The car turned into a quiet lane lined with tall palm trees.
A few seconds later it slowed in front of a large iron gate.
The gate slid open.
Neil leaned slightly toward the window as the car rolled inside.
A bungalow stood at the center of a neatly kept garden, tucked away behind the tall walls that shielded most of Juhu's old celebrity homes from the outside world.
For a moment he simply stared.
The place looked exactly like the kind of house Rajat used to imagine whenever he passed through these streets in his old life.
White walls.
Wide balconies with carved wooden railings.
Tall pillars framing the entrance like something out of an old Bombay film family estate.
But mixed into that traditional architecture were unmistakably modern touches—glass panels, polished stone flooring, security cameras, and a perfectly trimmed lawn.
Traditional outside.
Luxury inside.
The car came to a stop.
"Go straight to your room and rest," Rani said immediately.
"No phone calls. No work."
Ani rolled her eyes.
"He's not five, Mom."
Rani ignored her completely.
Neil nodded lazily.
"Yeah, yeah."
The driver stepped out and opened the door.
Neil got out.
The faint smell of the sea drifted through the evening air.
Juhu beach wasn't far.
For a moment he stood there quietly, looking at the house.
So this is how the other half lives.
A few minutes later he was inside his room.
The space alone was bigger than Rajat's entire old apartment.
A king-sized bed.
Dance mirrors covering one wall.
Framed film posters on another.
Large windows overlooking the street outside.
Neil dropped onto the bed and exhaled.
"Alright…"
He rubbed his face slowly.
"Let's sort this out."
The memories were already there.
Not just Rajat's.
Neil's too.
But they were tangled together like someone had dumped two completely different lives into the same drawer.
He closed his eyes.
Slowly, things began to fall into place.
Jamnabai Narsee Days
The smell of the sea breeze during morning assembly.
White school uniforms.
The Jamnabai Narsee School crest stitched neatly on the pocket.
School buses crawling through Juhu lanes where half of Bollywood seemed to live.
And a strange little ecosystem of children growing up around the same film industry.
The first face that appeared in his memories made him grin.
Varun Dhawan.
Or as everyone called him—
Batuk.
His partner in crime since second grade.
They had once nearly gotten detention fighting over Pokémon cards.
No one even remembered where the nickname Batuk came from anymore. Probably some ridiculous school play or one of Varun's terrible impressions.
Batuk had simply always been there.
Pokémon cards.
Beyblade tournaments in the corridor.
Football matches that ended in arguments.
If there was one person who knew Neil Mehra well enough to notice something was wrong…
It was Batuk.
Another familiar figure appeared in the memories.
Arjun Kapoor.
Or as the group called him—
Chachu.
The nickname started as a joke because Arjun always behaved like the older, wiser guy in the group.
The self-appointed advisor on everything from gym routines to relationships.
Most of his advice was terrible.
But he delivered it with the confidence of someone who thought he understood life better than everyone else.
That was when the Juhu gang really formed.
Kids who knew every shortcut in Juhu Scheme.
Every late-night snack place.
Every café that didn't mind teenagers occupying a table for hours.
One memory made Neil chuckle.
During Dhwani, the Jamnabai Narsee cultural fest, he and Batuk had performed a dance skit.
His mother had secretly choreographed half of it.
Mithibai Freedom
Then came junior college.
Mithibai.
No uniforms.
For the first time in their lives, they could wear whatever they wanted to class.
Which also meant classes quickly became optional.
Most afternoons ended up at Amar Juice Centre across the street.
That place practically became their second campus.
The circle expanded.
Students from other schools joined the hangouts.
Including kids from Maneckji Cooper, where Batuk's girlfriend Natasha—"Nat"—studied.
Another memory surfaced.
Someone who didn't really belong to the usual star kid crowd.
Faizal Khan.
Better known as—
Daaku.
The son of a powerful liquor distribution family.
Rumor had it his father controlled half the bars in western Mumbai.
