✍️ Chapter 1 – The New Start
Sidharth Malhan stirred awake to the gentle filtered light of the Delhi morning spilling through his sheer curtains. The city was already humming beyond the glass — rickshaws whining, the far-off bark of dogs, a milkman's bicycle bell.
He blinked at the ceiling, his body still readjusting to India's time zone after nearly five years away. Slowly, he pushed himself up, feeling that familiar calm thrum through his veins. There was a strange peace that came from being back home, even if his mind often still roamed studio lots and sunlit streets thousands of miles away.
He ran a hand through his thick, slightly tousled hair, studying his reflection in the tall mirror by his wardrobe. Nineteen years old — and yet, the look in his eyes carried decades. The faint smile tugging at his lips seemed almost amused by the irony. A veteran in a young man's skin.
He touched his jawline thoughtfully. The world saw a sharp, handsome face, the easy grace of someone born to be on billboards. Only he knew the weight behind that quiet composure — a lifetime of scripts, monologues, red carpets, relentless flashes. Fame had both caressed and burned him before. This time, he intended to guide it, not let it guide him.
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☕ Family moments
Downstairs, the Malhan house was already alive. The aroma of chai mingled with laughter. His mother, Dimple, was fussing over breakfast, her gold bangles clinking as she moved from stove to table.
Nischay, ever the playful older brother, leaned back in his chair scrolling through reels. He shot Sidharth a dramatic grin.
> "Look who's finally up! The American import. Gonna start your own YouTube channel now, huh? 'Triggered Model?'"
Abhishek let out a loud laugh, nearly choking on his toast.
> "Or 'Fukra Face!' Millions would click just to see you pout at the camera."
Sidharth smirked, sliding into his chair.
> "The only thing people will see me do is stand on magazine covers while your thumbnails keep screaming in neon fonts."
His father Vinay chuckled behind his newspaper, enjoying the easy banter.
> "Beta, whatever you do — do it with your whole heart. The rest will follow."
Sidharth nodded, his eyes softening. If there was one gift this life had given him over the last, it was this family. Their noisy, affectionate chaos kept his ambitions from spiraling into obsession.
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🎬 Memories of America
As he stirred sugar into his tea, his mind drifted across oceans, back to sun-soaked days in North Carolina. His decision to study acting there had seemed random to outsiders — a Malhan studying abroad when the family was already such a known name online in India. But he had needed that space, to build his craft away from their digital spotlights.
His professors had been startled at how quickly he dissected Shakespeare, modern improv, emotional scene breakdowns. Of course, they didn't know he had done it all before — on grander stages, in grander times.
But the real surprise of America had been Jimmy.
It started with a film student's mixer. He'd bumped into a tall, blue-eyed whirlwind of energy named Jimmy Donaldson who was ranting about giving people $100,000 just to see what they'd do.
By week two, he was sitting in Jimmy's garage with Chris and Chandler, scribbling ideas on whiteboards.
> "What if we design a game where last person to leave a circle wins a house?"
"Bro, YES. And add challenges every hour. Like they have to balance marbles on spoons or wear insane costumes."
Jimmy had turned to Sidharth more than once, wide-eyed.
> "You've got a crazy mind, Sid. I like it."
Sidharth would just smile.
> "It's not crazy, it's theatre. The stakes, the human push — it's all performance."
They'd laughed, filmed, failed, gone viral, built something gigantic. Even now, his phone buzzed with the occasional text from Jimmy.
> "Miss you man. If India ever gets boring, fly back. I've got 10 million dominoes to stack."
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🕶 The first step
But Sidharth was back for a reason. He didn't want the YouTube carnival. He didn't crave comedic chaos. His heart still beat for scripts that twisted under the skin, monologues that cracked voices, scenes that left you hollow for days.
Today was the start.
He showered, slipped into dark tailored jeans and a charcoal half-sleeve shirt that hugged his frame just right. A sleek watch. No loud chains or flashy sneakers — he let his bearing be his style. As he grabbed his file, his mother caught him by the door, pressing a warm roti roll into his hand.
> "Eat something on the way. And remember, they're lucky to have you."
He leaned down, kissing her forehead.
> "Thanks Maa. I'll make you proud."
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🏢 The brand interview
The Human Being offices in Gurgaon towered sleek and glassy. Inside, a minimalist waiting lounge buzzed with soft jazz, smartly dressed people typing on iPads. He checked in, then settled on a leather couch, fingers drumming lightly on his file.
This was different from casting rooms he knew — no endless line of hungry actors muttering lines. This was branding, image, philosophy. Human Being wasn't just looking for a face; they wanted a story.
When his name was called, he rose with that unhurried grace that often made people pause. His walk was confident, neither arrogant nor overly humble — simply comfortable in his own skin.
Inside, a panel of three brand heads smiled at him, offering water.
> "Sidharth Malhan, right? We've seen your portfolio — very global, yet classically Indian. Tell us why you'd like to start your journey with us."
He leaned back slightly, hands relaxed on his lap.
> "Because your brand stands for exactly what I intend my public persona to stand for — elegant, understated, rooted in something more than just glamour. Clothes matter, of course. But character wears them best. I think audiences, especially today, see through shallow facades."
One of them raised an impressed brow.
> "You've thought about this."
> "I've lived it before," he almost said. Instead he just smiled.
"I've studied what makes a campaign linger in the mind. It's not just the cut of a jacket. It's the eyes wearing it."
They talked style trends, upcoming shoots in Jaipur palaces and Swiss slopes. They asked about his physical regimen. He told them about his training — a mix of theatre body discipline and functional fitness.
> "We don't just want a pretty face," one exec said.
"Luckily for both of us," Sidharth replied with a polite chuckle, "I'm more than just that."
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🚗 Driving home
By the time he walked out, the sun was slanting gold against the mirrored towers. He didn't need a confirmation email to know how it went. Years ago he might've danced in the street. Now he just felt a deep, steady thrill.
He pulled out his phone and texted Jimmy.
> "Started. Proper modelling campaign. India's gonna be interesting."
Seconds later, three dots blinked, then:
> "That's huge man! When you're famous-fAMOUS, let me be the weird American best man at your wedding."
Sidharth laughed softly, sliding the phone back in his pocket. Then he turned his face up to the sky, breathing in the warm Delhi air that somehow smelled of cardamom, car horns, and possibility.
> "Round two," he thought.
"Let's do it right this time."
And with that, he stepped toward his car — toward shoots, scripts, screens. Toward a life that was finally all his own.
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