By the time Sid wrapped up his second round of searches, the initial thrill had faded away.
Fortunately, so had the headache.
He found himself slumped in front of the old computer, his elbow resting on the desk, a piece of toast forgotten in his hand.
As a man from the future, the internet connection was a real test of his patience—pages loaded at a snail’s pace, images appeared line by line, and trying to open too many tabs at once made the machine seem like it was on the verge of giving up.
Yet, he had uncovered something crucial.
This world felt mostly familiar.
The United States was still standing, India maintained its political structure, and Mumbai was unmistakably still Mumbai.
The big corporations were still around, the same cricket stars were dominating the sports headlines, and the same actors were reigning over Hindi cinema: Shah Rukh Khan, Aamir Khan, Salman Khan, Akshay Kumar, Hrithik Roshan.
However, there were subtle changes lurking just beneath the surface.
Some films had started production earlier, careers had kicked off at slightly different times, and Student of the Year was firmly placed in 2009 as if that was perfectly normal.
Sid himself had been born in 1989 instead of 1985—making him twenty years old.
That little detail continued to gnaw at him, but the similarities were enough to make the future feel relevant, while the differences kept him on his toes.
He also stumbled upon something quite bizarre.
While digging through Hollywood titles to piece together international film history, he confirmed that James Bond, The Godfather, Star Wars, and Die Hard were all still around.
Directors like Spielberg, Scorsese, Cameron, and Tarantino were right where they should be.
Then he looked up Mission: Impossible.
Nothing.
No Ethan Hunt, no IMF, no 1996 Brian De Palma film.
He searched for Ocean’s Eleven.
Clooney, Pitt, and Damon were there, but the film was nowhere to be found.
He tried Jason Bourne.
Again, nothing.
Three huge global franchises were completely absent from his world.
Billions of dollars’ worth of pop-culture potential was just sitting there, untapped in his mind.
Sid smiled slowly, then quickly shook himself out of it.
“Idiot,” he muttered, shutting down the tabs.
He was getting way ahead of himself—twenty years ahead, to be exact.
Here he was, an untested twenty-year-old with no production company, no funds, and absolutely no clout in the industry.
If he strolled into an executive’s office tomorrow and demanded hundreds of crores to remake Mission: Impossible, they’d blacklist him on the spot.
Those elusive blockbusters could remain elusive for now.
He refreshed the search for his own name: Sidharth Malhotra.
Model.
Aspiring actor.
Student of the Year.
But his more pressing concern was what came after October?
In his previous life, Bunty had spent enough time poking fun at Sidharth’s filmography to remember its ups and downs.
The debut had catapulted him to fame, but the aftermath was a bit of a mess.
Alia had thrived.
Varun had thrived.
Sidharth had stumbled through a mixed bag: Hasee Toh Phasee, Ek Villain, Brothers, Kapoor & Sons, Baar Baar Dekho, A Gentleman, Ittefaq.
The exact order was a bit hazy, and since this timeline had already pushed Student of the Year forward by three years, relying on the original release dates was pointless.
He needed a game plan.
He needed a hit—something realistic that didn’t hinge on a big-name star or a hefty budget.
Sid closed his eyes, sifting through memories of 2010s cinema.
Music, romance, young actors, and maybe a touch of tragedy.
In the hallway, Vidyut walked by with breakfast in hand.
Spotting Sid sitting there, frozen with his eyes shut, Vidyut paused, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.
Finally.
After months of urging Sid to meditate for better focus, it seemed to have finally clicked.
With a smirk, Vidyut quietly placed a breakfast plate near the keyboard and slipped away without a sound.
Sid was lost in thought, his mind fixated on one particular title: Aashiqui 2.
Aashiqui 2 had been a massive success.
It didn’t rely on the usual trio of Khans or an extravagant VFX budget—just the direction of Mohit Suri, the talents of Shraddha Kapoor and Aditya Roy Kapur, and a soundtrack led by the unforgettable “Tum Hi Ho” that was simply everywhere.
It had catapulted its stars into the A-list stratosphere.
Could he snag it?
In his original timeline, it had released a year after Student of the Year.
But in this reality, with the industry evolving, was it already in the works?
