Staying true to his promise, Sid meticulously read through the document not once, but twice, line by line.
There were some legal intricacies that needed unpacking, and Reshma’s legal team guided him through them step by step—covering everything from commission splits to endorsement exclusivity, conflict resolution methods, and media protocols.
When he finally signed on the dotted line, it involved a few precise signatures, the exchange of physical copies, and a solid handshake.
But as he stepped out into the sweltering Mumbai heat with his signed copy in hand, Sid felt a noticeable shift in his reality.
He now had top-notch representation in the industry.
Just days earlier, he had found himself waking up on a cold bathroom floor, disoriented and grappling with the remnants of a stolen life.
Now, one of the most influential management firms in Indian cinema was looking out for his interests.
The momentum was picking up speed—an exhilarating yet slightly nerve-wracking pace.
That evening’s celebration was refreshingly down-to-earth.
Sushant brought along a box of fresh sweets, Vidyut took charge in the kitchen to whip up a protein-packed dinner, and Sid grabbed a pack of cold beers, though he hardly touched his own.
“Here’s to gainful employment!” Sushant cheered, lifting his bottle high.
Vidyut glanced over from the stove.
“Technically, only Sid is employed.”
Sid raised his glass in agreement.
“I have representation now.”
“Which means someone else is cashing in on your future work,” Vidyut pointed out dryly.
“So yes, you’ve created a job.”
Sushant chuckled, waving a hand dismissively.
“It still counts as a win!”
They clinked their bottles together.
Sushant spent most of the night animatedly discussing his television production schedule—call times, wardrobe fittings, scene counts, and the mental toll of playing a supporting character on a daily soap.
Vidyut listened closely while pretending to focus entirely on cooking, while Sid simply soaked in the lively, unpretentious chatter of the apartment.
His phone buzzed insistently on the wooden table.
A text from Varun popped up: Congrats, hero!
Big agency move.
Don’t forget us little guys.
Moments later, Alia chimed in: Congratulations!!!
Karan spilled the beans during rehearsals!
So thrilled for you!
Even Sana shot over a quick note of congratulations.
Karan’s message was predictably brief: Proud of you.
Just don’t become a diva now.
Sid couldn’t help but smirk as he typed back a quick reply: Too late.
Almost immediately, Karan responded: I’ve created a monster.
Sid chuckled softly.
“What’s so funny?” Sushant asked, taking a bite of his meal.
“Just Karan,” Sid replied, tossing his phone onto the table.
“Ah, your high-society crew,” Sushant teased.
Sid playfully threw a crumpled napkin at him, which Sushant dodged with a big grin.
Then, the phone buzzed again.
This time, it wasn’t a text.
The screen lit up with an incoming call.
The faint smile slipped from Sid’s face.
Maa
He stared at the glowing screen, the noise around him fading into a dull hum.
Sushant and Vidyut were deep in a discussion about the grueling shooting hours of TV compared to feature films, completely oblivious to his sudden stillness.
Sid reached for the phone.
The screen changed to show a missed call notification.
Rimma Malhotra.
His mother.
Sidharth’s mother.
The weight of reality crashed down on him, heavy and suffocating.
Sid recognized her face from fleeting memories; the name hit him like a wave.
Deep within the physical memory of this body, there was an instinctive, emotional tug toward that name on the screen.
But Bunty had no shared history with her.
No inside jokes, no childhood stories, no mental scrapbook of how Sidharth usually spoke to his parents.
Did he call her Maa?
Mummy?
Mom?
Did they chat in casual Hindi, Punjabi, or English?
Would she recognize his voice in just five seconds and instantly feel that the soul behind her son’s eyes was someone entirely different?
Absolutely.
Mothers have this uncanny, instinctive ability to sense those things.
Sid set the phone down on the wooden table, but just a moment later, he picked it up again, frustrated with his own indecision.
What a coward.
He couldn’t avoid this reality forever.
These weren’t just industry colleagues or producers he could keep at arm’s length with polite smiles and rehearsed responses.
These were the people who had nurtured the man whose life, body, and future he had taken control of.
The phone felt cold and lifeless in his hand.
