His love, His possession

6

Part 1

20 Years Later,

There’s something about a film set that makes it different from the rest of the world.

Maybe it’s the blinding lights, the fake rain, the crew running around like headless chickens, or the fact that in the middle of all that chaos, two people stand on a bridge, pretending to be madly in love.

That’s exactly where we are.

A high, beautifully lit bridge, the kind that makes you want to stop and take a deep breath. The city lights flicker in the distance, the water below shimmers under the full moon, and the wind oh, the wind has been perfectly timed by the crew’s giant wind machines.

The wind played with the loose end of her saree, making it flutter like a golden ribbon against the midnight sky. The bridge was lit up, the city twinkling behind her, and for a moment, Vanya looked like she had walked straight out of an old Bollywood dream.

The saree the kind that hugged her like a second skin. Her hair, long and dark, cascaded down her back in perfect waves, a few rebellious strands kissing her face. Her skin glowed under the soft set lights, dusky and luminous, as if the moon itself had decided to rest upon her. She had her mother’s eyes big, expressive, and filled with an unspoken fire.

“Action!”

A pair of strong arms suddenly wrapped around her waist. Warmth. Strength. And the unmistakable scent of expensive cologne mixed with a hint of mischief.

“why are you running, Jiya?”

That voice. Deep, smooth, like melted chocolate laced with arrogance.

Vanya swallowed, keeping her eyes locked on the man in front of her. Rivaan Kapoor.

The name alone sent half the nation’s girls into a frenzy. And why wouldn’t it? He had everything flawless features, a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, and a smile that could ruin lives. His black shirt clung to his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal strong forearms. His hair, casually tousled, looked like he had just stepped out of a magazine cover. And those eyes intense, playful, and dangerously unreadable.

He was holding her too close, his grip firm but teasing. The kind that sent shivers down her spine, though she’d rather die than admit it.

She turned her face away, playing her part. "I don't want to talk to you ! ”

Rivaan tilted his head, smirking. “your heart is telling me a different story, madam.” His voice was lower now, just for her.

Vanya’s breath hitched. Damn him. He knew exactly what he was doing.

The cameras rolled, the director held his breath, and somewhere in the chaos of lights and lenses, the line between acting and reality blurred for just a second.

The music started soft, intoxicating. A slow tune that could melt even the coldest hearts.

Rivaan didn’t let go. Instead, his grip on her waist tightened, pulling her impossibly closer. Their bodies were just inches apart, breathing the same air, the world around them fading into nothing. The bridge. The lights. The twenty-odd people staring at them it all disappeared.

It was just them.

Vanya tried to remember she was acting. That this wasn’t real. That Rivaan Kapoor was just her co-star, not a man making her heart race in ways she didn’t understand.

“Dance with me,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low.

She blinked. That wasn’t in the script.

But before she could protest, he moved. Smooth, effortless. His hand slid from her waist to her fingers, threading them through his own. He twirled her, slow and controlled, the fabric of her saree brushing against his arm as she spun.

Her breath hitched when he pulled her back straight into his chest.

His fingers traced a line down her arm, feather-light, making her shiver. His gaze burned into hers, unreadable yet so intense that it sent a warmth spiraling through her body. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to say something but he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned in, his forehead brushing against hers. A moment so dangerously close, so heartbreakingly tender, that for a second, Vanya forgot. Forgot the cameras, forgot the people, forgot everything except the way his heartbeat drummed against hers.

Her hands, almost on instinct, rested against his chest. His heartbeat steady, strong, hypnotizing.

“Vanya…” His voice was barely a whisper now.

She swallowed. Was this still a scene? Or something else? Something unscripted.

The music swelled. The wind lifted her hair, brushing it against his cheek. And then, in one slow, deliberate motion, Rivaan cupped her face, his thumb tracing the curve of her jaw.

She should’ve pulled away. Should’ve said something witty, something sharp.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she closed her eyes.

“CUTTTT!!!”

The loud voice tore through the air like a gunshot.

