AN: I am going to force the plot in this chapter
By the end of its opening weekend, Student of the Year had raked in about twenty-seven crores.
Sidharth found himself staring at that figure for what felt like ages.
Twenty-seven crores in just three days.
That was nearly half of the film’s reported budget already back from the domestic box office, and the buzz around the movie had shifted dramatically.
The cautious tone from Friday had transformed into something much more upbeat by Monday.
Dharma was thrilled.
Distributors were smiling.
Karan was over the moon, even though he tried to play it cool, like a producer who had always seen this success coming.
Varun had called Sid twice.
Alia had reached out four times.
His mom had apparently started saving newspaper clippings.
Even Reshma’s texts had become a bit less monotonous and routine.
Sid should have been on cloud nine.
And he mostly was.
But one night, after yet another grueling promotional event, he found himself gazing at a poster for SOTY.
Abhimanyu Singh looked back at him.
His face.
His physique.
His name in the credits.
But not his performance.
That realization had been gnawing at him since the start.
Bunty Sharma hadn’t acted in Student of the Year.
Sidharth Malhotra had.
The other Sidharth.
The young guy who had modeled, faced struggles, worked as an assistant director, auditioned, and somehow landed a spot as one of Karan Johar’s three newcomers.
He was the one whose body Bunty had taken over after a silly accident on a slippery bathroom floor.
Every compliment Sid received for the film, in a bizarre way, belonged to a man who was no longer alive.
So did every critique.
The stiff expressions critics pointed out weren’t his, nor was the screen presence they lauded.
He was just collecting someone else’s report card.
Sid leaned back, sighing.
“I hope you’re happy.”
He felt a bit silly right away when no one replied.
If someone had answered, he might have felt a jolt of fear.
Still, he found himself staring at the poster.
“Your debut worked,” he said, managing a faint smile.
“But those expressions?
Could use a little work.”
Silence hung in the air.
Sid’s smile faded.
“Sorry.”
He was at a loss for words.
Maybe somewhere out there, the original Sidharth was still around.
Or maybe he wasn’t.
Perhaps the accident had taken him out before Bunty showed up, or maybe there had never really been two distinct souls to begin with.
Maybe the universe had pulled off something even weirder than reincarnation.
Sid had no answers.
So, he did the only thing he could think of: he got up and went back to work.
The next film would be his.
No matter what happened with Aashiqui 2—whether it soared, flopped, earned accolades, or faced criticism—it would belong to the man living this life now.
That thought filled him with an odd sense of eagerness to dive back in.
Unfortunately, Dharma kept him tied up for another week.
By the time Sidharth finally made it back to the Aashiqui 2 set, he was craving a solid two days of sleep.
But Bhushan Kumar had other plans—he wanted Sid in front of the camera.
There was no arguing with that.
Sid showed up early, armed with his script, a bag, his newly bought guitar, and the remnants of his promotional fatigue.
Shraddha was the first to spot him and grinned.
“Look who finally remembered us.”
Sid dropped his bag next to his chair.
“I was kidnapped.”
“By Dharma?”
“Very powerful organization.”
“I heard.” She took a moment to look him over.
The stubble was still there, along with the longer hair.
In fact, quite a few girls seemed to dig his new look.
His eyes needed a lot less makeup to hide the tiredness now.
“Congratulations.”
Sid smiled back.
“Thanks.”
“Twenty-seven crores.”
“Apparently.”
“Apparently?”
“What do you want me to do?
Carry the money around?”
Shraddha laughed.
“I thought a successful Bollywood star would come back with a bit more flair.”
Sid sank into the chair.
“I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in weeks.
These eyes?
They aren’t makeup.”
“It’s actually a blessing,” she joked, “That way, like me, you won’t have to spend hours on your makeup.”
He replied dryly, “Absolutely.”
Just then, Mohit strolled by, shot a glance at Sid, and quipped, “Good.
You look awful.”
Sid shot him a look and said, “Thanks.”
“Continuity should be a breeze,” Mohit added before striding off, while Shraddha stifled a laugh and Sid watched the director walk away.
