Chapter 5: Eavesdropping on a New Fate

"Why is it Priya Malhotra?"

A voice mutters behind me, slicing through my spiral of memories. "She doesn’t even fit the heroine’s character..."

People around me are just as unsettled.

Whispers ripple through the crowd, some not-so-soft. The disappointment is thick. The heroine of "Basant Ki Raat" is meant to be a woman who survives life’s storms, filmed from youth to adulthood, needing a more mature look.

I glance at Priya—her cheeks are still round, her eyes too innocent. But the Priya Arjun chose has a much more childish face—how could she possibly handle this role?

Arjun speaks again.

His voice is steady, but there’s an edge I don’t recognise. "We’ve made some changes to the script, focusing more on the heroine’s school years. Overall, Priya is the most suitable..." His explanation is calm, but final.

I’m stunned.

The script changed?

The words thud in my chest. Arjun continues describing the new script, and the more I listen, the more shocked I become.

This isn’t the "Basant Ki Raat" from my last life.

The pacing, the focus—it’s all different. The new script is punchier, faster, almost like a commercial masala movie.

There are chase scenes, punchy one-liners, catchy songs—none of the slow, poetic beauty I remembered. This isn’t Arjun’s style at all.

I look at my fellow students—their faces a mix of surprise and resignation. The other actors, though a bit dissatisfied, can only accept it.

A few shoulders slump, some sigh. For most, it’s just another audition, another day. But for me, it’s the loss of something precious. I pack my bag and leave with the crowd, dazed.

The strap of my jhola cuts into my shoulder as I walk, the world suddenly dull. Suddenly, I hear a girl next to me gossiping:

"I’ve heard Arjun and Priya are a couple. Isn’t this just favouritism? Pretending to hold an audition."

She snickers, not realising the weight her words carry. I stop in my tracks.

Impossible.

My mind rebels. Arjun isn’t that kind of person.

He never let personal feelings get in the way of work. But now, I don’t know what to believe. Driven by instinct, I turn and run back, standing outside the lounge.

The corridor is dim, only light from inside spilling onto the terrazzo floor. The door is slightly open, and I hear Priya’s voice:

"Sir, I thought you’d avoid suspicion and not choose me..."

Her tone is soft, almost apologetic. Suddenly, I remember—Priya was once Arjun’s acting student.

She joined his workshops, always sitting in the front row, eager to please. The Arjun I remember was always cool and steady.

His poker face could intimidate even the boldest critic. In my previous life, even when he was being trolled online, he was never anxious or upset.

I’d see him chuckle at harsh reviews, his only reaction a wry smile and a shrug. Even on our wedding day, he just smiled a little brighter than usual.

...I’d never seen him lose his composure.

But now, he reached out, hesitated, then placed a steady hand on Priya’s shoulder, his thumb tracing a small circle—intimate, but careful, as if wary of being seen.

"Silly girl, I changed the script precisely to choose you. Can’t you see that?"

His voice is uncharacteristically gentle. Priya immediately bursts into tears. "Last month, after I confessed to you, you said we shouldn’t see each other again..."

Her shoulders shake, words muffled by sobs. "That was my mistake." Arjun looks down at her, his voice low but unwavering.

"Kar le jo mann chahe, Priya. Main apne dil se bhaag nahi sakta ab."

His tone is so resolute, I barely recognise him. "But you have to promise me, no matter what happens, you must live well."

Priya looks up at him, stunned for a long moment.

Her mascara runs, lips parted in disbelief. Arjun smiles, bends down, and brushes a gentle kiss on her cheek.

There’s a hush in the room, a sense of finality, as if a chapter has closed. On my way back to college, heavy rain pours down. I don’t have an umbrella.

Typical Mumbai monsoon—one moment, clear skies; next, you’re drenched. Rainwater streams down my hair, soaking my kurti, sticky against my back, the damp chilling me to the bone. The distant honk of a BEST bus echoes somewhere, the sharp tang of wet earth mixing with frying vada pav from the street below. I try to shelter under a bus stop, but it’s useless. The dampness settles into my skin, making my teeth chatter. But compared to the cold outside, the chill in my heart is even more suffocating.

Aunty from the next flat calls out, offering her towel, but I just shake my head, letting the rain hide my tears. There’s a heaviness pressing on my chest, a grief that no amount of chai can fix. I finally understand—Arjun has also been reborn.

It all makes sense now—the new script, the urgency in his actions. He must have come back earlier than me.

So he changed the script and remade "Basant Ki Raat" for Priya.

He’s rewriting destiny with his own hands. It feels like I should run to question him.

Why did you do this? Why didn’t you come find me? What about everything from our last life?

The words swirl in my mind, bitter and desperate. But what right or confidence do I have? In everyone else’s eyes, Arjun Mehra and Meera Sharma are still just strangers who haven’t even met.

A passing rickshaw splashes muddy water on my sandals, snapping me out of my thoughts. Yes, the love that once seemed unbreakable—belongs to the past life.

The memories are mine alone, pressed between the pages of an unwritten script. Arjun just wants, in this life, to choose a different path.

A path without me.