Chapter 8: Old Wounds, New Fears

Aman Mehra sat in the makeup chair, staring at his reflection in the mirror. His face was half-covered in fake bruises and makeup to match the exhaustion his character was meant to feel in today's scene. But what weighed heavily on him wasn't just the upcoming shoot—it was the conversation that had been replaying in his mind since that morning.

His phone had buzzed while he was getting ready, and it wasn't the usual barrage of notifications from fans, critics, or colleagues. It was a message from someone he hadn't spoken to in years.

Anjali Mehra: "We need to talk."

He hadn't responded. He didn't know how to. The message had stirred up emotions he thought he had long buried. His sister, Anjali, had left the family business behind, choosing a simpler life away from the cutthroat world of Bollywood. They hadn't been on the best of terms, not since their father had passed away.

"Five minutes until call time," one of the production assistants called from the doorway.

Aman shook himself out of his thoughts, forcing his focus back to the present. He needed to stay sharp, especially for the scene they were shooting today. It was a pivotal moment for his character—an emotional breakdown after discovering a devastating truth. Arjun Sethi had been pushing him to dig deeper into his personal experiences, but Aman wasn't sure he was ready to open those wounds.

As the crew prepared the set, Nisha walked over, holding her script. She could sense something was off with Aman; they had been friends long enough for her to recognize when he was troubled. "Everything okay?" she asked, her voice soft but concerned.

Aman forced a smile, trying to hide the unease that had settled over him. "Yeah, just thinking about the scene."

Nisha raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying his answer. "You sure? You've been quiet all morning."

Aman hesitated, glancing down at his phone before locking it and shoving it into his jacket pocket. "It's nothing. Just some personal stuff. I'll be fine."

Nisha nodded, though she didn't press him further. She knew how to give him space when he needed it. "Well, if you need to talk, you know where to find me."

Aman appreciated her offer, but talking wasn't something he was ready for. Not yet. Not when the ghosts of his past were creeping up on him again. He stood up from the makeup chair and made his way to the set, determined to push through the day.

---

The scene was set in a dingy motel room, with Aman's character sitting alone at the edge of the bed, grappling with the weight of his decisions. The dim lighting added to the heavy atmosphere, and the crew moved quietly around him, preparing for the shot.

As the cameras began rolling, Aman fell into character, his mind slipping into the world Arjun had created for him. His breaths came out in ragged gasps, his shoulders slumped as if the weight of the world rested on them. The dialogue flowed naturally, but it was the unsaid emotions that poured out, emotions Aman wasn't even sure were part of the script.

His thoughts drifted back to Anjali—how they had grown up in the shadow of their father's fame, how their mother had tried to keep the family together as the business consumed their lives. The expectations, the pressure, the constant scrutiny—it had all taken a toll on them.

Aman's heart pounded in his chest as he pushed through the scene, the pain of his character mirroring his own internal struggles. Tears blurred his vision as his character broke down, and he let them fall, feeling every ounce of the sorrow he had bottled up for so long.

When Arjun finally called cut, there was a stunned silence on set. Aman wiped the tears from his face, his breathing still uneven. He hadn't expected the scene to hit him so hard, but now that it had, he couldn't ignore the emotions it had stirred.

Arjun walked over, his expression a mix of admiration and concern. "That was… incredible," he said quietly. "You went somewhere deep for that. Are you okay?"

Aman nodded, though he wasn't entirely sure he was telling the truth. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... connected to it."

Arjun gave him a long, thoughtful look. "Sometimes that connection is what makes the performance real. But don't lose yourself in it."

Aman managed a small smile. "I won't."

---

Later that evening, back in his apartment, Aman sat on the couch, staring at the message from Anjali once again. He hadn't spoken to her since their father's funeral, and even then, their words had been strained, more out of obligation than love. They had grown apart over the years, choosing different paths, but the distance between them had always been filled with unspoken resentment.

He tapped on the message, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. He wanted to respond, but he didn't know what to say. How could he bridge the gap after all this time? What did she even want to talk about?

Finally, he typed a response.

Aman: "Okay. Let's meet. Tomorrow?"

He hit send before he could second-guess himself and tossed the phone onto the coffee table. Whatever she had to say, he would face it head-on, just as he had faced everything else in his life.

But as he sat there in the quiet of his apartment, the city's lights twinkling outside his window, a part of him couldn't help but wonder if opening this door would bring more pain than closure.

For now, all he could do was wait.