Memories

6

Shivani

The lecture hall was buzzing with the monotonous hum of my professor's voice as he droned on about corporate governance. My notebook lay open, pen in hand, but my mind had already wandered to a hundred other things—the youth festival that had just ended, the memory of Karthik laughing in the theatre during our "normal day," and the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at me.

That was when my phone vibrated against the desk.

I flinched, glancing around to make sure no one had noticed. With a quiet sigh, I slid the phone out from under my notebook.

Karthik.

My heart did its usual somersault. But then I frowned. He knew I had class now. Why was he calling?

I hesitated, then quickly swiped the message option instead of picking up. In class. What's wrong?

Almost immediately, the three dots appeared, typing. My chest tightened.

I really need to speak to you. It's important.

Important. My stomach flipped. Karthik wasn't someone who panicked easily—if he said it was urgent, then it must be. Still, I typed back firmly: I'll call you after the lecture. Don't call me till then. Please wait.

I shoved the phone back into my bag and tried to focus on the professor, but my mind was already gone. A thousand possibilities ran through me like wild horses. What could it be? Was it about us? About his career? About the media finally piecing together who I was?

By the time the lecture ended, my palms were sweaty.

I practically ran to the canteen, finding an empty corner table away from the noise. My hands trembled as I dialled his number.

He picked up on the first ring.

"Shivani," his voice came, low and urgent.

"Karthik, what's wrong? You scared me."

There was a pause, as if he was choosing his words carefully. "I... I got an offer."

My heartbeat quickened. "An offer?"

"Yes. From him."

"From who?"

"Sanjay Leela Bhansali."

I froze. Even I, a law student buried in assignments and campus events, knew that name. The legendary director whose films were poetry in motion, the dream-maker of Bollywood.

I swallowed hard. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," he said, his voice quiet, almost as if he couldn't believe it himself. "He wants me to fly to Switzerland to discuss his next project. He says I'd be perfect for the role."

I felt my breath hitch. Switzerland. Bhansali. This wasn't just any opportunity—this was the opportunity.

But then his next words caught me off guard.

"And I don't know whether I should go."

I practically ran to the canteen, finding an empty corner table away from the noise. My hands trembled as I dialled his number.

He picked up on the first ring.

"Shivani," his voice came, low and urgent.

"Karthik, what's wrong? You scared me."

There was a pause, as if he was choosing his words carefully. "I... I got an offer."

My heartbeat quickened. "An offer?"

"Yes. From him."

"From who?"

"Sanjay Leela Bhansali."