Sidharth leaned back in his seat, the low hum of the plane vibrating gently under him. Outside, clouds rolled by in soft heaps, painted gold by the descending sun. He rested his head against the window, eyes half-closed, mind already a thousand miles ahead.
America again. Carolina. Jimmy, Chris, Chandler, Karl.
His second home.
The decision had been impulsive only on the surface. After Jaipur, his phone had flooded with more brand calls, fashion editors wanting to schedule interviews, even early murmurs from an OTT studio. But the moment Jimmy's text popped up —
— something deeper stirred in him. Not the hunger for fame. But that old thrill of crafting human stories, even if hidden under layers of cash prizes and goofy dares. With Jimmy's team, it was like theatre on steroids. Watching ordinary people pushed to hilarious, sometimes deeply raw places.
At the airport, he spotted them instantly — Jimmy waving a huge cardboard sign scrawled with:
"WELCOME SID THE INTENSE INDIAN (WHO'S PROBABLY TOO HANDSOME FOR THIS STATE)"
Chris was next to him grinning ear to ear, Chandler holding a bag of Cheetos that he nearly spilled all over the floor. Karl practically bounced in place.
"Broooo! There he is!" Jimmy laughed, pulling Sidharth into a half-tackle hug that nearly crushed his ribs.
"You grow taller every time I see you," Sidharth muttered, though his smile gave him away.
"And you get sharper cheekbones. Not fair!" Karl piped up, poking Sidharth's jaw.
They loaded his bags into Jimmy's SUV, music blasting, Chris taking selfie videos for Instagram. By the time they pulled into the familiar suburban driveway — still a cluttered empire of cameras, lights, snack wrappers, half-finished props — it felt like he'd never left.
Next morning, Sidharth sat cross-legged on the garage floor. A massive whiteboard stood before them, already littered with Jimmy's manic scrawl.
Jimmy slapped the board.
"Alright Shakespeare, what dark mind games do you have for us today?"
Sidharth tapped the marker against his knee.
"What if… the final ten contestants are each given a locked box. Only one has the big prize. But before they open, they can choose to either take a smaller cash buyout and leave safe — or risk opening it. One empty box means out with nothing. It becomes a test of greed vs security."
Chris's eyes widened.
"Bro that's cruel. I love it."
"And if they all chicken out for the buyout?" Chandler asked, mouth full of Doritos.
"Then the jackpot rolls over to the next game," Sidharth said coolly. "Builds anticipation."
Jimmy pointed dramatically.
"This is why we keep you around. You're like, calm, scary, and elegant all at once."
They spent the next week building. Giant plywood structures. Bright painted arrows. Hundreds of feet of neon tape. The maze alone took four days, snaking through an empty warehouse, complete with false exits and rooms filled with harmless but startling surprises — confetti cannons, wailing clown dolls, sudden blasts of cold air.
When filming day arrived, Sidharth wore what he always did for work: a crisp charcoal shirt, sleeves rolled, dark fitted pants, sleek watch. The rest of the crew was in hoodies and sneakers, but somehow Sidharth's quiet formality made even standing by a foam pit look cinematic.
The contestants screamed, laughed, argued over paths. Cameras swiveled from every angle. Sidharth often stood in a control corner with headphones, watching feeds like a stage director, murmuring suggestions to Jimmy through the mic.
Jimmy grinned through the comms.
"You're a devil, Sid. Remind me never to be on your game shows."
After they wrapped at 2AM, the warehouse littered with glitter, broken streamers, and exhausted crew, they piled into the kitchen at Jimmy's main house. Boxes of pizza, half-melted ice cream, energy drinks everywhere.
Sidharth finally swapped into joggers, white shoes, and a soft black T-shirt — his off-duty uniform. He perched on the counter, one long leg dangling, watching the guys argue over who cheated worse in an impromptu card game.
Chandler nudged him.
"Dude, you sure you don't wanna just stay? India's cool but we've got more soda and more stupidity here."
Sidharth smirked.
"You'd miss my intense brooding stares too much if I stayed permanently."
Jimmy popped open another Coke.
"Nah. We'd chain you to the maze and make you our personal Bond villain."
Later, Jimmy and Sidharth sat outside on folding chairs, looking up at the Carolina stars. Everyone else was inside yelling over Mario Kart.
"You ever miss it?" Jimmy asked suddenly, voice softer than usual.
"India?"
"No. I mean the big spotlight. The red carpets, flashing bulbs, screaming crowds. You're built for that more than any of us. We just mess around on YouTube. You — you have that old-school movie star aura."
Sidharth was quiet for a moment, then leaned back, folding his hands behind his head.
"I did it already. In another life. It took everything. This time, I want to choose my moments. The stage, not the circus."
Jimmy was silent, then nudged his shoulder.
"Deep, bro. You're like the philosopher version of Batman."
Sidharth laughed low. "More like Alfred with better hair."
As dawn broke, Sidharth's phone buzzed. His mother's warm voice filled the line, asking if he was eating well, if the boys were treating him right. Nischay and Abhishek popped in later on video, yelling over each other about how "their sophisticated brother was off building Saw-style games in America."
"You guys would lose in the first round," Sidharth teased.
"True," Abhishek admitted. "We'd stop for snacks."
That afternoon, as he watched Karl struggle to climb out of a giant foam pit, Sidharth felt something settle in his chest. A strange, fulfilling peace. Here he was — thousands of miles from his rebirth home, building mad labyrinths, orchestrating tension and human drama, but also sharing greasy fries and sarcastic one-liners with people who'd become family.
It was a life chosen, not forced. A stage of his making.
And somewhere down the road, there would be scripts again. Lines to memorize, cameras to face as an actor — but on projects he truly wanted. For now, this was the perfect rehearsal. Life was still theatre. Just with a bit more slime and confetti.