AN: I just thought a great start of his love life.
Two days later, Sid found himself outside a cozy café in Bandra, a shiny new iPhone tucked away in his pocket, while the weight of debt loomed over him like a dark cloud.
Varun insisted it wasn’t debt.
Sid couldn’t help but disagree.
“You can pay me back whenever,” Varun had said with a casual shrug.
To Sid, that was definitely debt.
“Don’t even stress about paying me back,” Varun had added, which was just him being rich enough to say things that rubbed Sid the wrong way.
Sid shot him a glare.
“I am paying you back.”
“Sure.”
“Every single rupee.”
“Alright, alright.”
“I don’t need your charity.”
Varun had let out a theatrical sigh.
“Sid, it’s just a phone.
You’re acting like I just financed your apartment.”
“It costs more than my paycheck for Student of the Year.”
“Then hurry up and become a movie star.”
Sid had to fight the urge to punch him again.
But honestly, without Varun’s connections, there was no way he would have snagged that phone on such short notice.
An imported iPhone 3GS.
Black.
Sleek.
Ridiculously expensive.
It felt like a spaceship compared to the clunky Nokia in his other pocket.
Holding it gave him a strange mix of excitement and anxiety.
To Bunty Sharma, smartphones were just background noise.
In 2026, parents handed glowing screens to toddlers to keep them entertained during dinner.
But back in 2012, the iPhone was still a beacon of the future.
Which, given Sid’s current predicament, was almost laughable.
He glanced at his watch.
Alia was late.
Eight minutes and counting.
Sid leaned against the brick wall, trying to exude a casual confidence that he didn’t quite possess.
Spoiler alert: he failed.
The whole situation felt utterly ridiculous.
He had survived a high-stakes meeting with Karan Johar.
He had navigated a tense pitch with Reshma Shetty.
He had even called the parents of a deceased man whose skin he was now wearing.
And he had willingly humiliated himself in front of Barry John while pretending to have an emotional breakup with Varun Dhawan.
Yet somehow, as he stood there, genuine nerves washed over him.
A date with his girlfriend.
Except she wasn’t just any girlfriend.
She was Sidharth Malhotra’s girlfriend.
And yes, he was Sidharth Malhotra.
Sid rubbed the bridge of his nose, feeling the weight of an identity crisis before lunch.
Great.
In his past life, Bunty Sharma had only seriously dated one woman.
And calling it “serious” was a bit of a stretch.
It lasted three months.
The first couple of weeks were a blast.
But by week four, she was demanding updates every hour.
By week six, she was keeping tabs on his online presence.
And by week eight, she was grilling him about his female coworkers.
They ended things in a storm of accusations.
She labeled him emotionally unavailable; he called her controlling.
Since then, they hadn’t exchanged a single word.
That was the extent of Bunty’s romantic experience.
Now, here he was, six months into a relationship with Alia Bhatt.
Sid let out a short, breathy laugh.
Life really had a twisted sense of humor.
He only knew the future Alia through the lens of public perception: interviews, red carpets, box-office hits, and Reddit threads where people dissected celebrities like they were royalty.
The opinions about her were endless—ambitious, privileged, incredibly talented, competitive, charming, and insecure.
But none of that mattered today.
The Alia he was about to meet was just eighteen.
She hadn’t yet faced the grueling decade of public scrutiny that would eventually shape her into a powerhouse.
Right now, she was simply an excited young girl waiting for her first film to hit the screens.
And apparently, she was in love with him.
A sleek car pulled up to the curb, snapping Sid back to reality.
Alia stepped out, her eyes finding him instantly.
Her entire face lit up with a radiant, effortless smile.
“Siddhu!”
Sid felt his eyebrows twitch.
Siddhu was at it again.
She rushed over, a designer tote swinging in one hand and something larger hidden behind her back.
“You’re late,” Sid remarked.
Alia stopped right in front of him, hands on her hips.
“Nine minutes.”
“Eight.”
“Then why are you already whining?”
“It’s all about being on time.”
She narrowed her eyes playfully.
“You’ve become quite the nuisance lately.”
“I’ve always been a nuisance.”
“No,” she shot back sweetly.
“Before, you were just plain boring.”
Sid blinked in surprise.
Alia flashed him a triumphant grin.
“Happy six months.”