Turning back to her, Sid confessed, “I really missed this set.”
When she said she could tell, he insisted, “No, seriously.”
Surprisingly, he meant it.
There were fewer reporters around, no one was interested in his love life, and nobody was asking if Varun was the better actor.
Here, his main worry was whether Mohit believed Rahul Jaykar was alive when the camera was rolling, which felt so much simpler.
The shooting kicked off with a brutal pace, no gentle easing back into it.
Mohit called for take after take in a relentless stream.
Sid could feel the shift in his rhythm after the promotional break.
Abhimanyu had been lingering inside him for a week, with his bright smiles, perfect posture, quick promotional responses, and boundless energy.
But Rahul needed something entirely different, a heavy presence to portray a man slowly being consumed by his own choices—a guy who could walk into a room famous yet still feel utterly alone.
During one take, Mohit halted him midway to say he seemed too aware of the camera.
When Sid complained about being tired, Mohit shot back, “Sid is tired.
Rahul is drunk.”
After they reset, the next take felt much better.
By lunchtime, Sid was starting to slip back into being Rahul, and by evening, his throat was sore, and he had completely stopped thinking about Student of the Year, which felt pretty great.
A few days later, a lighting issue gave Sid and Shraddha a much-needed break.
They found themselves lounging under a makeshift shade while technicians busily worked nearby, with Sid’s guitar leaning against his chair.
“Old Hindi romance is way better,” he declared.
Shraddha shook her head, firmly disagreeing.
“No way.”
“Objectively speaking,” Sid added, trying to sound convincing.
“There’s nothing objective about that statement,” she shot back.
Sid pointed at her playfully and teased, “That’s just the result of you being brainwashed by Western propaganda.”
“By what?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Hollywood,” he replied with a grin.
Shraddha chuckled and reminded him, “You watch Hollywood movies too.
Didn’t you say you’re a fan of Johnny Depp?”
“I never claimed to be pure,” Sid clarified with a smirk.
“So, what’s your argument then?” she pressed.
Sid shifted in his chair, gathering his thoughts.
“Old films let people experience emotions on their own instead of spoon-feeding them.
They embraced sincerity.
Just look at how longing was portrayed—half the romance unfolded through a song and a shared glance.”
“That’s because they often weren’t allowed to do much else,” Shraddha countered.
Sid paused, nodding in agreement.
“Fair point.”
Shraddha had a triumphant smile on her face, making Sid shake his head.
“You really have terrible taste.”
“You haven’t even asked what my taste is,” she pointed out.
“Alright then.
What’s your favorite romance?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” she answered confidently.
Sid mulled it over and admitted, “Okay, I’ll give you that.
It’s actually a good one.”
“Thanks for the stamp of approval,” she said with a hint of sarcasm.
“Anytime,” he replied, grinning back at her.
She rolled her eyes and asked, “What about you?”
“Hindi?” he replied.
“English,” she clarified.
Without a second thought, Sid blurted out, “La La Land.”
Shraddha frowned, clearly puzzled.
“What’s that?”
His mind went blank, and he stared at her in disbelief.
“What?”
“La La Land,” she repeated, a bit more insistently.
“Yeah,” Sid said slowly, trying to catch up.
“I’ve never heard of it,” she said flatly.
For a moment, Sid thought she was joking.
“How have you never—”
He cut himself off, his stomach sinking as he realized it was only 2009.
La La Land wasn’t even a thing yet, and Damien Chazelle probably hadn’t even made Whiplash at this point.
Sid looked at her, scrambling to recover.
“Forget it,” he said quickly.
Her eyebrows shot up in suspicion.
“What?”
“Nothing,” he insisted, trying to brush it off.
“You just said it was your favorite English romance,” she pointed out, crossing her arms.
“I misspoke,” he said, trying to sound casual.
“You mentioned a title,” she pressed.
“Did I?” he asked, feigning innocence.
“La La Land,” she repeated firmly, not letting it go.
“Strange,” Sid murmured, reaching for his guitar to steer the conversation elsewhere.
