The past two months with Rajveer had been…unexpected. To say I was impressed would be a colossal understatement. Rohan's initial raving, which I usually took with a generous pinch of salt, had turned out to be startlingly accurate. The boy – no, the man – possessed a work ethic I hadn't witnessed in years. He absorbed every piece of advice, every critique, with an almost unnerving focus. His dedication to his craft wasn't just talk; it was evident in the hours he poured into rehearsals, the meticulous notes he took, the constant questions he asked.
But it wasn't just his diligence. It was the sheer, raw talent that floored me. I've seen my share of promising newcomers, actors with potential that needed years of molding. Rajveer… he was different. It was like a dormant volcano waiting to erupt, and KNK acting institute was providing the spark.
I still remember the first time I truly saw him act. It was a rehearsal, a scene from Julius Caesar. A classic, often butchered by young aspirants trying too hard. I'd been talking to someone, half-listening, ready to offer my usual pragmatic notes on delivery and blocking.
Then he started.
The transformation was instantaneous. The confident, slightly enigmatic Rajveer I knew vanished. In his place stood a figure of immense authority, a leader betrayed, his voice resonating with a power that seemed to physically fill the room. His eyes, usually holding a quiet intensity, now blazed with anguish and righteous fury. Every gesture, every nuance of his expression, was imbued with a weight that belied his newcomer status.
The room went silent. The other students, mid-scene, mid-direction, simply stopped. Their eyes, wide and transfixed, were glued to him. Even Kishore ji, a veteran of the stage and notoriously difficult to impress, stood frozen, his usual booming instructions silenced.
My own arrogance, a shield I'd honed over years in this cutthroat industry, crumbled. I felt a sensation I hadn't experienced since my early days watching legends on stage – awe. It wasn't just good acting; it was…visceral. It was like Julius Caesar himself had stepped out of the pages of history and stood before us, breathing, bleeding betrayal.
My fingers tightened on my notepad. My breath hitched. For a fleeting, irrational moment, I felt an almost overwhelming urge to…bow. To acknowledge the sheer force of talent radiating from him. Me, Priya Verma, who'd scoffed at entitled star kids and arrogant method actors, nearly humbled by the presence of a newcomer.
I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my throat. It was more than just talent. It was a connection to something profound, something almost… otherworldly. He wasn't just reciting lines; he was embodying a soul.
When the scene ended, the silence lingered for a beat before erupting into a spontaneous applause. Even Kishore ji clapped, a rare smile gracing his lips. The other students looked dazed, as if they'd witnessed something extraordinary.
That was the moment I knew. Rajveer wasn't just another aspiring actor. He was a force. A phenomenon. My job wasn't just to manage him; it was to unleash him onto the world. And frankly, the thought both thrilled and slightly terrified me. This wasn't just a career; it felt like the beginning of something much, much bigger.
He had this… intensity about him, even when he wasn't performing. A depth in his eyes that hinted at experiences far beyond his apparent age. One day, during a casual conversation about method acting, he'd said something that had initially made me dismiss him as overly dramatic.
"I can make others feel what I am feeling at that moment, Priya," he'd stated, his voice matter-of-fact, as if describing the weather.
I'd raised a skeptical eyebrow, a practiced gesture that usually conveyed my disbelief without needing words. "Rajveer, darling, that's the goal of every actor. To evoke emotion in an audience."
He'd shaken his head slightly, a faint, almost pitying smile on his lips. "No, Priya. Not evoke. Make them feel it. As I feel it."
Supernatural nonsense. That's what had flashed through my mind. This industry was full of starry-eyed dreamers with delusions of grandeur. I'd chalked it up to youthful exuberance and a touch of theatrical flair bleeding into his real life. These kinds of… abilities… didn't exist.
Then came the boxing revelation. It was a casual mention by one of the institute's security guards, a burly fellow named Shankar, who'd seen Rajveer leaving late at night. "Goes to that old boxing club near Crawford Market, that lad does. Regular as clockwork."
I'd been floored. Boxing? With that face? The face that could launch a thousand campaigns, melt a million hearts? My blood had run cold with a terrifying image of a broken nose, a bruised eye, a permanently scarred cheekbone.
The next morning, I'd cornered him, my voice tight with barely suppressed fury. "Rajveer Singh, what in God's name do you think you're doing? Boxing? Are you insane? Your face is your fortune! One wrong punch, one careless opponent, and all this…" I'd gestured wildly, encompassing his entire being, "…could be ruined! Do you have any idea how many aspiring actors would kill for your looks?"
He'd regarded my outburst with a disconcerting calm. "Priya, I understand your concern." His voice was low, soothing, which only infuriated me further. "But I know what I'm doing."
"Know what you're doing?" I'd sputtered. "You're risking everything for some… some primal urge to punch people?"
That's when he'd offered to show me. He'd taken me to a dingy, old boxing club, the air thick with the smell of sweat and leather. The moment he stepped into the ring, a different Rajveer had emerged. Gone was the intense but controlled actor; in his place was a whirlwind of motion, a symphony of perfectly timed jabs, hooks, and uppercuts. He moved with a speed and precision that was breathtaking.
And the truly unbelievable part? No one could touch him. Sparring partners, seasoned local boxers, they all came at him with their best shots, their years of training. He'd weave, dodge, and counter with an almost preternatural ability. It wasn't just defense; it was an absolute mastery of movement and anticipation. They couldn't land a single clean hit on his face. Not even a scratch.
What shocked me even more was the reaction of the other boxers. Defeat after defeat, yet there was no resentment, no bruised egos. Instead, they watched him with respect, with admiration. After each bout, Rajveer would offer guidance, correcting their stances, demonstrating techniques, his earlier ferocity replaced with a patient, almost gentle demeanor. He was teaching them, freely sharing his… skills. He'd become a mentor, a figure of respect in that rough-and-tumble world.
I'd stood there, dumbfounded, watching him effortlessly dismantle opponents who were clearly more experienced. It was like watching a dance, a violent ballet where he was always the lead, always untouchable.
The arrogance I usually held onto so tightly had been replaced by a different kind of awe. He wasn't just a pretty face; there was a depth, a capability to him that defied easy categorization.
The supernatural feeling from his acting had returned, amplified. Maybe there was more to Rajveer Singh than met the eye. And maybe, just maybe, I was in for a far wilder ride than I could ever have imagined.