For a few long seconds after Jai finished, no one spoke.
The audition room felt different now — heavier, like the air itself had watched something it didn't fully understand.
Jai stood quietly on his mark, shoulders relaxed, script pages hanging loosely in his hand. He looked… ordinary again. Almost dull. The intensity had drained from his face like water down a sink.
Suraj leaned forward, elbows on the table.
"There's something I need to ask," he said.
Jai nodded respectfully.
Suraj tapped the script pages in front of him.
"I didn't mention any psychological points of Vardhan in the audition brief. Not the fear of asymmetry. Not the internal rhythm dependency. Not the mental breakdown pattern."
He held Jai's gaze.
"How did you get all that?"
Rajesh looked up too, curiosity replacing his earlier fatigue.
The room was silent except for the faint hum of traffic outside.
Jai felt his throat tighten.
He couldn't tell them.
He couldn't say: I lived inside his mind. I walked through his memories. I felt his fear like it was my own.
They would think he was unstable. Delusional. Unfit.
So he chose the only truth he could safely give.
"There were… foreshadowings in the script," Jai said slowly. "Small things. The way he arranges objects. The rhythm in his dialogue. The control issues. I just followed where those hints led."
Suraj watched him carefully.
Jai kept his expression calm, grounded.
"I figured a man obsessed with order must be terrified of disorder," he added. "So I built from that."
Rajesh exchanged a glance with Suraj.
It sounded logical.
But it didn't explain the precision. The instinct. The way Jai had reacted to details that weren't even on the page.
Still, Suraj finally nodded.
"Thank you for auditioning, Jai."
The formal tone signaled the end.
Jai bowed his head slightly. "Thank you, sir."
As he turned to leave, the assistant near the door gave him a polite smile.
"You'll get the audition results soon."
Jai nodded again and stepped out into the corridor.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
---
Inside the room, silence returned.
Suraj kept staring at the closed door for a moment longer.
Rajesh leaned back in his chair, exhaling.
"Well," he said, "that was… something."
Suraj didn't respond immediately.
He replayed the audition in his head — the stillness, the invisible metronome, the way Jai's eyes had shifted from human to something hollow and controlled.
Then he thought about how Jai looked now.
Just a thin, tired young man walking down a hallway with peeling paint.
No aura.
No presence.
Nothing remarkable.
"Did you see the switch?" Suraj asked quietly.
Rajesh nodded. "Like two different people."
"Not like acting," Suraj murmured. "Like… possession."
Rajesh chuckled nervously. "Don't start."
But Suraj wasn't joking.
"I've written this character for eight months," he said. "I know his rhythms. His fears. His silences. And for the first time…"
He paused.
"…I felt like I was watching Vardhan, not an actor trying to impress me."
Rajesh folded his arms. "I agree he was good. Very good. But we have to think practically."
Suraj finally looked at him.
Rajesh continued,
"If we get him in the movie, that won't bring any market value. No fanbase. No recognition. No buzz. We're already on a tight budget."
He gestured toward the script.
"This film depends heavily on performance. And you can't guarantee the same quality throughout the shoot. Some scenes are extremely complex. Emotionally layered. Physically demanding."
He leaned forward.
"If we bring a senior actor with a name, at least we get publicity. Pre-release business improves. Media attention comes automatically."
Suraj listened without interrupting.
Rajesh softened his tone.
"I'm not saying he isn't talented. He is. But talent doesn't sell tickets alone."
Suraj looked back at the door.
He remembered Jai's eyes when the "metronome" stopped.
That wasn't technique.
That was truth.
"I know what you're saying," Suraj said quietly. "I do."
He placed his hand on the script.
"But this character is the spine of the film. If he feels fake for even one second, the whole movie collapses."
Rajesh sighed.
Suraj's voice grew firmer.
"I already compromised on the lead structure. I reshaped the story. I adjusted the narrative tone. But this character…"
He shook his head.
"I can't compromise on this one."
Rajesh studied his face.
The hesitation wasn't there anymore.
Only certainty.
After a long pause, Rajesh raised both hands in surrender.
"You win," he said with a tired smile. "I give up."
Suraj let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.
"I don't want to delay this project any more than this," Rajesh added. "If you believe he's the one… we take the risk."
Suraj nodded.
"He's not a risk," he said quietly.
"He's Vardhan."
---
Outside, Jai stepped out of the building into the late afternoon sun.
The noise of the city rushed back — honking vehicles, vendors shouting, construction in the distance.
Life moving without pause.
He walked slowly toward the bus stop, hands in pockets.
For the first time in years…
His chest felt light.
Not because he was confident he'd get the role.
But because he had finally done justice to one.
He replayed the audition in his mind — the stillness, the voice, the fear, the silence.
He hadn't forced anything.
He had simply opened the door… and let the character walk through.
A small smile touched his lips.
It reminded him of when he first fell in love with acting — back in school, performing on a tiny stage with cardboard sets and borrowed costumes. Back when he didn't care about fame, money, or recognition.
Back when acting was just… becoming someone else.
Today, for a few minutes, he had felt that again.
Pure.
Alive.
Real.
Whether he got the role or not didn't matter as much now.
Because for once…
He hadn't been "Rowdy 3."
He hadn't been background noise.
He had been the storm.
Jai looked up at the sky, golden in the setting sun, and let out a slow breath.
Then he walked toward the bus, just another face in the crowd
—The End—