Neil leaned back against the headboard, staring at the ceiling.
"YouTube…" he murmured again.
In his previous life he had watched the platform slowly explode in India. Back then most filmmakers still dismissed it as a place for music videos and random clips.
But Neil knew better.
Within a few years, short films released online would start gaining serious attention.
Actors.
Directors.
Even producers would begin paying attention to them.
And if he wanted to change the fate of Dil Se Dance, the audience needed to see him as an actor before the film even released.
A short film.
Something intense.
Something that would make people talk.
His mind immediately landed on a story he remembered vividly.
Kriti.
A psychological short film.
Dark.
Minimal locations.
Strong performances.
Perfect for a first impression.
Neil sat up slowly as the idea began to take shape.
The story revolved around a man named Sapan, a troubled writer suffering from psychological issues and agoraphobia.
In the original film, the role had been played brilliantly by Manoj Bajpayee.
Sapan believed he had finally found happiness.
A woman named Kriti had entered his life.
Beautiful.
Quiet.
A talented artist who preferred staying away from the world.
At least… according to him.
The only problem was that his psychiatrist—Dr. Kalpana—didn't believe Kriti existed.
Sapan had a history of hallucinations.
Years ago he had imagined an entire friendship with someone who wasn't real.
Kalpana suspected the same thing was happening again.
She challenged him.
If Kriti was real, prove it.
That confrontation formed the core of the story.
Sapan insisted she was real.
Kalpana insisted she was a figment of his imagination.
To settle the argument, Sapan finally took her to his house to meet Kriti.
But when they arrived—
The house appeared empty.
No sign of the mysterious woman.
The conversation that followed blurred the line between sanity and madness.
Neil smiled slowly.
Then came the first twist.
Kriti was real.
But Sapan had been keeping her captive.
Locked away from the world.
In his mind he was protecting her—preserving her from a society that would "corrupt" her innocence.
But the final twist was even darker.
The last moments hinted that Dr. Kalpana herself might not be real.
Perhaps she was another hallucination.
Or perhaps the last fragment of Sapan's conscience trying to stop him.
The film ended without giving a clear answer.
Leaving the audience unsettled.
Neil exhaled slowly.
"Yeah…"
"This will work."
He looked at the three names again.
Sapan.Kriti.Kalpana.
The names weren't random.
Each one carried meaning.
Sapan meant dream.
A fitting name for a man who could no longer distinguish between dreams and reality.
Then there was Kriti.
The word literally meant creation.
A work of art.
Something beautiful brought into existence.
In the story, Kriti represented exactly that.
A perfect woman.
A beautiful creation.
But the unsettling question remained—
Was she truly a real person…
or simply something Sapan had created inside his own mind?
And finally there was Kalpana.
The word meant imagination.
Or a thought that exists only within the mind.
Neil leaned back again as the pattern settled in his thoughts.
Dream.
Creation.
Imagination.
Three names.
Three possibilities.
If Kalpana was real, then Sapan was insane.
If Kriti was real, then Sapan was a criminal.
And if Kalpana herself was imaginary—
Then Sapan had been arguing with his own conscience the entire time.
Neil chuckled softly.
"No wonder that film stayed in my head all these years."
It wasn't just a psychological thriller.
It was a story built entirely on the fragile line between dreams, imagination, and reality.
And if he recreated that tension properly…
The audience wouldn't just notice the film.
They would remember it.
The idea was good.
But ideas were easy.
Making them happen was another matter.
Neil leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
"Alright… step one."
His father.
If he wanted to shoot this short film properly, he couldn't do it alone.
Even a small production required equipment.
Camera.
Lights.
Makeup.
Editing.
Sound.
All the invisible details that turned an idea into a film.
Fortunately for him, he now had access to something Rajat Mishra had never possessed.
A production house.
His father might not take the idea seriously at first.
But if he presented it the right way, it shouldn't be difficult to convince him.
After all, it was just a short film.
A practice project.
Something to sharpen his acting before Dil Se Dance went into production.
Neil nodded slowly.
"Yes… that should work."
Once his father approved a small crew and studio time, the next step would be casting.
And the entire film depended on three performances.
Sapan.
Kriti.
Kalpana.
Sapan was easy.
Neil himself would play that role.
It would allow him to show intensity, emotional range, and psychological depth—everything the audience needed to see before accepting him as a serious actor.
Next came Kriti.
That decision was almost obvious.
Shraddha.
Or as he still thought of her—
Chirkoot.
She had a natural softness on screen.
And more importantly, he trusted her.
Convincing her might take some persuasion, but she was one of the few people who treated him like a friend rather than a producer's son.
Kriti didn't require many lines.
But she required presence.
Something mysterious.
Shraddha could do that.
Neil nodded to himself.
"That solves Kriti."
Now came the difficult part.
Dr. Kalpana.
In the original film the role had been played by Radhika Apte.
But in 2010, Radhika was still far from the screen presence she would later become.
Neil needed someone who could immediately give the short film credibility.
Someone the audience already recognized.
He thought for a moment.
Then another name surfaced.
Sonakshi Sinha.
"Sona…" he murmured.
They had known each other since the Juhu social circuit days.
And if his memory of the timeline was correct—
She was currently working on Dabangg.
Which meant she hadn't exploded into superstardom yet.
She might actually agree to something experimental like a short film.
Neil leaned forward slightly.
