The café was tucked away on a quiet corner of Versova, framed by bougainvillea vines and fading art posters. No paparazzi. No background noise. A place that spoke of intention — not convenience.
Arya Rane chose this spot for a reason.
Elian arrived ten minutes early, ordered a black coffee, and took the corner booth. When she walked in — dark jeans, plain tee, no makeup — no one turned to look. She liked it that way.
He stood to greet her. She didn't offer her hand. Just nodded and sat across from him.
"No handlers," she said.
"No producers," Elian replied.
"Good."
A pause settled between them — not awkward, but assessing. She studied him like she would a script. With deliberate attention, as if expecting layers.
"That simulation," Arya said at last, "wasn't just stitched together with stock footage."
"No," Elian said. "SceneForge builds from actor data, past performances, predicted ranges. The scene was modeled on your profile. Your delivery."
She sipped her coffee slowly.
"You're not a fanboy."
"No."
"Not a director with a dream and zero plan?"
"I have a dream and an exact plan."
Arya exhaled through her nose. "Then explain something. Why me?"
Elian didn't hesitate. "Because this role needs someone who can show silence like it's a language. And I've seen you do that."
She tilted her head. "Which role?"
"Veena Mehra. Detective, insomniac, never fully in the present. Haunted, but never loud about it. The kind of character who bleeds tension without raising her voice."
Arya was quiet for a long beat.
"You're not wrong," she said. "But you're also not the first to pitch me a 'quietly haunted female lead.' What makes this one different?"
Elian reached into his tablet and pulled up one line from the script. Just one.
{ "It wasn't guilt that kept me chasing them. It was recognition." }
He slid it across.
Arya read it.
Then read it again.
Finally, she looked up. "Recognition of what?"
Elian met her gaze. "Of herself. The woman she became to survive."
That was the moment.
Not when he said it. Not when she read it. But the moment after, when she didn't blink, didn't breathe — just locked eyes like she was falling into the story without meaning to.
"You wrote this?"
"Yes."
"And directed…?"
"Nothing yet. This would be my debut."
Arya leaned back, folding her arms. "You realize how big a gamble that is, right? I attach my name to this, and it flops, I get the blame. You get forgotten."
Elian nodded. "Which is why I didn't come with promises. I came with a scene."
Another pause.
Then Arya pulled out her phone. "I want a rehearsal."
"A read-through?"
"No. A raw test scene. One hour. My studio space. Tomorrow at noon."
"You want me to direct it?"
"I want to see if you can."
---
The next day, Elian arrived at a black-box studio in a quiet corner of Andheri. Arya was already there, dressed casually again, but this time with a printed copy of the scene in her hand.
"I brought a friend," she said.
The 'friend' was Nayan Malhotra — mid-30s, indie stage actor, known for intense roles in underground dramas. His presence wasn't casual. It was a test.
"Elian," Nayan said with a nod. "Let's see what you've got."
Elian didn't flinch. "Glad you're here. Let's start."
He handed over revised blocking for the scene — minor camera cues, light tonal notes. Nothing overbearing. Then he stepped back and watched.
They began. Arya stepped into Veena's shoes with chilling ease. Nayan matched her energy. The first take was good.
The second was sharper.
The third — Elian made one adjustment. A pause. A look. A shift in vocal weight.
And then Arya delivered the line again:
"It wasn't guilt that kept me chasing them. It was recognition."
But this time, something in her voice cracked — not visibly, but enough to raise goosebumps in the silence that followed.
Elian stepped forward. Quietly.
"That's the one," he said.
Arya looked at Nayan.
Nayan just said, "He knows what he's doing."
---
They sat in silence after the session. Arya's expression unreadable.
Then, finally, she spoke.
"I'm in."
Elian felt something uncoil in his chest — but he didn't smile. He simply nodded.
"I'll inform Miraal," he said.
"No," Arya replied. "I will."
Elian blinked.
She stood, collecting the script pages. "This isn't just your debut. It's mine too — my first role that isn't about the noise, the cameras, or the fandoms. If we're doing this, I want to own it."
"Agreed," Elian said.
She paused at the door.
"And one more thing. Don't waste me. I'm giving you everything I have."
Elian looked her dead in the eye. "I wouldn't dare."