Morning sunlight filtered through the large windows of Neil's room.
The sea breeze from Juhu drifted in softly, carrying the faint smell of salt and the distant sound of traffic waking up across Mumbai.
Neil sat at his desk staring at the pages spread before him.
The script.
Kriti.
Even after reading it for the tenth time, he still felt the same quiet excitement in his chest.
This wasn't just a short film.
This was his first move.
In his previous life, Rajat Mishra had spent fifteen years begging for opportunities.
Auditions.
Background roles.
Stunt doubles.
Watching other actors become stars while he remained invisible.
But now—
Now he had something Rajat never had.
Resources.
Connections.
And a second chance.
Neil leaned back in his chair.
"Alright," he muttered to himself.
"Let's see if this life actually listens to me."
Just then his BlackBerry buzzed.
Varun(Batuk)
Neil answered immediately.
"Yeah?"
Varun's voice exploded through the speaker.
"BRO WE HAVE A LOCATION!"
Neil sat up.
"What?"
"The bungalow in Bandra I told you about."
"The one with the old architecture?"
"Yes!"
Varun sounded unusually proud of himself.
"The owner is some retired theatre actor. He owes my dad a favor."
Neil smiled.
"That was fast."
"Of course it was fast," Varun said. "You forget who you're talking to."
"Relax, Spielberg."
"Shut up."
Neil glanced down at the script again.
"Did you check the lighting?"
"Yes."
"Camera angles?"
"Yes."
"Space for the confrontation scene?"
Varun paused.
"…Okay that one I need to check."
Neil laughed.
"Director saab."
"Don't start."
Varun groaned.
"This is my first time directing something, okay?"
"You'll be fine."
"Easy for you to say."
Neil could practically imagine Varun pacing around somewhere.
"Just focus on the actors," Neil continued.
"The tension between Sapan and Kalpana is the heart of the film."
Varun went quiet.
"…You're really serious about this, aren't you?"
"Very."
Another pause.
Then Varun said something softer.
"You've changed, bro."
Neil smiled faintly.
"Yeah."
"I noticed."
Varun chuckled.
"Good change though."
Neil looked out toward the ocean.
"I hope so."
Two days later—
The small crew gathered outside the Bandra bungalow.
It was an old Portuguese-style house.
Wooden windows.
Faded yellow walls.
A narrow garden path leading to the entrance.
Perfect.
Varun stood in the middle of the driveway holding a clipboard like it was the most important object in the world.
"Alright people!"
He clapped his hands.
"Let's set up!"
A small crew moved into action around him.
They weren't the main unit Madhav Cine Arts used for big productions. This was the secondary crew—a reserve team usually assigned to smaller projects like telefilms, pilot shoots, or promotional videos when the primary crew was busy on feature films. Still, they were experienced enough to know their jobs.
Two camera assistants began unloading equipment cases from the van while the cinematographer checked lenses under the morning light. A makeup artist set up a small mirror near the garden wall, already preparing brushes and powder. Near the entrance, the sound engineer tested the boom mic, tapping it lightly while listening through his headphones.
It wasn't a massive production.
But for a short film—
It was more than enough.
Inside the house, Neil walked through the rooms slowly.
The location felt right.
Quiet.
Slightly eerie.
Exactly what the story needed.
Footsteps approached behind him.
"You're actually doing this."
Neil turned.
Shraddha.
She was dressed simply in a dark sweater and jeans, her hair tied loosely behind her head.
She looked around the house.
"This place is creepy."
"That's the point."
"Good."
She glanced at the script in his hand.
"I read it again last night."
"And?"
Shraddha looked at him seriously.
"It's disturbing."
"In a good way?"
"In a very disturbing way."
Neil grinned.
"I'll take that as a compliment."
She folded her arms.
"You're playing Sapan."
"Yeah."
"That character is insane."
"Not insane."
"Obsessed."
She studied him carefully.
"You sure you can pull that off?"
Neil's smile faded slightly.
"I've had practice."
Shraddha didn't ask what he meant.
A few minutes later another car pulled up outside.
Sonakshi stepped out.
"Sorry!" she called. "Traffic was insane."
Varun waved from the gate.
"You're late!"
"Relax."
She walked inside the house, glancing around.
"Nice location."
Neil nodded.
"Perfect for the film."
Sonakshi opened the script.
"Let's rehearse."
The first rehearsal began in the living room.
Varun stood behind the camera trying to look professional.
"Okay," he said. "Let's run the confrontation scene."
Shraddha sat on the couch.
Neil stood near the window.
Sonakshi positioned herself across from him.
Varun cleared his throat.
"Action."
Neil took a breath.
Then the room disappeared.
Not literally.
But something inside him shifted.
Years of theatre training.
Years of suppressed frustration.
Years of watching lesser actors succeed.
All of it flowed into the performance.
His voice dropped slightly.
Controlled.
Unstable.
"Why can't you believe me?"
Sonakshi's response came instantly.
"Because you've imagined people before."
Her tone was calm.
Clinical.