Shraddha as Kriti.
Sonakshi as Dr. Kalpana.
And himself as Sapan.
After casting came the final piece.
Direction.
He could try directing it himself.
But that would be a mistake.
Too many responsibilities.
Acting.
Production.
Camera blocking.
Performance.
He needed someone he trusted behind the camera.
Fortunately, the perfect candidate already existed.
Batuk.
Varun Dhawan.
Right now Batuk was in Georgia, working as an assistant director on My Name Is Khan.
Which meant he was already gaining real on-set experience.
Blocking scenes.
Working with cameras.
Handling production chaos.
All things Neil himself lacked.
Neil chuckled softly.
"Yeah… Batuk will love this."
The moment he heard the idea, he would jump in.
And knowing Batuk, he would bring a hundred random suggestions along with him.
Still—
That energy would be useful.
Neil glanced at his phone again.
The BBM messages from Batuk were still sitting on the screen.
Threatening to fly back from Georgia if he didn't respond.
Neil smirked.
"Relax, Batuk," he murmured.
"You'll get your chance to direct soon enough."
But first—
He had to convince his Dad.
Because without his father's approval…
The entire plan would remain just another idea floating inside his head.
Gaurav Mehra POV
Gaurav Mehra leaned back in his chair, quietly studying the young man sitting across from him.
His son.
Neil.
And yet…
Not quite the same Neil he had known all these years.
Not that he was complaining.
If anything, the change was welcome.
But it was still strange.
Before the accident, Neil had been exactly what Gaurav had always feared he might become—
Another spoiled second-generation star kid.
Not malicious.
Not arrogant in a cruel sense.
Just careless.
Too comfortable.
Too used to doors opening automatically.
Part of that, Gaurav admitted privately, had been his own fault.
The rest had been Rani.
His wife adored their son, and over the years her affection had quietly turned into indulgence.
The result had been predictable.
Late nights.
Parties.
Occasional hangovers.
Credit card bills quietly cleared by his father.
Nothing disastrous.
But nothing particularly impressive either.
Yet the young man sitting before him now felt… different.
Subtly.
But unmistakably.
The change had started after the accident.
Three days.
In those three days, Gaurav had been observing.
House staff always reported things to him.
Not because he asked them to spy.
But because in houses like this, information simply flowed.
And what they had been reporting recently was unusual.
Neil had stopped drinking.
That alone wouldn't have surprised him.
Anyone might avoid alcohol after an accident.
But the other habit was harder to explain.
Smoking.
Neil hadn't touched a cigarette in three days.
That had never happened before.
Then there was something else.
Respect.
Earlier Neil had always been polite—but with the unconscious entitlement of someone who had never had to earn anything.
Now he greeted the staff.
Thanked them.
Spoke to them like people.
Even the old housekeeper had mentioned it that morning.
"Saab… baba thoda badal gaya hai."
The boy has changed.
And perhaps the strangest thing—
Neil had barely left his room.
Except for the physiotherapy exercises recommended by the hospital.
Every morning an instructor trained him in the garden.
Other than that—
Neil stayed inside.
Reading.
Writing.
Thinking.
No parties.
No club calls.
No friends dropping by.
And now here he was.
Sitting across his father's desk.
Holding a short film script.
Neil wanted Madhav Cine Arts to produce it for their YouTube channel.
That alone had surprised Gaurav.
The production house did have a YouTube channel.
Most studios did.
But it existed only for practical purposes.
Uploading trailers.
Promotional clips.
Behind-the-scenes footage.
Nothing more.
YouTube itself was still a strange space in India.
But it was growing.
T-Series had already begun uploading high-quality music videos.
Television networks like Sony and Zee were posting clips from their shows.
Reality show auditions.
Popular serial moments.
Catch-up television.
Gaurav had noticed the trend.
But he had never seriously considered it as a filmmaking platform.
Until now.
Because apparently…
His son had.
Neil had been explaining his idea calmly for the past ten minutes.
He believed web content would become the next major format in India.
3G networks were already rolling out.
Internet access would soon become faster and cheaper.
When that happened, audiences would start watching video online.
Short films.
Web stories.
Independent content.
At least…
That was Neil's argument.
Gaurav glanced down at the script again.
What impressed him even more than the idea—
Was the writing.
This wasn't a half-baked concept scribbled on loose paper.
It was a proper screenplay.
Structured.
Formatted.
Dialogue precise.
If he didn't know exactly where Neil had been these past few days, he might have suspected plagiarism.
But there was no sign of that.
And the young man sitting across from him…
Wasn't behaving like the Neil he remembered.
Normally when Neil approached him—
Money.
Credit card bills.
A new car.
A party trip—
He would act slightly nervous.
Defensive.
Trying to soften the request.
But today—
Neil sat upright.
Calm.
Confident.
Not arrogant.
Not nervous.
There was even a strange brightness in his expression.
A focus.
Almost like a quiet fire.
Gaurav studied him for another moment.
Privately…
He liked this version of his son.
If the accident had truly changed something in Neil—
Perhaps it wasn't the worst thing that had ever happened.
He closed the script.
Then looked up.
"Tell me something honestly," Gaurav said.
"Did the accident knock some sense into you… or have you been secretly hiding this brain all along?"
Neil smiled faintly.
And for the first time in a long while—
Gaurav Mehra felt genuinely curious about what his son would do next.