Before he could say anything, she stepped in and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his chest for a moment.
Sid’s hands hovered awkwardly in the air for a split second before he finally wrapped them around her shoulders.
Right.
Girlfriend.
Physical affection.
Just act normal.
Alia pulled back, looking up at him with a hint of suspicion.
“You forgot, didn’t you?”
“Forgot what?”
“Our anniversary.”
Sid feigned deep offense.
“Of course not.”
She searched his eyes, looking for the truth.
“Varun reminded you.”
Betrayal.
“What makes you think that?” Sid asked, keeping his tone casual.
“Because Varun literally told me he was going to remind you.”
Sid held her gaze for a couple of seconds before conceding.
“Maybe.”
“I knew it!”
“I got you something anyway,” Sid said quickly.
The annoyance melted off her face in an instant.
“What is it?”
Sid smirked.
“You’ll see inside.”
“No, show me now.”
“Alia, people are watching us.”
She glanced around, noticing a few onlookers captivated by the sight of two ridiculously attractive people bickering on the sidewalk.
Alia lowered her voice.
“Fine.
But you’re buying coffee.”
They settled into a quiet booth at the back, a spot Varun had picked to keep them out of the spotlight.
As soon as her purse hit the bench, Alia leaned across the table.
“Gift.”
“We haven’t even ordered yet.”
“Gift.”
“Coffee first?”
“Sid.”
“Food?”
“Sidharth.”
He chuckled, feeling a bit defeated.
“Alright, alright.”
For a moment, Alia just stared, not quite processing what it was.
Then her mouth dropped open in surprise.
“No way.”
Sid slid the box across the table.
“No way!” she squeaked, a bit too loudly.
A couple at a nearby table turned their heads.
Alia quickly lowered her voice, her excitement practically bubbling over.
“Is that the new 3GS?”
“Open it.”
She ripped through the packaging like a kid on Christmas morning.
When the sleek black glass caught the café lights, she gasped.
“Oh my God.
It’s not even out here yet!”
“Imported,” Sid said, crossing his arms with a hint of pride.
“Connections.”
Her eyes narrowed, filled with skepticism.
“Varun.”
“Mostly Varun.”
“I knew it.”
“Why does everyone seem to know everything about my life?”
“Because you have zero poker face, Siddhu.” Alia picked up the iPhone, running her fingers over the smooth casing as if it were a piece of fine jewelry.
Then she looked up at him, her gaze softening.
“I love it.”
“Good.”
“I really, really love it.”
Before Sid could prepare himself, she leaned across the table and planted a quick, firm kiss on his cheek.
Sid’s mind hit a hard reset.
Alia settled back down, diving into the phone’s settings.
Sid remained completely frozen.
His cheek felt warm, and he could definitely feel a faint trace of lipstick there.
This is ridiculous, he scolded himself internally.
I’m a grown-up.
I’ve lived a whole life.
I shouldn’t be short-circuiting just because an eighteen-year-old kissed my cheek.
But it was Alia Bhatt who kissed him.
Unfortunately, his heart rate didn’t seem to care about logic.
He cleared his throat loudly.
“It…
uh, it has thirty-two gigabytes.”
Alia glanced up from her screen, catching the flustered look on his face.
A slow, playful smile crept across her lips.
“You’re blushing.”
“I am not!”
“Your ears are totally red!”
“It’s just hot in here.”
“The air conditioning is on full blast, Sid.”
In a bid to hide his embarrassment, Sid grabbed the menu and held it up like a shield.
“Just order something.”
Alia let out a giggle and turned her focus back to her new gadget.
For the next ten minutes, Sid pretended to be a novice as he guided her through the interface, carefully masking his true knowledge of operating systems that were light-years ahead.
“How do you know how to change the network settings?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I read the digital manual,” he replied, trying to sound innocent.
“Liars go to hell, Sidharth.”
He couldn’t help but chuckle, realizing that the old Sid had left behind quite the reputation for being a bit of a ditz.
Alia tapped the camera icon, lifted the phone, and looked at him expectantly.
“Come here.”
“Why?”
“We’re taking a picture together.”
She scooted over to his side of the booth, her shoulder brushing against his.
Sid leaned in a bit.
Alia raised the phone, and their faces filled the bright screen.
