January 1997. Dharma Productions (Old Office).
The office was small, cluttered with trophies and posters of Agneepath and Gumrah. Yash Johar, a man of immense warmth and goodwill, sat behind the desk, looking worried. His son, Karan, sat on the edge of the sofa, clutching a bound script like a shield.
Aarav sat opposite them. He wore a simple gap t-shirt and jeans.
"It's a risk, Aarav," Yash Johar said, his voice heavy. "Karan wants to make a film that is... very English. Archies comics. Riverdale. In India? Will the audience in Bihar understand 'Friendship bands'?"
Aarav looked at Karan. The boy was trembling. This was his debut.
"They will understand it, Yash uncle," Aarav said, leaning back. "Because friendship is universal. And aspiration... everyone wants to look like they go to a college like St. Xavier's, even if they study in a village government school."
He turned to Karan.
"I read the script, Karan. It has heart. But I have one question."
"Yes?" Karan squeaked.
"Shah Rukh," Aarav said the name quietly. "He is your friend. Why isn't he playing Rahul?"
Karan looked down at his shoes. "He... he said he's doing Dil To Pagal Hai with Yash ji. He feels playing a father to an eight-year-old girl might age him. He wants to be the romantic hero, not the romantic dad."
Aarav suppressed a smile. It was the classic vanity trap. In the original timeline, SRK overcame this fear. In this timeline, the existence of Aarav—a younger, fresher "King of Romance"—made SRK insecure. SRK needed to look young to compete. Playing a dad felt like a concession.
"His loss," Aarav said.
He picked up the script.
"I'll do it. I'll play the college stud. And I'll play the father."
Karan's head snapped up. "Really? You? The biggest star in the country?"
"On one condition," Aarav said, tapping the script. "The look. I decide the look. No more hairy chests and gold chains. We change the fashion of India."
March 1997. Manish Malhotra's Studio.
"Tight," Aarav said, looking at the polo t-shirt. "It needs to be tighter. And brighter."
Manish Malhotra, the young designer who was about to revolutionize Bollywood fashion, nodded enthusiastically. "neon colors? Orange? Green?"
"Yes," Aarav pointed to a silver chain with the word 'COOL' hanging from it. "And that. I want that chain."
"That's tacky," Manish laughed.
"It's iconic," Aarav corrected. "Every boy in every street corner will be wearing a fake version of this by next Diwali. Trust me."
He tried on the outfit: The oversized GAP hoodie, the fitted jeans, the sneakers.
He looked in the mirror. He didn't look like the traditional Hindi film hero. He looked like an MTV VJ. He looked like the millennium that was approaching.
[System Update][Style Skill Unlocked: Trendsetter][Effect: Your on-screen outfits gain a +50% chance of becoming real-world fashion trends.]
April 1997. Casting Woes.
The role of Tina. The hot girl from London.
Karan was tearing his hair out. Twinkle Khanna (for whom the role was written) had rejected it. Tabu rejected it. Shilpa Shetty rejected it. They all said the same thing: "The second half belongs to Kajol. Why should I play the dead wife?"
Aarav sat in the casting meeting, eating a sandwich.
"There is a girl," Aarav said, wiping his mouth. "Mukerji family. Rani."
Karan frowned. "Rani Mukerji? Raja Ki Aayegi Baraat? Her voice is so... husky. It's broken."
"Her voice is texture," Aarav said. "And her eyes... she has the 'Tina' eyes. Sophisticated but vulnerable. Call her."
Karan hesitated, then nodded. "If Raj says so."
Rani was called. She auditioned. When she walked out in the miniskirt, looking at Aarav with those light, honey-colored eyes, Karan gasped.
The cast was set. Rahul: Aarav Pathak. Anjali: Kajol. Tina: Rani Mukerji. Aman: Salman Khan (Guest Appearance - Aarav ensured he kept this. Salman was needed for the star power balance, and Aarav wanted to be the one who 'wins' the girl from Salman).
August 12, 1997. The Day the Music Died.
The shoot was going well. They were filming the Koi Mil Gaya song in Mumbai.
Then, the news broke.
Gulshan Kumar, the cassette king, the owner of T-Series, had been shot dead outside a temple in Andheri. Sixteen bullets.
The industry didn't just stop; it froze.
The Underworld had sent its message. Pay up or die.
Shooting locations were abandoned. Stars flew to London or Dubai overnight. Producers went into hiding. The stock market, already shaky from the Asian Financial Crisis, took a nosedive.
Aarav sat in his vanity van. The silence outside was heavy.
His phone rang. It was his broker.
"Sir, the market is blood. Sensex is down 400 points. Everyone is selling. Panic selling. Should we liquidate?"
Aarav looked at the System panel.
[Historical Event: The 1997 Market Crash][Analysis: Temporary dip. The IT boom is 18 months away.][Opportunity: High.]
"No," Aarav said, his voice cold and steady. "Buy."
"Buy? Sir, people are jumping off buildings!"
"Buy Infosys. Buy Wipro. Buy HDFC. Use the ₹5 Crores liquid cash I have. All of it."
"Sir, this is suicide!"
"It's a sale, Gupta ji. The whole country is on sale. Buy it."
He hung up.
He walked out of the van. The set of Kuch Kuch Hota Hai was deserted. Even the light boys were huddled in corners, whispering about shooters.
