
“The movie isn’t even out yet,” Sid muttered under his breath.
“Exactly.
Just wait until it becomes a hit.”
Sid glanced at Varun.
Varun looked at Alia.
Alia met Sid’s gaze.
For the first time that day, the playful banter faded.
A heavy, unspoken question loomed over them: What if it works?
Well, Karan is convinced it will.
And the even scarier thought: What if it doesn’t?
The answer came on the night of the premiere celebration.
Sid stood near the entrance of the venue, taking a moment to soak in the chaotic energy.
Luxury cars rolled up one after another, flashbulbs lit up the crowd, photographers shouted names, and security worked tirelessly to keep the entrance clear.
Dharma wasn’t throwing a low-key party.
Karan Johar simply didn’t have a quiet bone in his body.
Inside, Sid spotted Rishi Kapoor holding court with an eager group near the bar.
As the crowd shifted slightly, he caught a glimpse of Shah Rukh Khan.
For a fleeting, surreal moment, the ordinary fan inside Sid came rushing back.
That’s Shah Rukh Khan.
Not on a screen or in a magazine, but right there, just twenty feet away, laughing.
He willed himself to keep moving before his amazement gave him away.
Then he noticed Salman Khan across the room and had to battle the same impulse.
His old celebrity instincts were bound to get him into trouble one of these days.
“Stop staring,” a voice whispered beside him.
Sid turned to see Varun standing there.
“I wasn’t staring.”
“You totally were.”
“I was just observing.”
“Admit it, you’re a fanboy.”
“Shut it, Varun.”
Varun flashed a nervous grin.
Sid could see he was just as awestruck.
They were surrounded by legends whose careers they had admired for years, and tonight, those very stars were in the room partly because of them—or more accurately, because Karan Johar had summoned them.
Sid got the difference, but tonight, he didn’t care.
“Siddhu!”
The familiar voice cut through the ambient noise.
Sid spun around so quickly that Varun jumped.
Standing near the entrance were his parents, Rimma Malhotra and Sunil Malhotra.
They were there because Sid was one of the leads in the film.
Karan had arranged their stay and tickets.
For a moment, Sid stood frozen.
Phone calls and pictures were one thing, but seeing them in person was a whole different experience.
His mother looked torn between being completely dazzled by the glamour and fiercely determined to keep it together.
His father seemed calm on the surface, but the moment their eyes met, his expression softened completely.
Sid hurried over.
His mother didn’t hesitate as she pulled him into a tight, fierce hug.
Sid froze for just a heartbeat before wrapping his arms around her tightly.
Sid paused for just a heartbeat before pulling her into a tight embrace.
That familiar, quiet ache stirred within him, a reminder that his parents were right there, anchoring him, even if he wasn’t entirely sure how to handle the weight of this moment.
When his mother pulled back, her hands instinctively found their way to his face.
“What on earth happened to you?”
Sid blinked, a bit taken aback.
“What do you mean?”
“This beard!”
His father let out a soft chuckle.
Sid let out a small groan.
“Ma…”
“You looked so clean and handsome in the trailer,” she fretted, fussing with his collar.
“I still look handsome, Ma.”
She tilted his face toward the soft light, scrutinizing him closely.
“What are they making you do?”
“It’s for another film project.”
His father raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued.
“This look is for the new one?”
“Yeah.”
His mother didn’t seem convinced.
“You look exhausted.”
“It’s part of the character.”
“Does this character ever get to sleep?”
Sid couldn’t help but burst into genuine laughter.
His father placed a steady hand on Sid’s shoulder, looking him in the eye.
“How are you doing, son?”
That simple question felt heavy with meaning.
Sid met his father’s gaze.
“I’m good, Papa.
Really good.”
Sunil studied his face for a moment, then nodded reassuringly.
“Good.” He gave Sid’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.
The quiet pride in his father’s eyes meant more to Sid than any grand speech ever could.
Rimma looked around the sparkling room, her voice dropping to a hushed whisper.
“There are so many famous people here…”
Sid smiled softly.
“Welcome to a Karan Johar party.”
“I just saw Shah Rukh Khan,” she whispered, her excitement bubbling over.
Sid chuckled.
“I know, Ma.”
“He’s right over there!”
“I see him, Ma.”
“And Rishi Kapoor!
And Amitabh Bachchan!”
Sunil shook his head with an affectionate smile.
“Let her enjoy it, Sid.”
“I am enjoying it!” She turned back to Sid, her eyes sparkling.
“Can we go meet them?”
Sid’s composure wavered.
“Uh…
I…”
Sid’s father erupted into laughter at the sight of Sid’s sudden panic, and both parents clearly reveled in putting him on the spot.
Just as Sid was trying to figure out how to handle the situation, another cheerful voice broke through the tension.
“Uncle!
Aunty!”
Sushant strolled over, looking sharp in his suit, but Sid could sense the slight stiffness in his posture—he was definitely feeling a bit out of his element in this grand venue.
Rimma’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Sushant!
We were just wondering where you had vanished to!”
Sushant was the one who had brought Sid’s parents to the party since Sid was tied up with promotions.
He let out a whistle as he scanned the crowd, trying to identify the guests who weren’t big stars or celebrities.
Spoiler alert: there were none (unless you counted the models).
“So this is what a Bollywood party looks like,” Sushant remarked.
Sid couldn’t help but grin.
Suddenly, he felt an arm slip through his.
He glanced down to see Alia stepping up beside him.
“There you are,” she said lightly.
But as she looked up and spotted his parents, her casual demeanor vanished in an instant.
Sid could feel the impending storm.
His mother had already locked eyes with Alia, recognition flashing across Rimma’s face, quickly followed by a knowing gleam.
“Oh,” his mother said, her smile widening.
Sid squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, bracing himself for what was about to unfold.
Alia leaned in, her voice a soft whisper.
“What’s wrong?”
“My mother knows,” Sid replied quietly.
“Knows what?”
He met her gaze, letting the weight of the moment sink in.
Alia’s eyes widened in sudden understanding.
“Oh.”
Across the room, Rimma Malhotra offered a warm, deliberate smile—the same tone she had used on the phone when she asked about “that cute girl in the trailer.”
Sid took a deep breath.
This night was shaping up to be a very long one.
AN: I will make some changes regarding the industry.
For the awards, I will make Filmfare a fair one, like Oscars but for Bollywood and then Indian Cinema later after ten years.
Also I will have some stars organise premiers for their movies, starting with Siddharth Malhotra and (La La Land/Ek Villain).