Aarav Malhotra was seven years old very sure that the studio was too big. It was first time he entered in studio
The ceiling was so high he couldn't see where it ended. Big white lights hung from metal frames and made his eyes hurt if he stared at them for too long. The floor was covered in black cables that looked like sleeping snakes. People walked quickly, talking into headsets, carrying strange equipment, stepping over things like they did this every day.
His mother held his hand and fixed his hair for the third time in five minutes.
"Stop moving," she said softly, trying to smile. "They'll call you in a minute."
"I'm not moving," Aarav said, even though his foot was tapping on its own.
He wasn't scared. At least, he didn't think he was. His chest just felt… tight. Like he was waiting for something he didn't understand yet.
The woman who was going to play his mother in the advertisement knelt in front of him. She smelled like perfume and tea. "Hi, Aarav. I'm Nisha. You just have to run to me and hug me, okay? Easy."
He nodded.
The director came over and crouched so they were the same height. "Don't think too much, beta. Just feel it. Like she's really your mom."
Aarav didn't know how you were supposed to feel something on purpose. But he nodded anyway.
"Quiet on set."
The room changed. Not louder. Not quieter. Just… focused.
"Action."
Aarav took one step forward.
And suddenly, it felt like he had always been here.
Not the studio. Somewhere else. A small house. A narrow hallway. A kitchen that smelled warm and safe. He knew this place. He knew the way this woman walked when she was tired. He knew the sound she made when she put cups down on the table.
He didn't understand how he knew.
He just did.
He ran.
He hugged her.
He said the line.
It felt natural. Like something he had done a hundred times before.
"Cut! That was perfect!"
People clapped. Someone laughed. His mother wiped her eyes.
Aarav smiled because everyone else was smiling.
But later, when his real mother hugged him, he felt a small, confusing sadness. Just for a moment. Like he had left a room and forgotten something inside.
That night, lying in bed, he thought about a kitchen he had never seen and fell asleep wondering why it felt so real.