Prem Kahaniyaan

2.

Arjun sat in the lounge of the studio, tapping his foot impatiently. The bright morning sun streamed in through the tall glass windows, casting a warm glow on the pristine white furniture, but Arjun wasn’t in the mood to appreciate the view. His publicist had told him this documentary was a “golden opportunity” to reshape his image, but right now, it felt more like a trap.

He checked his phone for the third time in five minutes. No new messages.

Just as he was about to get up, the door swung open, and Zara Feroze walked in, her sharp gaze immediately locking onto him. She was dressed in a crisp white shirt, paired with dark jeans, her dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail. Her stride was confident, no-nonsense.

“Arjun Veda,” she said, her voice laced with a mix of professional courtesy and underlying challenge. “The Golden Boy of Bollywood.”

“Zara Feroze,” Arjun replied, standing up and offering a stiff smile. “The journalist who loves tearing me down.”

Zara raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “If my articles stung, maybe they hit too close to home.”

Arjun's smile faltered. “I don’t read your articles.”

Zara smirked, pulling out a notepad from her bag. “Of course you don’t. That’s what all celebrities say.”

Arjun clenched his jaw but kept his voice calm. “You’re not exactly subtle about your disdain for people in my industry.”

“And you’re not exactly subtle about your desire to avoid real conversations,” Zara shot back, flipping open her notepad. “But that’s going to change now, isn’t it?”

Arjun crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing. “Let’s get one thing straight. I agreed to this documentary because I want to set the record straight. Not to be poked and prodded like some lab rat.”

Zara jotted something down in her notepad without looking up. “Noted. But if you think this is going to be some puff piece where I paint you as a saint, you’re mistaken. I’m here to get to the truth. The audience deserves to know who the real Arjun Veda is.”

“The real Arjun Veda?” he repeated, his voice edged with sarcasm. “And who do you think that is?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out,” Zara replied, meeting his gaze head-on. “If you’re as genuine as you claim, this shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

Arjun took a deep breath, trying to suppress his frustration. He’d dealt with difficult people in the past, but Zara was a different kind of challenge. She wasn’t just a journalist—she was someone who could make or break him with a single article, and that made her dangerous.

“You know,” Arjun said slowly, “most people just see what they want to see. They see the red carpets, the awards, the glamour. But that’s not the full picture.”

Zara nodded, seemingly interested for the first time. “Then show me the full picture. That’s what the documentary is for. You have the chance to tell your side of the story.”

Arjun hesitated, his defenses rising again. “And what if I don’t want to share everything with you? Some things are personal.”

Zara’s pen hovered over her notepad as she glanced up at him. “Then why agree to this in the first place? If you’re going to hide behind the same scripted answers, this is a waste of both our time.”

“I didn’t agree to this because I wanted to,” Arjun said, his voice growing more intense. “I agreed because I have to. Do you think I enjoy being under constant scrutiny? You think I like having every part of my life picked apart by people who don’t know me?”