The initial excitement of signing with Matrix had faded away, leaving behind a creeping sense of dread.
He glanced at the missed call notification.
Across the room, Sushant was laughing heartily at something Vidyut had said, but Sid was completely tuned out.
Sid stared at the missed call, his thumb hovering over the dial button.
It should have been straightforward.
Press.
Wait.
Talk.
He had already managed to bluff his way through conversations with Varun, Alia, Karan, Reshma, Sushant, and Vidyut without raising a single eyebrow.
But this was different.
In Bunty’s past life, his parents had loved him fiercely—worrying about him, scolding him, complaining when he didn’t call, and annoying him in that endearingly persistent way that only parents can.
Then they were gone.
Both of them, years apart, leaving Bunty with a sharp, static regret: he had never truly said thank you.
He always thought there would be time—time to call, time to visit, time to show them he understood their sacrifices.
But then time slipped away.
Sid glanced at the name glowing on the screen: Maa.
Maybe she belonged to the man who had died in that bathroom.
That thought lingered, no matter how uncomfortable it felt.
But now, Sid had this life.
For however long it lasted, he wasn’t going to waste it hiding from those who cared.
“I’m stepping outside for a bit,” he called out.
Sushant barely looked up from his debate with Vidyut. New chapters come out on g.com first.
“Bring cigarettes.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“For me.”
“No.”
“Useless.”
Sid managed a faint smile as he stepped into the quiet corridor, making his way toward the stairwell window.
Below, Mumbai buzzed—a distant blur of horns, traffic, and rising heat.
He glanced at the phone one last time and hit call.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four—
“Hello, Siddhu?”
Sid shut his eyes as his throat tightened instantly.
That voice.
For a moment, the concrete corridor faded away.
He was transported back decades, hearing his mother call him from another room to eat, sleep early, stop wasting money, wear a sweater.
The rhythm, the innate warmth, the instinctive concern was achingly familiar.
Sid swallowed hard.
“Siddhu?” There was a hint of worry in her voice.
He opened his eyes.
“Yes, Ma.”
The words slipped out easily.
He wasn’t sure if the original Sidharth had ever called her Ma, Mummy, or Mom, but it was out there now.
There was a brief pause.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“You haven’t called since the trailer launch.” Her tone sharpened immediately.
“Two days without a word!
Your phone was busy yesterday, too.”
“I’ve been running around.”
“Doing what?”
Sid couldn’t help but smile.
There was something oddly comforting about being grilled like this.
“Work.”
“Now you have work?” Her tone shifted instantly, excitement bubbling up.
“You know what I did?
I showed everyone the trailer.”
Sid blinked.
“In the society?”
“Everyone!
Your aunty downstairs, Gurmeet, Sharma-ji, even Mrs.
Khanna.”
Sid chuckled.
“Poor souls.”
“Why poor?
They loved it!
Gurmeet said you’re going to be a superstar.”
“Did he?” Sid smiled, gazing out at the city.
“Tell Gurmeet-chacha I’ll make him proud.”
She laughed.
“Look at that confidence.”
“Did you like it?” he asked softly.
“The trailer?” She hesitated.
The pause spoke volumes, making Sid’s smile grow wider.
“You didn’t get it,” he teased gently.
“I got enough!
It was so fast.
So many cuts, so much music.
One second you’re there, then it’s that other boy, then the girl, then running…”
“But?”
“But you looked very handsome,” she declared.
“Always have.”
“That’s just makeup, Ma.”
“No.
It’s talent.” Sid laughed, though his eyes felt a bit misty.
Before he could process that feeling, she added, “Who was that girl?”
“Which girl?”
“Small face.
Cute.”
“Alia Bhatt.”
“Bhatt?
Mahesh Bhatt’s daughter?” Silence.
“That Mahesh Bhatt?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Her genuine surprise was almost funny.
“You both looked great together.”
“Ma,” Sid interjected quickly.
“No.
She’s just my co-star.
That’s it.”
“Hmm.”
“Why are you saying it like that?”
“Like what?”
Sid rubbed his forehead, feeling a bit exasperated.