Lights flashed. The music stopped. The warmth of Rivaan’s hands disappeared.

Vanya blinked. Her head spun. What just happened?

She wasn’t on the bridge. She wasn’t wearing a red saree. And Rivaan Kapoor? He was nowhere in sight.

Instead, she was lying in her bed, wrapped in a cozy blanket until someone yanked it away.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty!”

Vanya groaned. “Ishi!!!”

Ishita stood over her, arms crossed, smirking like a villain from a saas-bahu serial. “Oh-ho, madam was dreaming, huh? And look at that blush! Wait was it a romantic dream? Tell me! Tell me!”

Vanya grabbed a pillow and launched it at her Ishi face. Ishita dodged, laughing.

“Uff, such violence early in the morning! Tell me, was it about a hero?” Ishita teased, jumping on the bed.

Vanya rolled her eyes. “Please, as if I care about heroes, films, or stardom. You know I don’t.”

She sat up, stretching. Simple cotton kurti, messy bun, no makeup Vanya was the kind of girl who found joy in small things. Cooking with Ma, playing board games with her Baba, teasing Ishita over her shuddh filmy dialogues. The glamorous world of Bollywood? It meant nothing to her.

“Acha?” Ishita smirked, sitting cross-legged on the bed. “Then why were you sighing in your sleep?”

“I wasn’t!”

“You were.”

“Was not.”

“Waaaas!” Ishita pulled her cheek. “Maybe it was about Rivaan Kapoor?”

Vanya froze. Her face twisted in horror. “Eww, no. Never. Not in a million years.”

Ishita laughed. “Oh come on, he’s the superstar of our generation! The nation’s crush! And admit it he’s hot.”

Vanya grabbed another pillow. “He’s an egoistic, arrogant, self-obsessed jerk who thinks the world revolves around him. I wouldn’t watch his films even if someone paid me.”

Ishita gasped, clutching her heart. “You hurt me, Vaanya. You hurt my soul. You betrayed Bollywood!”

Before Vanya could smack her again, another voice entered the room.

“Oh god, are you two fighting again?”

They turned.

At the door stood Aanya.

The same Aanya who, twenty years ago, was a frightened little girl. The same Aanya who had clung to their mother’s saree, afraid of the world.

But that Aanya was long gone.

Now, she stood tall, confident, draped in a stylish jumpsuit, sleek hair framing her sharp features. Bold lipstick, heels, and an attitude that screamed ambition. A complete contrast to Vanya’s simple world.

And unlike Vanya, Aanya had one dream.

To become a Bollywood heroine.

And not just any heroine Rivaan Kapoor’s heroine.

“I swear, you two behave like kids,” Aanya sighed, stepping into the room. “By the way, did you hear? Rivaan Kapoor’s new film is looking for a lead actress!”

Ishita squealed. “OH MY GOD! Aanya, this is your chance!”

Vanya groaned. “Oh god, here we go again.”

Aanya smirked. “Laugh all you want, Ishi, but one day, you’ll see my face on every poster, next to Rivaan Kapoor.”

Vanya crossed her arms. “Good luck with that. Just keep him far away from me.”

Aanya raised an eyebrow. “Why do you hate him so much?”

Vanya shrugged. “Because I’ve heard enough. His tantrums, his attitude, his ‘I’m-too-good-for-everyone’ nonsense. People worship him, but I see him for what he is another spoilt superstar.”

Aanya smiled. “We’ll see about that.”

And just like that, the battle lines were drawn.

One sister dreamed of standing next to Rivaan Kapoor.

The other wanted nothing more than to stay far, far away.

But fate?

Just as Aanya and Vanya’s playful argument reached its peak, a warm, familiar voice echoed through the house.

“Good Morning heroine ! Is this the time to wake up ?”

Vanya’s face lit up instantly. Without another word, she dashed out of the room, almost knocking Ishita aside in the process. Her bare feet thudded against the marble floor as she ran straight into the open arms of Meera, her mother.

“Ma!”