“So anyway—”
She grabbed the neck of the guitar before he could pick it up.
“No.”
“What?” he asked, taken aback.
“What is La La Land?” she demanded, eyes narrowing.
“Nothing,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“You made that up?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes,” he lied, feeling the pressure.
“Why?” she pressed further.
Sid opened his mouth, but no good excuse came to mind.
Shraddha’s expression shifted as a realization dawned on her.
“Wait.
Is it something you’re writing?”
Sid stared at her, carefully choosing his words before admitting, “Sort of.”
Shraddha’s eyes widened in surprise.
“You’re writing a movie?”
“No,” Sid clarified.
“What I meant was, I have something in mind.”
“What is it?” she pressed, curiosity lighting up her eyes.
“A story,” he confessed, feeling a mix of excitement and dread.
Now she was leaning in, her enthusiasm palpable.
Sid mentally kicked himself, realizing he could still back out by saying it was nothing, but Shraddha was already asking, “What’s it about?”
He hesitated for a moment, then sighed, deciding to share the idea.
On the fly, he reimagined the plot of La La Land, swapping Los Angeles for Mumbai and Hollywood for Bollywood.
“A guy and a girl meet in Mumbai,” Sid began, speaking slowly to build the scene.
Shraddha listened intently as he continued, “The guy’s a musician.
A real one.
Talented, stubborn, probably a bit difficult, like Rahul.”
“And the girl is an actress.
She’s struggling.
Auditions, commercials, tiny roles.
Everyone tells her she’s special while turning her down, just like Aarohi.”
Shraddha’s smile dimmed a bit as the description struck a chord.
Sid pressed on, “They keep bumping into each other, and at first, they can’t stand each other.”
“It’s a classic setup,” she agreed.
“Exactly,” Sid nodded.
“And then they fall in love.”
Shraddha scrunched her face and said, “Very original.”
“I’m getting to the good part,” Sid leaned in, eager to elaborate.
“They help each other stay motivated.
He encourages her to take acting seriously when she feels like giving up, and she pushes him to pursue the music he truly wants to create.
But then, things start to change.”
Shraddha listened closely.
“For both of them?”
“Not at the same time,” Sid said, his excitement growing.
“He gets a big break first.
Good money, larger audiences, but the music isn’t really what he dreamed of.
Meanwhile, she’s still struggling.”
Shraddha nodded slowly, processing it all.
“So now the things they wanted start to change who they are.”
“Exactly,” Sid agreed. Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
“It’s easy to promise to support each other’s dreams when you’re both at the bottom.
But it gets complicated when one person’s career takes off and the other is still waiting for their moment.”
Shraddha fell silent as the crew bustled around, shifting equipment.
“And then what happens?” she asked quietly.
“They go their separate ways,” Sid replied.
Shraddha frowned, clearly unimpressed.
“Why?
That’s just silly.”
Sid chuckled, “You haven’t even heard the ending yet.”
“I already don’t like it,” she confessed.
“Fast forward a few years, and she’s a huge, successful actress,” Sid continued.
“And he finally opens the kind of music venue he’s always dreamed of—a club or something like that.”
“They run into each other again?” she inquired.
“By chance,” Sid clarified, picturing the emotional scene.
“She shows up there with her husband.”
Shraddha’s expression dropped.
“She’s married to someone else?”
“That’s usually how separation goes,” Sid replied with a hint of sarcasm.
She shot him a glare.
“Keep going.”
“He spots her,” Sid paused, contemplating.
“And for a brief moment, they both wonder what their lives could have been like if they had made different choices.”
Shraddha’s demeanor softened.
“They don’t actually say anything?”
“Nope,” Sid shook his head.
“Sometimes, just a look between two people can say it all, you know?”
Shraddha gazed at him, then broke into a warm smile.
“That’s really good.
No, seriously, that’s great.”
“Could use some polishing,” Sid shrugged.
“Clearly,” she agreed, then added, “So why aren’t you writing it?”
Sid laughed and replied, “Because I have no clue how to write a screenplay.