For a split second, Sid stared at the display.
He had seen countless photos of Alia Bhatt and Sidharth Malhotra online in his past life—paparazzi shots, promotional events, movie posters.
But now, he was part of one.
“Smile!” Alia instructed.
Sid forced a grin.
The shutter clicked.
Immediately, Alia scrutinized the photo and frowned.
“No way.
Absolutely not.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“You look like you’re being held hostage!”
“That’s just my face!”
“Do it again.”
The second photo—rejected.
The third photo.
Alia paused, her expression softening.
“This one’s better.”
She turned the screen toward him.
Alia was beaming, her head tilted toward his.
Sid had a genuine smile, softer than before.
“Send it to me,” Sid said softly.
Alia raised an eyebrow.
“To your ancient Nokia?
That thing might just blow up.”
Sid let out a sigh.
“Fair point.”
She flashed a grin, tucking her new phone away.
“Now it’s my turn.”
Reaching into her tote bag, she pulled out a hefty, dark-wood presentation box.
Sid’s eyes widened as he recognized the silver foil emblem on the top.
“Alia…
what is that?”
“Open it.”
He carefully unlatched the heavy brass box.
Resting on a bed of black velvet was a stunning Swiss automatic watch—stainless steel bracelet, deep blue dial, and flawless craftsmanship.
The kind of watch Bunty Sharma used to admire through boutique windows, fully aware it cost more than his entire yearly salary.
Sid was speechless.
“You bought me a watch?”
Alia’s confident demeanor wavered just a bit.
She looked almost nervous.
“Do you…
do you like it?”
“How much did this set you back?”
Her eyes narrowed immediately.
“Don’t even ask.”
“Alia, this is ridiculously expensive.”
“It’s a gift!
You got me an imported phone!”
“My gift put me in debt!”
She burst into laughter.
“Then we’re even!”
But they definitely weren’t.
Sid lifted the watch carefully.
It felt heavy, solid, and undeniably luxurious.
He looked at her, astonished.
“Did your parents help you get this?”
She shrugged nonchalantly.
“Mum helped with the import clearance.”
Different worlds, Sid reminded himself.
Even among newcomers in South Mumbai, there were socioeconomic layers he was still figuring out.
“Put it on,” she urged.
Sid unclasped his cheap watch.
Alia reached over, taking the new timepiece from him.
“Give me your wrist.”
He extended his arm, and she leaned in, her brow furrowing in concentration as she secured the clasp.
Her fingers were small and warm.
“There,” she said, admiring her handiwork.
Sid turned his wrist over.
The fit was perfect.
“How did you know my link size?”
She shot him a smug grin.
“I pay attention.” Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
“That’s a little creepy.”
“Do you like it or not?”
Sid glanced at his watch, then back at Alia’s eager, hopeful expression.
“I love it, Alia.
Thank you.”
A wave of relief washed over her, bright and genuine.
“Good.”
Before he could fully grasp the moment, she pulled a small cardboard box from her bag.
Inside was a tiny chocolate cake topped with white frosting, and in red icing, two names were piped across the top:
Sid & Alia
6 Months
Sid stared at the cake, baffled by how it had survived the journey in her purse.
There was something so innocent about it—maybe it was the delicate icing, the thrill of a new phone, the watch, or the private selfie they had taken.
For Alia, this relationship represented six months filled with shared memories, late-night phone calls, and growing affection.
For Sid, it was barely a week old.
The difference in their emotional investment made him feel a pang of guilt.
“Cute, right?” she asked softly.
Sid met her gaze.
“Very.”
“Cut it.”
“You bought it.”
“It’s our cake.”
“Your idea.”
“Our anniversary!”
Sid held her stubborn gaze until a smile broke through.
“Together?”
Her eyes lit up.
“Fine.”
They both grasped the small plastic knife, Sid’s larger hand enveloping hers.
For a fleeting moment, he became acutely aware of her closeness, the soft scent of her perfume, and the warmth of her fingers.
Together, they sliced through the cake.
“Happy six months, Siddhu,” she whispered.
Sid returned her smile.
“Happy six months, Alia.”
She cut a small piece, balanced it on the knife, and held it up to him.
“Eat.”
He took a bite.
“Way too much sugar.”
Alia giggled as a bit of icing landed on his top lip.
