"Fifteen minutes," Vikram repeated, already moving away from the main set. "I need to do something."
He walked directly to the craft services area with purpose, scanning the available supplies. The spot boy stood nearby, organizing breakfast items.
"Sir? Do you need something?"
"Fresh ginger. Cardamom pods. Loose tea leaves. Whole milk." Vikram started opening cabinets.
The spot boy’s confusion deepened. "Sir, I can get you tea."
"I'm making it myself. You can manage the breakfast. Sandwiches. Veg." He found the ginger, examined it, nodded approval. "Where's the cardamom?"
Word spread across the set like wildfire. Crew members found excuses to drift closer. The lighting team suddenly needed to check equipment stored nearby. Even the makeup artists abandoned their station to observe.
Vikram Khanna doesn't cook. Vikram Khanna is making chai. Himself.
Farhan materialized at his elbow, arms crossed. "What are you doing?"
"Making chai." Vikram measured water into a pot with careful precision.
"I can see that. Why?"
"Because I want to."
Across the set, Divya sat at her workspace, phone pressed to her ear, completely absorbed in conversation with a producer about Vikram's upcoming schedule. Her back was to the craft services area. She hadn't noticed the commotion, the gathering crowd, the way the entire crew had stopped working to watch Bollywood's highest-paid actor handle a tea strainer.
Vikram crushed ginger with the flat of a knife. Smoother this time. Two cardamom pods. The water reached its boil. He added tea leaves with Raju's voice echoing in his head:Three seconds. Not two. Not four.
The timing had to be precise.
He counted internally as the second boil approached. Pulled the pot from heat. One. Two. Three. Poured through the strainer.
The chai emerged the right color. The scent, ginger and cardamom balanced just so, made several nearby crew members inhale appreciatively.
He poured it into a clean cup, checking the color against the morning light streaming through the studio windows. Just right. The way Raju's had been.
Then he turned toward Divya's workspace.
The effect was immediate. The set didn't just quiet. It froze.
Conversations stopped mid-sentence. A lighting technician's hand paused over a switch. Even Farhan went still, watching with the intensity of a director witnessing something unscripted but flawless.
Forty people. Not breathing. Just watching.
Vikram crossed the set with measured steps, the cup held carefully.
Divya's voice floated across the distance, professional and efficient: "Yes, the fifteenth works. I'll confirm with him and send over the contract details by…"
He stopped directly in front of her workspace.
"Mrs. Khanna."
Two words. Delivered with quiet certainty.
Divya's pen froze mid-note. Her shoulders tensed. The voice on the phone continued talking, but she'd stopped listening. Slowly, she turned her head.
Her eyes found the cup first. Then they tracked up to Vikram's face. His expression serious, unreadable, offering the cup like it meant something beyond simple refreshment.
Then, finally, her awareness expanded. The frozen crew. The absolute silence. Forty pairs of eyes watching this moment unfold.