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Something flashed in Harsh’s eyes, gone before Raashi could label it.
“It would be great to have you all there,” he said with a forced smile. “But I understand if you’re too busy to come, if you have something else to do.”
Veda frowned. “What are you talking about? What could be more important than your premiere?”
Oh, this was just painful to watch. Clearly Satan didn’t want his family at his premiere.
“Some people have different priorities, Akka,” Raashi drawled, intervening. “Like how they go out partying with friends instead of spending time with family.”
Harsh’s face tightened, his eyes flashing towards her, promising grim retribution. Raashi smiled sweetly at him.
Bring it on, Kodela. Whatever he had to dish out, she’d serve back with interest.
Three
HARSH
Exhaustion sat within him, a coiled serpent slumbering in the pit of his stomach. Harsh Kodela sat with it, his gaze on the brightly lit building in the distance, his mind far, far away. A loud burst of laughter broke the stillness of the night. Music spilled out of the open windows, the large glass terrace doors, and every other possible opening.
Bright. Loud. Fun.
Everything Harsh Kodela was. Or rather, everything Harsh Kodela was meant to be.
His phone rang, a jarring sound in the quiet confines of his darkened car. He silenced it without glancing at the display. Harsh took a deep breath, his gaze on the people milling around on the sidewalk.
Thousands of people. All here to see him, to watch him burn up the movie screens as he romanced yet another heroine in yet another romantic comedy. Crores of rupees had been invested in him, in his face, in his body, in, hopefully, also his talent. Crores. And the onus of multiplying those crores rested on his shoulders.
He closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, steeling himself. And then he signaled to his bodyguard to open the door.
It was showtime.
Lights and screams exploded in the air around him as he stepped out of the car. Camera flashes blinded him as the paparazzi screamed questions at him. He smiled at them, beaming, what he’d been told was, a smile worth a billion bucks in their direction.
Waving to the crowd, he walked on the red carpet that led to the entrance of the private theatre that screened premieres for the biggest stars. He stopped at strategic moments to pose for the million cameras pointed at him.
From behind the roped off walkways, fans screamed, lunging for him, desperate to touch, to hold, to get a single microsecond of his attention. The guards held them off ensuring no one got to him unless he wanted them to. He signed the odd autograph, kissed a small baby’s cheek, and allowed an old lady with dodgy dentures to grab his butt.
And then they were inside, the heavy doors thudding shut behind them.
The screaming from the public faded but the screaming of his inner voice only got louder.
“Harsh!”
He smiled, one hand going to his chest, over his heart, in greeting as his producer walked up to him. The older man was all smiles, expansive and effusive. He had a winner on his hands with this movie and they both knew it.
“Namaste Gaurigaru,” Harsh murmured as the producer drew closer.
Another wave of screaming from the other side of the door heralded the entry of more stars and drowned out any conversation they could have had. Tonight promised to be the party of the year.
And then, there was the afterparty…Beads of sweat broke out along his hairline as he contemplated it. All he wanted was to go home and lie down in the quiet of his room. But that wasn’t an option.
Harsh blanked his mind out to everything as he smiled, laughed, and schmoozed with the who’s who of the Telugu film industry or Tollywood as it was known. He glanced around the room but didn’t see his family. A pang of disappointment pinched his heart before he shrugged it off.
His family was stuffed to the gills with important people. Very important people. They had better things to do than attend every movie premiere of his. He knew that and still, he waited to see if they’d come.
Sometimes they did. Sometimes they couldn’t. He understood. He was good at that. Understanding.
“Harsh, I have a script that’s going to make your career.” A noted film director slapped him on the back making the drink in his hand slosh over the rims of the glass he was holding.
