The acting workshop was held in a rented studio in Versova, the kind that tried very hard to look neutral and ended up looking temporary instead. Pale walls. Scuffed wooden floor. One large mirror on one side, already bearing fingerprints and tape marks from past productions. A faint smell of disinfectant mixed with sweat lingered in the air, the residue of bodies learning to perform.
Ahan arrived ten minutes early.
He stood just inside the doorway for a moment, taking it in. There were chairs arranged in a loose semicircle. A table with water bottles. A whiteboard with nothing written on it yet. No posters. No slogans. No motivation quotes. That, oddly, made him more nervous.
He chose a chair slightly to the side rather than the center. Habit. Observation before participation.
A few minutes later, two girls entered together.
Ahan noticed them immediately, though he pretended not to. One of them—shorter, softer features, expressive eyes—looked around the room with quiet curiosity. The other carried herself with more confidence, her posture relaxed, movements assured, as if she'd already decided she belonged here.
They saw him.
Both paused, just briefly. It was involuntary.
The first thought that crossed Amrita Rao's mind surprised her by how blunt it was.
God, he's beautiful.
Not in a styled or flashy way. Just… composed. Black eyes, sharp jaw, long hair pulled back neatly. There was something restrained about him, like he was holding himself together deliberately.
Beside her, Shenaz Treasurywala had a similar reaction, though she masked it faster. She'd been around sets before. Faces didn't usually catch her off guard like that.
Cute, she thought. Shy type. Dangerous combination.
They took seats opposite him. Ahan felt their presence immediately, the weight of attention he'd spent most of his life trying to ignore. He stared at his hands instead.
A few minutes later, a man in his mid-thirties walked in, carrying a notebook and an air of mild exhaustion.
"I'm Sujeeth," he said, setting his things down. "I'll be working with you on this workshop."
Sujeeth looked around the room once, assessing. His gaze landed on Ahan, lingered a fraction longer than necessary, then moved on.
"Looks like we're all new here," he said. "Which is good. No bad habits yet."
Shenaz smiled faintly.
Sujeeth gestured toward the group. "Let's start with introductions."
When it came to Ahan's turn, he cleared his throat. "Ahan," he said. "Third year Engineering student."
There was a beat.
"That's… nice," Sujeeth remarked.
Ahan nodded awkwardly.
Sujeeth turned to the girls. "You already know each other?"
"Not really," Amrita said softly. "I'm Amrita."
"Shenaz," the other added. "I've done a Telugu film last year."
Sujeeth nodded. "Good. Some experience always helps."
He turned back to Ahan. "These are your co-actors."
Ahan's ears warmed slightly. He gave a small, hesitant smile. "Hello."
Both girls smiled back.
Shy and handsome, Amrita thought, feeling oddly pleased.
Cute and polite, Shenaz noted. Interesting.
Classes began slowly.Rxercises—walking across the room, stopping, turning, reacting to imaginary stimuli. Basic awareness.
Ahan struggled.
Not with confidence—he didn't freeze—but with looseness. His movements were precise, controlled, a little too careful. When he delivered lines from a short exercise scene, the words came out correctly, but the rhythm was off.
"Don't think so much," Sujeeth said for the third time. "Let it happen."
Ahan nodded, tried again.
He missed the emotional beat again.
But when he looked up—uncertain, apologetic—his eyes did the work his voice hadn't.
Amrita found herself watching him instead of listening to the instructions.
Even when he's wrong, she realized, he's… right.
Shenaz noticed the same thing, irritation flickering briefly before curiosity replaced it. She knew technique. She could tell he lacked it. But the camera—imaginary as it was—would like him. That was undeniable.
Sujeeth sighed, rubbing his temple.
He wasn't blind. The attention in the room was skewed. Both girls were reacting more to the boy than the work.
"Focus," he said firmly. "This is not a photoshoot."
They straightened immediately.
Still, even Sujeeth had to admit—privately—that Ahan was striking. Not just attractive. As if a God decided to make himself human but forgot to turn off his charm factor.
After acting class, Ahan barely had time to process before Zayn dragged him to another studio across town.
Dance.
The word alone made Ahan uneasy.
The instructor—a lean man with sharp movements and sharper eyes—looked Ahan up and down once and blinked.
"You're… acting in a movie?" he asked.
"Yes," Ahan replied, unsure.
The man's face lit up. "Seriously? Wow."
He held out a hand. "Nikhil."
Nikhil shook Ahan's hand enthusiastically. "Can I get an autograph?"
Ahan stared at him. "What?"
"For my kids," Nikhil said easily. "When you become big."
Ahan laughed, startled. "I'm not—"
Still, he took the pen. His first autograph. The realization hit him midway through writing his name.
This is happening fast.
"There," he said, handing it back.
Nikhil beamed. "I'll frame it."
Ahan smiled shyly. "Thank you. For being my first fan."
"Hey," Zayn protested. "Excuse me."
Ahan glanced at him. "You're not a fan. You're a problem."
"Remember, I was the one who got you into this," Zayn reminded.
Nikhil laughed.
As training began, Nikhil's expression slowly shifted from excitement to concern.
"Okay," he said after a few minutes. "We start from basics."
Ahan nodded, relieved and embarrassed at the same time.
"We'll loosen you up," Nikhil added. "No stiffness on screen."
Ahan took a breath.