“Forget it.”
Her soft laugh caught him off guard, hitting him harder than he expected.
After a brief pause, she asked, “So what was this work about?”
“I signed with a talent agency.
Management,” Sid explained.
“They handle actors—meetings, contracts, endorsements, film offers.”
“Why can’t you do that yourself?”
“Because hopefully, I’ll be too busy with work to manage it all.” The source of this chapter is g.com.
She giggled.
“Very smart move.”
Sid heard some shuffling on the line, followed by a deeper voice in the background.
His mother was speaking rapidly in Punjabi, letting someone know that Siddhu had signed with an agency.
The switch in language felt natural.
He didn’t need to translate; it just clicked in his mind.
other said.
Sid tightened his grip on the plastic shell of the Nokia.
“Okay.”
A moment later, a deeper, more authoritative voice came through.
“Siddhu.”
“Hi, Dad.” Sid took a calculated risk with his response, and it landed smoothly.
“How are you?”
“I’m good.
Really good.”
“Excited?”
Sid reflected on the whirlwind of the last three days: death, reincarnation, parallel timelines, Dharma, the Matrix agency.
Terrified could easily fit in there, but he settled on, “Excited.
And a bit nervous.”
His father chuckled.
“Good.
If you aren’t nervous, you don’t really grasp what you’re getting into.”
“Fair point.”
“Your mother mentioned an agency.
What is it?”
“Matrix.
They represent actors—negotiate contracts, endorsements, fees.
They help open doors, but they don’t own me.”
A light laugh came through.
“I was just about to ask.
There are plenty of people in this industry who trap young boys with false promises.”
“I know.”
“You’re twenty.
You think you know everything.”
“I definitely don’t.”
“At least you’re aware of that,” his father said, sounding genuinely pleased.
“Did you read the contract?”
“Twice.
I asked about the parts I didn’t quite catch.”
“Good.
Very good.”
Something in Sid tightened at that simple affirmation.
His father continued gently, “We keep thinking you’re still that kid running around the house.”
Sid shut his eyes, trying to grasp a childhood memory, a snapshot of the house—anything at all—but all he found was a void.
Just as the creeping panic began to settle in, Sushant’s hearty laughter rang out from the hallway, followed by Vidyut yelling something about kitchen rules.
“Who’s that?” his father inquired.
“Sushant.
My flatmate.”
“Sounds cheerful.”
“He just landed a TV role.”
There was a brief pause on the other end before his father’s voice softened even more.
“Call tomorrow, Siddhu.
Make sure you eat well.”
“Vidyut cooks.
Better than I do.”
“Everyone cooks better than you,” his father shot back, deadpan.
Sid froze for a moment, then burst into genuine laughter.
“That’s harsh.”
“It’s the truth.
Anyway, take care.
Work hard.” His father took a moment, inhaling deeply.
“And Siddhu?”
“Yeah?”
“If things don’t pan out…
Delhi will always be here.
You can come home anytime.”
The offer was straightforward, free of judgment or disappointment.
Sid felt a lump in his throat.
“It’ll work out.
But…
thanks, Dad.”
“Goodbye, Siddhu.”
“It’s…
yeah.
Bye, Dad.”
The line went silent.
Sid stood by the window, staring at the short call duration on the screen.
Just a few ordinary minutes.
But the heavy weight in his chest had lifted.
Bunty had spent a lifetime longing for one last ordinary phone call with his parents—to be nagged, to be checked in on, to be reminded that he had a safety net.
He wasn’t sure what he was to these people—an imposter, a ghost, a cosmic stand-in.
But as he tucked the phone into his pocket, one thing was crystal clear: he would honor their love with the utmost respect.
When Sid stepped back inside, he found Sushant doubled over on the couch, wheezing with laughter, while Vidyut stood over a frying pan, looking thoroughly offended.
“What happened?” Sid asked.
“He tried to flip the omelette,” Sushant wheezed, pointing a shaking finger.
“It hit the wall!”
“It bounced off the wall and back into the pan!” Vidyut argued.
“Five-second rule!”
“That’s for floors, you psycho!”