Chapter 3: The Unseen Strings

The next morning, Aman woke up to the sound of his phone buzzing incessantly on the bedside table. Squinting against the sunlight filtering through the curtains, he reached for it, his hand brushing against the cold surface of the Best Actor trophy he had carelessly placed beside him the night before. The memory of the afterparty lingered in his mind, but the thrill had long since faded.

He glanced at his phone: over a hundred unread messages, most of them congratulatory texts, social media tags, and a few requests for interviews. The media frenzy had begun.

Rolling out of bed, Aman shuffled to the window and stared out at the Mumbai skyline, the city that never slept, especially when it came to its obsession with stardom. He had made it to the top, or so it seemed. But as he stood there, he couldn't shake the unease that had settled in his gut after last night's interactions. Rishi's words, Ira's warning, Neha's caution—it all swirled in his head like pieces of a puzzle he couldn't yet fit together.

His phone buzzed again, pulling him back to reality. This time, it wasn't a text—it was a call.

"Rishi Malhotra."

Aman hesitated for a moment, then answered.

"Aman, my boy! You must be drowning in praise right now," Rishi's voice boomed, sounding as jovial as ever. "But listen, we need to talk. Come to my office this afternoon."

There it was. The request—or rather, the demand. Aman had known this was coming ever since he walked off that stage last night.

"Sure," Aman replied, his tone neutral. "I'll be there."

Rishi didn't wait for further pleasantries. "Good. See you at 2."

The line went dead, and Aman was left staring at his phone, a weight settling on his chest. He wasn't naive—he knew Rishi wouldn't ask for a meeting without a reason. And if Rishi wanted something, it usually meant someone else had to pay the price.

---

By 2 PM, Aman found himself standing in the sleek, minimalist office of "Malhotra Productions". The room exuded power and wealth, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city below. Rishi sat behind a massive desk, reclining in his leather chair as if he owned not just the office, but the whole industry.

"Aman, sit," Rishi said with a smile, gesturing to the chair across from him.

Aman took a seat, his body tense despite the plushness of the chair.

"I won't beat around the bush," Rishi began, his tone suddenly more serious. "You've done well, and now you've got a real shot at becoming one of the industry's top stars. But to stay on top, you'll need more than just talent. You'll need allies. Powerful ones."

Aman's jaw tightened. He could already tell where this conversation was headed.

"There's a project I'm working on," Rishi continued, leaning forward slightly. "A massive production—bigger than anything Bollywood has seen in years. It's going to be a game-changer. And I want you in it."

Aman's heartbeat quickened. This could be the opportunity of a lifetime, the kind of role that could cement his status in the industry forever. But with Rishi, there was always a catch.

"Sounds incredible," Aman said cautiously. "But what's the catch?"

Rishi chuckled, a sound that sent a chill down Aman's spine. "No catch, my boy. Just an understanding. You see, there are certain people who… expect favors. People who helped you get where you are. People like me."

Aman's stomach twisted. He had known this was coming, but hearing it said so plainly made it all the more real.

"I'm not asking for much," Rishi said, his voice low and calculated. "Just a bit of cooperation. The script has a few adjustments that need to be made. Nothing major, just… some creative input from our financiers. It's the usual stuff."

Aman raised an eyebrow. "Creative input? Or control?"

Rishi's smile faded slightly, and his eyes hardened. "Let's not get bogged down in details, Aman. This is how the game is played. You want to stay at the top, you play by the rules."

Aman's mind raced. He knew the kind of "creative input" Rishi was talking about. It wasn't about improving the script—it was about compromising the integrity of the project to appease the interests of the powerful few who controlled the money.

"You're asking me to sell out," Aman said quietly, the realization settling in.

Rishi leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "I'm asking you to be smart. You think all the top actors got where they are by sticking to their principles? This is Bollywood, Aman. Nothing is free."

For a moment, the room was silent. Aman could feel the weight of his decision pressing down on him, but he didn't answer. Not yet.

Rishi leaned forward again, his voice softer now, almost fatherly. "Look, I'm not your enemy here. I've watched you rise, and I've helped you when no one else would. I'm offering you a path to the kind of success most actors only dream about. But you need to understand, in this industry, there are no clean hands."

Aman clenched his fists under the table. Rishi's words echoed everything he had feared since the start of his career. He had always known there were compromises to be made, but now, with success finally within his grasp, the price felt steeper than ever.

"I'll think about it," Aman said finally, his voice tight.

Rishi smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "Take your time. But don't take too long. Opportunities like this don't come around often."

---

Later that evening, Aman found himself walking the streets of Mumbai alone, his mind spinning with the events of the day. The city was alive with lights and noise, but he felt strangely disconnected from it all.

As he turned a corner, he nearly bumped into Ira Rajan. She looked surprised to see him, but there was a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

"Aman," she greeted him, her voice steady. "Out for a walk?"

Aman nodded, though he didn't trust himself to speak. His mind was still clouded with thoughts of Rishi and the impossible choice before him.

Ira studied him for a moment, her gaze sharp as always. "You don't look like a man who just won the biggest award of his career."

Aman forced a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Success comes with its own set of problems, I guess."

Ira raised an eyebrow, but didn't press him further. Instead, she offered a small, knowing smile. "Let me guess—someone wants something from you, and now you're wondering if it's worth the cost."

Aman was taken aback by how easily she saw through him. "How do you know that?"

Ira shrugged. "Like I said before, I'm observant. And this industry is predictable. Everyone has their own agenda."

Aman exhaled slowly, feeling a strange sense of relief in her presence. She wasn't like the others. She wasn't trying to manipulate him or force him into anything. She was just… real.

"You were right," he admitted quietly. "This world, it's not what it seems."

Ira smiled softly. "It never is."

They stood in silence for a moment, the noise of the city fading into the background. For the first time in a long time, Aman felt like he wasn't alone in this. But he also knew that the decisions he made from here on out would shape the course of his career—and his life.

And behind the glamour, the real struggle was only just beginning.