“Hold still.”
Without hesitation, she reached out and wiped it away with her thumb, completely at ease.
Sid felt a jolt of surprise at the casual intimacy.
In return, he cut a slice for her.
“Your turn.”
Alia opened her mouth to take the bite, then playfully clamped her teeth onto the plastic fork, refusing to let go.
Sid tugged gently.
“Let go.”
She shook her head, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
“Alia.”
Another shake followed.
Sid tugged a bit harder, and she finally relented, bursting into a clear, ringing laughter that caught the attention of the waiters nearby.
“You’re acting like a kid,” Sid teased.
“I’m eighteen!”
“Exactly.”
“That’s a grown-up age.”
“You’re still practically a teenager.”
“Hmph!”
Sid leaned back, feeling an unexpected wave of relaxation wash over him.
This was…
easy.
Surprisingly easy.
Maybe he had been worrying for nothing.
The girl sitting across from him wasn’t the distant, larger-than-life figure he had imagined from future cinema trivia.
She was just a passionate, funny, slightly spoiled eighteen-year-old trying to figure out her own big life changes.
Alia took another small bite of her cake.
“Congrats, by the way.”
Sid blinked.
“For what?”
“Signing with Matrix.”
Sid nodded.
“Thanks.”
“Reshma Shetty is amazing,” Alia said, sipping her iced tea.
“Karan has nothing but good things to say about her.”
“I’m hoping she can help me figure out what comes next after Student of the Year drops,” Sid admitted.
Alia leaned in closer.
“Have you received any new scripts yet?”
“Nothing signed yet,” Sid replied smoothly, keeping his discussions about Aashiqui 2 under wraps until there was a real contract.
“Just some early talks.”
Alia nodded thoughtfully, then her face lit up with a sudden realization.
“Oh!”
“What is it?”
“Varun told me.”
Sid instantly regretted mentioning his career.
“What did Varun say?”
“That you joined Barry John’s acting workshop.”
Varun Dhawan really couldn’t keep a secret, Sid thought to himself.
Alia’s cheerful expression shifted into a small, hurt frown.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
The hurt in her voice was genuine, quiet, and immediate.
Sid picked up on it right away—Barry’s lessons on micro-expressions were paying off in real-time.
Her brow furrowed, and her shoulders slumped slightly.
Maybe all those hours spent watching and studying old movies were worth it.
Sid flashed a soft, reassuring smile.
“It was meant to be a surprise.”
The frown on Alia’s face wavered.
“A surprise?”
“Yep.”
“What kind of surprise?”
Sid’s mind raced, searching for a convincing story.
“I was rehearsing a scene to perform for you.”
Alia’s eyes lit up with excitement.
“Really?
What scene?”
“Something classic,” Sid replied, grabbing the first play that popped into his head.
“Shakespeare.
Romeo and Juliet.”
Alia looked at him, disbelief written all over her face.
“You?
Doing Shakespeare?”
“Why not?”
“Are you playing Romeo?”
“Nope,” Sid said, keeping a straight face.
“I’m playing Juliet.”
Alia erupted into a fit of laughter, clearly amused.
“I’d pay good money to see that.”
“I’m doing the balcony scene,” Sid added, finding his rhythm again.
“All by myself.”
“No way,” Alia said, pointing at herself.
“If you’re doing the balcony scene, I’m Juliet.”
“That spoils the surprise performance.”
“I don’t care!
I’m Juliet!”
Sid laughed.
“You’re quite the negotiator.”
As soon as the words left his lips, Bunty’s memories of future internet gossip flashed through his mind—demanding, controlling, entitled.
Sid shook off the thoughts.
The girl in front of him wasn’t a headline; she was just someone eager to share a moment with him.
For the next hour, their conversation flowed effortlessly.
She shared stories about her family, a dramatic spat between her mother and sister, her worries about the upcoming movie promotions, and her childhood adventures.
Sid mostly listened, asking thoughtful questions and storing details in his memory.
Listening, as Barry had taught him, was more than just an acting skill; it was a human connection.
By the time they settled the bill and stepped out into the warm afternoon, the atmosphere between them felt transformed.
Alia was no longer a celebrity from 2026; she was simply Alia.
And that realization sent a shiver down Sid’s spine, more than he cared to admit.