Other rumors suggested there were… less legal connections too.
No one ever confirmed anything.
And no one asked too many questions.
Daaku didn't care much about star kid circles.
Strangely enough, neither did Neil.
Over time their real friend circle shrank down to just three.
Batuk.
Daaku.
And Neil.
Or as they jokingly called themselves—
The Three Musketeers.
Three idiots sitting at Amar Juice Centre, skipping lectures and arguing about movies.
Batuk with endless energy.
Daaku with his lazy smirk and questionable business ideas.
And Neil dreaming of becoming the next Michael Jackson.
Three completely different worlds.
But somehow the friendship worked.
The Abroad Phase
Then came the brief foreign chapter.
A short filmmaking program at USC.
Dorm rooms.
Cheap pizza.
More parties than lectures.
Being born with a silver spoon meant no one was particularly worried about attendance.
For the first time in his life, though, Neil had briefly experienced something unusual.
In America…
Nobody cared who his father was.
The Current Reality
Now he was back in Mumbai.
Working on his mother's directorial debut.
Dil Se Dance.
Shooting was scheduled to begin next month.
Casting was still underway.
According to the original timeline, Rajat Mishra would soon receive a call from his agency about an open audition for the film.
Neil opened his eyes slowly.
Then he picked up the BlackBerry lying beside him.
The screen lit up instantly.
Notifications flooded the display.
BBM messages.
Missed calls.
Group chats.
But one group immediately caught his attention.
⚔ THREE MUSKETEERS ⚔
The name made him smile.
Batuk.
Daaku.
And Neil himself—
better known in the group as Rambo.
They even had their own BBM group.
Batuk:
Rambo you alive or dead?
Daaku:
If he's dead I'm taking his PS3.
Batuk:
Shut up Daaku.
Daaku:
Also someone check his room… if Rambo died there's definitely hidden whiskey somewhere.
Batuk:
Bro answer.
Batuk:
Rambo???
…
Batuk:
Spoke to Mira aunty.
Batuk:
She said you crashed your Wagon with some drunk driver and you're still unconscious.
…
Batuk:
Rambo call me when you wake up.
…
Batuk:
If you don't call me today I'm flying back from Georgia.
Daaku:
Relax Mr AD, you're shooting.
Batuk:
I don't care.
Batuk:
Karan will survive without me for one day.
Neil stared at the screen for a moment.
Then he laughed quietly.
Batuk hadn't changed at all.
Half idiot. Half loyal to a fault.
His thumb moved again.
Another set of notifications appeared.
Arj (Chachu)
Heard you crashed your car, bro.
You alive or should I start auditioning for your role in Dil Se Dance?
Batuk is losing his mind in Georgia.
Call him before he actually flies back and ruins Karan's shoot.
Also… glad you're okay, bro.
Another notification appeared.
A different name.
Chirkoot 🐒
Chirkoot:
Rambo???
Chirkoot:
I just heard.
Chirkoot:
Are you okay?
Chirkoot:
Batuk told me you had a crash.
Chirkoot:
Please tell me you're alive.
Chirkoot:
If you don't reply I'm coming to your house.
Neil stared at the name on the screen.
Chirkoot.
For a moment he blinked.
Then the memories clicked.
Right.
Chirkoot.
Or as the world knew her —
Shraddha Kapoor.
A quiet sigh escaped him.
In the chaos of everything that had happened since waking up in this body, he had almost forgotten about her.
His childhood best friend.
The quiet girl from the neighborhood who had always sung better than everyone else.
Back then she had been shy around most people.
But strangely comfortable around him.
At birthday parties she often hovered nearby, as if standing beside him made the noisy crowd easier to handle.
When she was fifteen she transferred to the American School of Bombay, but that never really changed anything.
She still called him when something bothered her.
Still complained about things she didn't tell anyone else.
Neil rubbed his forehead.
"Great…"
he muttered softly.