Vanya hugged her tightly, burying her face in the soft fabric of her mother’s saree, inhaling the comforting scent of sandalwood and jasmine. There was something about Meera’s embrace it made the whole world feel right again. It made her forget the teasing, the arguments, even Rivaan Kapoor’s name.

Meera chuckled, running a loving hand through Vanya’s hair. “Still my little girl,” she whispered.

Aanya, of course, wasn’t far behind. “Ma, let me breathe too!” she whined, squeezing herself into the hug.

Meera laughed. “You two haven’t changed at all.”

“You expected us to?” Aanya smirked, but before she could say more, another voice boomed from behind.

“Arre arre, do I not get a hug?”

Samar.

Tall, effortlessly charming, and always carrying an air of mischief, Samar had been the constant pillar in their lives. The father they never had, the protector, the troublemaker, and most importantly the man who spoiled them endlessly.

Before he could say another word, both Vanya and Aanya lunged at him, wrapping their arms around him in a tight embrace.

“Baba!!”

He chuckled, ruffling their hair like they were still kids. “I swear, you two haven’t grown up one bit!”

Aanya smacked his arm playfully. “Shut up! What did you bring for us?”

Samar smirked and pulled out a steaming hot package. “What else? Mumbai’s special Vada Pav!”

Vanya gasped, eyes shining with pure joy. “Oh my god! You actually got it?”

Samar grinned. “Of course. I couldn’t come back without your favorite.”

Aanya took the package from his hands and inhaled deeply. “Ahh, this is heavenly love !”

As they sat down on the floor, happily munching away, Meera folded her arms, shaking her head with mock disappointment. “Samar, you’ve spoiled them enough.”

Samar grinned. “That’s my job, isn’t it?”

Meera sighed, but there was love in her eyes. “And yet, they still fight like children.”

Vanya, with her mouth full, mumbled, “Ishita started it.”

“I did not!” Ishita argued, throwing a cushion at her.

Aanya rolled her eyes. “Can we at least enjoy our food in peace?”

Samar leaned back, watching them with a soft smile. “You know, no matter how much you two fight, this ” he gestured to the chaos around him, “ this is home.”

The alarm blared for the third time, but Vanya was already running late.

“Ma, I’ll eat at the parlour!” she shouted.

Meera, standing by the kitchen, sighed. “This girl is always in a hurry.”

Samar smirked. “At least she’s staying out of the film world, unlike some people.” He shot a look at Aanya, who just flipped her hair and sipped her chai.

She yanked open her wardrobe, grabbed a plain blue kurti, and pulled it over her head in record time. Her hair? A messy bun would do. Makeup? Who had time for that? She barely had a minute to breathe.

“Ugh, Ishi, why didn’t you wake me up?!” she groaned, hopping on one foot as she struggled to slip on her sandals.

Ishita, still sprawled lazily on the bed, grinned. “I did. Twice. But madam was too busy dreaming of her romantic hero.”

Vanya hurled a pillow at her. “Shut up! And it wasn’t romantic!”

Ishita giggled. “Sure, sure. Now go before you get fired on your second day.”

Grabbing her bag, Vanya dashed out of the house, skipping breakfast

Vanya raced down the narrow stairs of their chawl, the heart of Mumbai’s chaos surrounding her honking rickshaws, hawkers calling out their wares, the delicious aroma of frying samosas in the air. This was her world. Simple, real, and free from the fake glamour of Bollywood.

But the moment she stepped onto the street, she froze.

Right in front of her, towering over the narrow road, was a massive poster.

RIVAAN KAPOOR.

His face, larger than life, smirked down at her. Wind blowing through his perfect hair, his eyes piercing through the glossy print. The text below announced:

"NEW TEASER OUT NOW! THE BLOCKBUSTER OF THE YEAR!”

Ugh. Him. Again.

The entire world was obsessed with Rivaan Kapoor. But not her.

She didn’t even glance twice. Instead, she turned her face to the other side and walked past the poster as if it didn’t exist. She had no interest in this spoilt brat or his so-called stardom.

Let the world worship him.

She had a real life to live.