Aman poured two glasses of water and handed one to Anjali, who settled onto the couch in his spacious living room. The tension in the air was thick, but not uncomfortable. It was a shared silence, one where words weren't necessary, at least not yet. Aman sat next to her, still processing the whirlwind of events.
"Thanks for coming," he said finally, his voice low.
Anjali took a sip of water and set the glass down on the table. "I figured you could use a break from everything."
He gave a small nod, his eyes drawn to the city lights twinkling through the massive windows. For a moment, he lost himself in the view, the vastness of the world beyond these walls. It felt so distant, so detached from the life he had once known.
"You know…" Anjali began softly, her voice pulling him back. "You don't have to carry all of this alone."
Aman turned to her, surprised by the gentle concern in her eyes. It wasn't that people didn't care—Nisha, his manager, cared—but they were all part of the machine that had built him. Anjali, however, had always existed outside that world, someone who knew him before the fame, before the relentless cycle of the industry consumed his life.
"I don't know if I have a choice anymore," he admitted, leaning back against the couch. "I've made my bed. Now I have to lie in it."
Anjali frowned. "That's just what they want you to think."
He smiled, though it didn't reach his eyes. "And who are 'they'? The industry? The media? Or the people who can't wait for me to slip up?"
"All of them," she said without hesitation. "They've created this image of you, and now you're trapped in it. But that's not who you are, Aman. At least, it's not all of who you are."
Her words struck a chord, one that echoed deep within him. She was right, of course. The fame, the glamour, the endless demands—he had let them shape him, had allowed them to define his every move. But what had that left him with? A life lived under a microscope, where every misstep was magnified, every moment scrutinized.
"I used to love it, you know," he said after a long pause. "The thrill of being in the spotlight, the rush of a new project, the feeling that I was on top of the world."
Anjali nodded, listening intently.
"But now…" He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's exhausting. I don't even know who I am anymore without all of this."
The weight of his words hung in the air. Anjali didn't respond immediately, letting him sit with his thoughts. When she finally spoke, her voice was calm, steady.
"You're more than the industry, Aman. You're more than the roles you play or the headlines they write about you."
Aman laughed bitterly. "That's easy to say, but how do I escape it? How do I walk away from something that's been my entire life for so long?"
"You don't have to walk away," Anjali said, her gaze unwavering. "But you can choose what parts of it you let control you. You can take back some of that power."
Aman stared at her, searching for the conviction she spoke of. He wanted to believe her, wanted to think he could somehow regain control of his life. But the machine he had built around himself felt too big, too complex to dismantle now.
He shifted on the couch, feeling the familiar pang of frustration rise within him. "I'm not sure if I know how."
Anjali reached out, placing a hand on his arm. "You start by being honest—with yourself, with the people who care about you."
Aman looked at her hand, then back at her face. Her expression was sincere, her eyes filled with empathy. He had spent so long hiding behind the image of who he was supposed to be that the thought of opening up, of being vulnerable, felt foreign. Dangerous, even.
But here, in this quiet moment, with Anjali sitting beside him, the idea didn't seem as terrifying.
"I don't even know where to begin," he admitted, his voice quieter now.
Anjali gave him a small smile. "You don't have to figure it all out at once. Just take it one step at a time."
Aman felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. Anjali's presence was grounding, a reminder that not everything in his life was spinning out of control. She was right—he didn't have to fix everything overnight. But he could start by acknowledging what was wrong, by facing the parts of his life that felt fractured.
He turned to face her fully, his expression more serious now. "I don't want to lose myself to all of this."
"You won't," Anjali said softly. "Not as long as you remember who you are, beyond the lights and the cameras."
Her words were simple, but they resonated deeply with him. For the first time in a long while, Aman felt the tightness in his chest ease slightly, the weight on his shoulders lifting. It wasn't a solution, but it was a start.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while longer, the city humming quietly outside. Aman glanced at his phone, noticing several missed calls from Nisha and a slew of unread messages. He could deal with them tomorrow. Tonight, he needed to be present, to focus on the one part of his life that still felt real.
"You know," he said, breaking the quiet. "You're pretty good at this whole life-coach thing."
Anjali laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Don't get used to it. I'm not charging you this time."
Aman chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through him. It was the first time in a while that he had felt any semblance of peace. Maybe Anjali was right—maybe there was still a way to navigate this world without losing himself completely.
As the night wore on, they continued to talk, the conversation drifting from deep introspection to lighter topics. For once, Aman didn't feel the need to keep his guard up. With Anjali, he could just be Aman—not the star, not the public figure, just a man trying to find his way through the chaos.