Shraddha watched silently from the couch.
Neil stepped forward.
"She's real."
His voice cracked slightly.
"Why is that so hard for you to accept?"
The room went quiet.
Even the crew stopped moving.
Varun forgot to breathe.
Because the person standing in front of them—
Was not the same Neil Mehra they had known for years.
There was something darker in his eyes.
Something intense.
Something… real.
Sonakshi narrowed her eyes slightly.
"You're lying to yourself."
Neil laughed.
A quiet, broken sound.
"No."
Then he whispered—
"I'm protecting her."
Silence filled the room.
Varun slowly lowered the clipboard.
"…Cut."
No one moved.
Finally Shraddha blinked.
"Holy shit."
Neil relaxed slightly.
"What?"
"That was creepy."
Sonakshi nodded.
"Very creepy."
Varun stared at him.
"Where the hell did that come from?"
Neil shrugged lightly.
"Preparation."
Varun shook his head.
"No."
"That wasn't preparation."
"That was…"
He searched for the word.
"…acting."
Neil smirked.
"Good start then."
Varun suddenly grinned.
"Okay people!"
He clapped loudly.
"Let's shoot this film."
Shraddha POV
Shraddha couldn't actually remember the first time she met Neil.
It might have been in playschool.
Or maybe at one of those endless Bollywood birthday parties where children ran around while their parents talked business in another room.
She honestly didn't know.
But as far back as she could remember—
Neil had always been there.
Her Rambo.
That nickname had started as some stupid childhood joke after he once tried to recreate an action scene from a movie and ended up falling off a garden wall.
The name stuck.
And somehow… so did he.
Growing up, Shraddha had never really thought of herself as a typical girl.
She climbed trees.
Played cricket with the boys.
Got into arguments during school sports.
Half her hobbies were closer to a tomboy's than anything else.
But Neil had never treated that as strange.
In his eyes she had always been the same as Batuk.
Just another partner in chaos.
She remembered one particular thing clearly.
Most kids were terrified of her father.
Shakti Kapoor had a loud voice, a huge personality, and a reputation that made younger children nervous.
But Neil?
Neil had never cared.
The first time he visited their house he had casually walked into the living room, sat beside her father, and started asking questions about old Bollywood villains like he was talking to his own uncle.
Shraddha had stared at him like he was insane.
Her father had laughed for ten minutes straight.
From that day on, Neil became a regular visitor.
And strangely enough—
Shraddha always felt comfortable around him.
Neil never imposed himself.
Never demanded attention.
Never expected anything from her.
He was just… there.
Sometimes talking.
Sometimes joking.
Sometimes simply sitting beside her while she practiced singing or finished homework.
Even when life began pulling them in different directions, that strange constant never really changed.
When she shifted from Jamnabai Narsee School to the American School of Bombay, the distance between their daily routines increased.
Her studies became more intense.
Her parents had started thinking seriously about her future.
America.
Boston.
Higher education.
Yet even then, Neil remained a part of her life.
When she moved to Boston for college—
Neil had gone to USC in California.
Two opposite sides of the United States.
But somehow they still managed to meet.
She remembered one trip vividly.
A ridiculous cross-country journey where both of them ended up in Las Vegas during a college break.
Two Indian kids wandering around casinos like tourists who didn't belong there.
Laughing at everything.
Talking about films.
Dreams.
Life.
Back then—
She had always thought of Neil as just a good friend.
Maybe… if she was being honest… a small crush at times.
But nothing more.
Because in Neil's eyes she was almost certain of one thing.
He had never even considered the possibility that she was a girl.
To him—
Shraddha was simply part of the gang.
Same category as Batuk.
Which, strangely enough, never bothered her.
Until the day Batuk called.
The accident.
She still remembered the moment clearly.
Batuk's voice unusually serious.
Neil unconscious.
Hospital.
For the first time in years, a strange feeling had gripped her chest.
Fear.
Not the normal kind.
Something deeper.
Something she hadn't expected.
The sudden realization that she might lose someone who had quietly been part of her entire life.
Someone closer than she had ever bothered to admit.
And now—
She stood inside a quiet Bandra bungalow watching Neil perform.
The same Neil she had scolded a hundred times for being lazy.
The same Neil she had told repeatedly to take acting seriously.
The same Neil who used to laugh it off every single time.
But the person standing in front of the camera right now…
Didn't feel like that Neil.
His voice carried weight.
His eyes held something intense.
There was a presence in the room that demanded attention.
Even seasoned actors struggled to command that kind of focus.
Shraddha folded her arms quietly.
When Neil had first mentioned the short film, she hadn't taken it seriously.
Not really.
She had assumed it was another one of Neil's temporary phases.
Like the time he wanted to become a pilot after watching Top Gun.
Or when he spent three months obsessed with learning guitar before abandoning it completely.
But this—
This was different.
The man standing in front of her right now looked like someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
Batuk called cut.
The room slowly relaxed again.
But Shraddha kept staring at Neil.
A strange thought slipped into her mind.
Is he really the same Rambo I grew up with?