Karan Johar was crying in the corner. Yash Johar looked aged by ten years.
"They will call us next," Yash ji whispered. "They know we have money."
Aarav sat down next to them.
"We don't run," Aarav said. "If we run, they win. We finish the film. We shoot indoors if we have to. We hire private security. But we don't stop."
"Easy for you to say," Karan sniffled. "You're a star. They won't touch you."
"They won't touch me," Aarav agreed. "And as long as I'm standing next to you, they won't touch you either."
He hired Greyhounds, a private security firm run by ex-commandos. He paid for it out of his own pocket. He stationed them around the Dharma office and the set.
It was a power move. In an industry of cowards, Aarav Pathak stood tall. The Underworld noticed. They respected strength, or at least, they calculated the cost of conflict. Attacking a set protected by commandos was bad business.
October 1997. Filming "The Silent Scene".
The gazebo scene in the rain. Where Rahul and Anjali meet after 8 years. No dialogues. Just music.
Aarav stood in the black suit. Kajol in the red saree.
The chemistry was telepathic now.
When they danced, Aarav didn't just hold her; he held the nostalgia of a generation.
Karan watched from the monitor, mesmerized. "He acts with his back," Karan whispered to his assistant. "Look at his shoulders. You can see the regret."
Aarav was pushing his Acting Skill to Level 72. He was mastering the art of "Commercial Nuance"—acting well within the boundaries of a masala movie.
October 30, 1997. The Rival Strikes.
Shah Rukh Khan released Dil To Pagal Hai (DTPH).
It was a hit. A massive musical hit. SRK, Madhuri, Karisma.
The film redefined romance as "Cool" and "Modern."
Aarav watched it in a private screening. He saw SRK dancing to Le Gayi. He saw the energy.
"He's good," Aarav admitted to himself. "He's very good."
But DTPH was about a dance troupe. It was urban. Niche.
Kuch Kuch Hota Hai was about Family.
"Let him have the cities," Aarav thought. "I'm coming for the heart."
May 1998. Post-Production.
The film was done. The first cut was ready.
Aarav watched it.
The first half was hilarious. The "Cool" chain, the basketball match, the banter. The second half was a tear-jerker.
But something was missing. The Summer Camp scene. It felt dry.
"We need a moment," Aarav told Karan. "Between me and the little girl. A moment where Rahul isn't a cool dad, but a lonely man."
"We don't have budget for reshoots," Yash Johar said.
"I'll pay for it," Aarav said.
They shot a small scene. Rahul sitting by the lake, looking at his daughter, and simply whispering, "I miss her too, Anjali."
It was a 10-second shot. But it grounded the entire second half.
August 1998. The Release of Kuch Kuch Hota Hai.
The posters were neon orange and yellow. Aarav looked young, vibrant, and incredibly handsome.
The hype was insane.
The premiere was held at Liberty Cinema.
When the scene came—Rahul snapping his fingers, "Cheater, Cheater"—the college kids went wild. When the interval point hit—Anjali leaving on the train—the girls were sobbing. When Aarav cried at the wedding—the silent tear—the hall was dead silent.
Box Office Report:Verdict:ALL TIME BLOCKBUSTER.Gross: ₹80 Crores Worldwide. (First Bollywood film to crack the UK Top 10). Impact: It surpassed Raja Hindustani. It challenged Hum Aapke Hain Koun.
Aarav Pathak had done the unthinkable. Three years. Three All-Time Blockbusters. DDLJ (1995), Raja Hindustani (1996), Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (1998).
He wasn't just the King. He was the Emperor.
The "Cool" chain sold millions of units. Colleges banned neon t-shirts because too many students were wearing them.
September 1998. The Meeting at Villa Vienna.
Aarav had moved into his bungalow. It was being renovated, but the terrace was ready.
He stood there, looking at the sea.
His portfolio (the investments made during the crash) had doubled in value as the market corrected. He was now worth nearly ₹25 Crores.
A car pulled up. A red Mercedes.
Preity Zinta stepped out.
She wasn't a star yet. She was the "Liril Girl". She had just debuted in Dil Se (which flopped commercially but she was noticed) and Soldier.
She was here for a meeting regarding a new film, Sangharsh.
Aarav turned. He saw her. The dimples. The bubbliness that was her trademark.
[System Alert][Target Identified: Preity Zinta][Compatibility: High][Love Story Arc: Ready to Initiate]
She walked up the stairs to the terrace. She looked nervous. Meeting the Emperor was intimidating.
"Hi," she said, extending a hand. "I'm Preity."
Aarav took her hand. It was warm.
"I know," Aarav smiled. "You're the girl who took a shower under a waterfall in the soap ad."
She laughed. It was a genuine, ringing laugh. "And you're the guy who made my mother cry three years in a row."
"I aim to please," Aarav said.
He felt a spark. Not the System's manufactured chemistry. A real one. She was fresh, uncorrupted by the industry politics.
"So," she said, "Why did you call me? You don't do movies like Sangharsh. It's dark. It's about a serial killer."
"Because," Aarav said, leaning against the railing. "I'm bored of being the good boy, Preity. I want to catch a killer. And I need a cop who doesn't look like a cop."
"Is that a compliment?"
"It's the truth."
He looked at her.
"Welcome to the big leagues, Preity."
[End of Chapter 10]