Back in Bangalore, the house felt different.
It wasn't empty.
Not yet.
Bani's parents were busy coordinating everything for the handover.
Utilities, furnishings, and personal belongings needed careful sorting.
Some items were still brand new, never used.
The younger aunt picked a few for herself.
The elder aunt took responsibility for others.
Some kitchenware and bedding materials were reserved for donation — old age homes that needed care and comfort.
Bani's father oversaw the process calmly.
"The keys," he said, "will be handed over by your elder aunt. We'll settle the deposit through the bank. I'll cover extra charges for cleaning and painting. The owner is fine with it."
Bani nodded.
Everything had to be smooth.
No last-minute hiccups.
The apartment was ready.
Everything was in place.
Three days. That was all the time they had before leaving for Dubai.
And then, there was something else.
Her brother suggested it casually, but it carried weight.
"Why don't we see your film together? Hindi version has released we can go to Gopalan Cinemas or PVR.
Eyes lit up around the room.
Her younger brother grinned. "I'll finally see the film with you, Bani."
Even the aunts nodded, small murmurs of excitement in their voices.
It wasn't a party.
Not loud.
Not public.
It was a farewell.
were leaving behind.
A way to honor the life they had built here, before stepping into a new chapter.
Bani quietly made a mental note.
Tickets would be booked for all family members.
Snacks and refreshments coordinated at the theater.
Seats arranged together, so no one would be separated.
Cameras and phones politely restricted — this was a private moment.
Her father chuckled, seeing her attention to detail.
"You're planning the farewell like a director."
"I just want it smooth," Bani replied. "No chaos. Just… us."
The family agreed.
Three days.
One final viewing.
A small farewell ritual in cinema seats instead of walls.
And then, the sky would change.
New city. New country. New opportunities waiting.
For now, they laughed together over small choices: which popcorn flavors to get, who would sit where, which movie snacks would come in first.
The cab hummed softly along the quiet streets of Bengaluru, carrying two separate groups of family members to Gopalan Cinemas. Bani sat in the front seat of one cab, mask carefully covering her face, fingers tapping lightly on her purse. Tonight was her treat, and she wanted everything to be perfect. Two cabs ensured the family didn't have to squeeze, and more importantly, maintained the subtle distance she now had to uphold for her public image.
By the time they reached the cinema, the lobby gleamed with polished floors and soft golden lights reflecting off the glass walls. The staff led them to their Primus seats, plush and elevated, offering perfect sightlines to the screen. Premium tickets, snacks served during the interval, the works—Bani had made no compromises.
As they settled into their seats, Bani noticed the change immediately. The younger aunt's eyebrows shot up in surprise, while the elder aunt quickly adjusted her expression to something neutral. The younger aunt, less adept at masking her reaction, tugged her husband closer.
"See the arrangements… seats like this? This will be their life from now on," she whispered sharply.
The younger uncle's smile faltered for just a second. Then, with a small shrug, he said quietly, "Our life was always different… but it's Bani's treat. So, of course, it'll be like this. Let's not make a scene."
Bani exhaled softly, relieved, and shifted her mask slightly to sip from her water bottle, keeping her composure intact.
The movie played, the plot unfolding with laughs, tears, and the inevitable romantic tension. Bani tried to focus on the story, but her pulse quickened during the climax—the scene everyone had been anticipating. On the massive screen, the lead actor drew close to Bani's character, and the camera lingered on a kiss.
The younger aunt's hands clenched, nails pressing into her palms. She opened her mouth to protest, perhaps even create a scene in the theater. But the elder aunt, with a firm grip on her arm, whispered, "Enough. Don't ruin this." Her husband nodded beside her, eyes calm but warning.
Bani felt the tension, but she didn't flinch. She had prepared for this.
Later, the ride home was quieter, a reflective hum filling the cab. Once they arrived, the elder uncle asked with a raised eyebrow, "Will there be more scenes like this?"
Bani smiled lightly, shrugging. "I'm just eighteen. Some scenes are shot carefully for the camera angle. But yes, if the script demands, we have to comply. That's the craft. But here's the thing—Hollywood works differently. If an actor is uncomfortable, they'll arrange body doubles or adjust the angle. Intimate scenes like kissing… only when the script truly demands it. No one forces you."
The room grew thoughtful, the elder uncle leaning back in his chair. Bani's voice remained steady, even as she spoke of a world so different from Bollywood's pressures. It wasn't arrogance—just experience and awareness beyond her years.
She finished with a faint smile, letting her family digest the explanation. Her mask wasn't the only thing shielding her—it was the careful poise she maintained, a boundary between who she was at home and who the world expected her to be.
Bani had learned one thing tonight: generosity could come with scrutiny, but confidence and clarity always spoke louder than whispers.
The moment they stepped into the house, the air shifted. The younger aunt's face, still flushed from the cinema, twisted with barely-contained frustration. She didn't wait for formalities.
"Ba… Hhh," she began, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief. She turned sharply toward Bani, eyes blazing. "This… this is how you earn money in the name of films? Doing all… all these things on screen, and see your parents—not even confronting you!"
Bani's mask of composure faltered for a fraction of a second, but she straightened immediately. She had rehearsed this encounter in her head, but the sharpness of the younger aunt's words still cut deeper than expected.
"You've become like this in just eighteen years," the aunt continued, her tone heavy with accusation. "I don't even want to think what you'll do in the coming years!"
Her husband shifted uneasily, glancing between the two women. He opened his mouth as if to intervene, but the younger aunt's glare stopped him mid-word. Bani, in turn, stayed silent, letting the words hang in the air like smoke.
The elder aunt, seated on the sofa with a calmness that contrasted sharply with the younger aunt's fury, finally spoke. "Enough. You will not speak to her like that in her own home." Her voice was firm, carrying the weight of years and authority. "Bani is responsible for herself. You may not understand it, but she is navigating her career carefully. She does not need lectures from anyone here."
The younger aunt shook her head violently, pointing a finger at Bani. "Carefully? Don't talk to me about careful! You're still a child! What you did today… on that screen… shameless! And your parents…" Her voice cracked with a mixture of anger and despair.
Bani met her gaze, calm and unwavering.