Right now, I’m busy learning acting, guitar, singing in Hindi and Marathi, and how to act tipsy.
There are only twenty-four hours in a day!”
Shraddha waved off his practical concerns.
“Just hire a writer.
You’ve got the story, so someone can help turn it into a script.”
It dawned on him that she was completely serious.
“No way,” Sid said firmly.
“I’m not making a movie.”
“But you just told me the whole plot!” she shot back.
“I shared an idea,” he countered.
“I’ve only had one film come out.
I can’t go around claiming I’m making movies, or people will think I’ve lost it.
Plus, I don’t have the budget for a film anyway.”
“Make it happen, anyway,” Shraddha urged, her eyes sparkling with genuine excitement.
“Forget about the money; I don’t even have a writer,” Sid pointed out, a hint of frustration in his voice.
“I’ll find one.
I can help,” she said, extending her hand.
“I promise.
I’ll track someone down.”
“This has somehow turned into your project,” Sid remarked, raising an eyebrow.
“Okay, fine.
Our project,” she chuckled, a playful grin on her face.
Sid glanced at her outstretched hand, weighing his choices.
He realized that La La Land wasn’t a thing in this timeline yet, and as someone with future knowledge trying to carve out a career, he saw no reason to pass up this chance.
He shook her hand and replied, “Alright.
But we’re not actually making anything just yet.”
“We’ll see about that,” she teased back.
Two days later, Sid learned that Shraddha Kapoor was a force to be reckoned with when she was excited.
She was sitting next to Mohit during a break while Sid was off resting, and when Mohit asked what was making her smile, she let the cat out of the bag.
“Sid has a movie,” she announced.
“He’s got an idea for a film.”
Mohit looked up from his script, clearly taken aback.
“He’s producing now?
After just debuting?
Where’s he getting the money?”
“No,” Shraddha laughed, then went on to share the story.
She described a musician and an actress who fall in love, drift apart due to their competing careers, and eventually reunite years later after achieving their dreams separately.
Mohit listened closely, not interrupting, tapping his pen against his script as he absorbed the idea.
“It has potential,” he finally admitted.
“I told him!” Shraddha beamed.
“He thinks no one will take him seriously because he just debuted.”
“Well, he’s not wrong,” Mohit chuckled, watching her expression fall.
“But that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t write it.”
“He doesn’t know how.
He needs a writer,” she explained, her tone a mix of concern and determination.
Mohit paused for a moment, then suggested, “I know someone.
A writer friend who’s currently between jobs.”
“Is he any good?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.
“I wouldn’t steer you wrong if he was awful,” Mohit said with a grin.
“Let’s have them meet first and see if there’s even enough material for a screenplay.”
“Can you give him a call today?” Shraddha urged, her excitement bubbling over.
Mohit raised an eyebrow and teased, “What are you, his manager now?
A producer?
His girlfriend?”
Shraddha’s cheeks flushed as she quickly replied, “No!
He already has a girlfriend.”
“I know, her dad is the producer,” Mohit said with a smirk, flipping through his pages.
“Then just call your friend today,” she insisted.
Mohit let out a playful sigh and said, “Alright, but on one condition.
My next film—you two.”
Shraddha burst into laughter at the unexpected offer.
“You don’t even know what your next film is!
That’s not how casting works.”
Mohit fixed her with a look until she reconsidered who she was talking to.
“Okay, fine,” she conceded, “but only if the role is good.”
“Now scram and let me make the call,” Mohit chuckled.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the set, completely oblivious to the fact that his unintentional pitch for a future hit had landed him both an eager partner and a potential screenwriter, Sid was sitting in the shade, trying to nail some guitar chords.
After producing a rather awful sound, he adjusted his fingers and gave it another shot, achieving slightly better results.
Just as he was about to try the chord again, a tickle in his nose caught him off guard, and he let out a loud sneeze.
As he rubbed his nose and eyed the dusty set with suspicion, Sid muttered, “Great, now I’m catching a cold,” while Shraddha continued to smile to herself from across the lot.
AN: Is La La Land okay or should I change the name for Indian market.
Suggest me good names.