"Another person who knows Neil Mehra too well."
Because if Batuk or Daaku noticed something strange, they would just tease him.
But if Chirkoot noticed—
She wouldn't stop asking questions until she found the answer.
Neil leaned back against the headboard.
For a moment he simply stared at the glowing screen.
Rajat Mishra had spent fifteen years fighting just to get inside this industry.
And now—
His phone was filled with messages from people who had grown up inside it.
Friends.
Connections.
A life he had once only watched from the outside.
Neil exhaled slowly.
"Well…"
he muttered.
"Looks like Rambo has a lot of calls to return."
He folded his arms behind his head and sighed.
"Alright… parking all these complications aside," he muttered.
"Let's focus on the real problem."
Dil Se Dance.
His upcoming debut film.
The same film that, in his previous life, had quietly sunk at the box office.
But why exactly had it failed?
The story itself wasn't bad.
In fact, the script had been solid.
The problem had been something else.
Casting.
Neil sat up slowly.
The lead actress in the original timeline had been a very capable actor.
But dancing?
Not exactly her strength.
And for a dance-driven film, that was a serious problem.
Then there was the antagonist.
Neil scratched his chin.
In my last life… to be fair, I (Rajat) had actually done a good job.
Though my acting had been strong.
But there had been two big problems.
First—he had been a completely new face.
And in a role that required a dangerous screen presence, the audience never fully bought into the character.
A gangster-type rival needed a certain aura.
Rajat had talent. But he didn't yet have that kind of weight on screen.
And the second problem…
Neil groaned.
"My dancing was terrible."
He could still remember the rehearsals.
Missing beats.
Stiff movements.
The choreographer constantly correcting him.
A dance film where one of the main performers couldn't dance properly.
Not exactly a winning formula.
And then there was the biggest problem of all.
Neil Mehra himself.
The lead actor.
The literal hole in the sinking boat.
Neil rubbed his forehead.
"Yeah… that definitely didn't help."
In the original timeline, the audience simply didn't connect with him.
A weak lead could sink even the best script.
So if he wanted to change the outcome this time…
Three things needed to change.
Neil sat up properly.
"Step one."
The heroine.
He thought about it carefully.
Someone who could act.
Someone who could dance.
Someone who could command attention on screen.
After a moment, one name surfaced clearly.
Deepika Padukone.
In 2010 she was still relatively new.
But she had already proven something important.
Grace.
Her work in Love Aaj Kal had shown that she had natural screen presence.
And more importantly—
She could dance.
That alone would elevate the entire film.
"Good," Neil nodded.
"Heroine problem solved."
Now came the second issue.
The antagonist.
Or rather—the second lead.
This role required two things.
Strong acting.
Strong dancing.
Neil considered a few names.
Two options kept appearing in his mind.
Javed Jaffrey.
And
Arshad Warsi.
Both excellent performers.
Both charismatic.
Both capable dancers.
But Javed Jaffrey might look slightly too senior for the role.
Arshad Warsi, on the other hand…
Had the perfect mix of energy, timing, and screen presence.
Neil nodded slowly.
"Yeah… Arshad Warsi fits better."
Now only one problem remained.
And it was the most important one.
Himself.
Even if the film improved…
The audience still had to believe in him as a lead actor.
And right now, Neil Mehra had zero credibility.
Just another producer's son getting launched.
Nepotism alone could open doors.
But it couldn't win the audience.
Neil picked up his BlackBerry again.
Another thought had already started forming in his mind.
"YouTube…"
He murmured.
The platform was still relatively new in India.
But it was growing quickly.
And more importantly—
It was the perfect place to build attention.
If people saw him perform something powerful beforethe film released, it could change their perception.
A short film.
Something intense.
Something memorable.
Neil smiled slowly.
"I already know the perfect one."
Because in fifteen years of watching cinema…
He had seen plenty of stories.
And one of them would work perfectly for this.
Now all he had to do…
Was to recreate it.