Did the script even exist?
He lacked the funds and experience to write and produce it from the ground up, but if he could find the team behind it early on, he might just secure the lead role before anyone else had a chance.
A delicious aroma suddenly pulled him back to the present.
Sid opened his eyes to see a steaming omelette and toast waiting for him.
“Vidyut!” Sid called out, taking a bite.
“What?” Vidyut shouted back from the kitchen.
“This is actually amazing.”
There was a brief pause.
“Obviously.”
Turns out, Vidyut Jammwal was hiding some serious culinary skills.
A useful tidbit that Bunty Sharma had never picked up on.
After a refreshing shower, Sid chose a crisp white shirt, tailored black trousers, and a sleek jacket.
As he studied his reflection in the mirror, he couldn’t help but acknowledge one undeniable advantage of his new reality: Sidharth Malhotra was ridiculously good-looking.
With broad shoulders, a lean physique, and a face that seemed designed for magazine covers, even a simple shirt looked stunning on him.
But the real challenge wasn’t about looking good—it was about acting.
Bunty had often criticized Sidharth’s performances as wooden.
Now, it was his turn to step in front of the camera and deliver.
Just then, his Nokia rang, breaking his train of thought.
“Hello?”
“Sid?
It’s Dharma.
Karan wants you at the office around twelve.”
“I’ll be there,” Sid said, wrapping up the call.
Talent representation.
In Bunty’s previous life, the spotlight was always on the actors, while the intricate machinery behind the scenes—the agents, managers, publicists, and lawyers—worked tirelessly to make things happen.
They were the unsung heroes, brokering deals, safeguarding schedules, and steering careers in the right direction.
A poor choice in a manager could spell disaster for a career, while the right one could pave the way to greatness.
He recalled the headlines about high-profile breakups, like the split between Salman Khan and Reshma Shetty’s agency, Matrix, after years of dominating the box office.
If he was going to start fresh, he needed to lay down a solid professional foundation from the very beginning.
“I’m heading out,” Sid called to his flatmates.
Vidyut peeked out from the kitchen, feigning awe.
“Look at you, off to rub elbows with the big shots.”
Sushant flashed a grin from the couch, his phone still glued to his hand.
“Go get ’em, film star.”
As he walked by, Sid playfully nudged Sushant’s shoulder.
“Catch you later, TV star and jobless fighter.”
Stepping outside, Mumbai buzzed with the chaotic energy of the late 2000s.
Sid flagged down an auto-rickshaw, paid a fare he couldn’t quite judge as fair for 2009, and settled in for the ride to the Dharma Productions office.
Watching the city whiz by felt like a trip down memory lane—billboards showcased older films, and shops proudly displayed racks of physical CDs.
At the Dharma office, security recognized him right away.
“Sidharth sir?
Mr.
Johar is expecting you.”
He strolled down corridors adorned with iconic movie posters.
For the staff rushing by with files and coffee, this wasn’t just a shrine to cinema; it was their everyday workplace.
That thought helped ease his nerves.
Karan Johar wasn’t merely a pop-culture icon here; he was Sid’s producer and mentor.
An assistant guided him to the main office and opened the door.
Karan sat behind a spacious executive desk, exuding an air of calm, alertness, and professionalism—a far cry from the lively party host he had been just hours earlier.
Across from him was a woman with a sharp, calculating demeanor.
Sid recognized her immediately.
“Sid,” Karan greeted with a smile.
“How are you holding up?”
“Just about,” Sid replied with a hint of sarcasm.
“Have a seat.
Sid, meet Reshma Shetty.
Reshma, this is Sidharth Malhotra.”
Sid stepped forward and shook her hand.
“Pleasure to meet you.”
Reshma’s handshake was firm, her eyes evaluating.
“I’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
“Only good things, I hope,” Sid said, glancing at Karan, who looked quite pleased with himself.
Reshma leaned back, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized him.
“That depends on whether you’re as committed to your career as Karan says you are.”
Sid settled into his chair, the earlier lighthearted vibe fading away.
This was no longer about fame or party invites; it was all business.
Unlike everyone else in the room, he had already seen one version of his career unfold.
He was determined not to let history repeat itself.