She thinks: He’s a fraud. He thinks: She’s going to ruin me.
Karan runs away, slipping on a banana peel left by Mithun the monkey. Cut to: Six months later. Reyansh is holding a platinum disc. Tara is playing violin on his new album. They are standing on a train roof in the middle of a mustard field in Punjab (because every Bollywood story ends on a train roof). xxx bollywood
He writes back: "20 to 20,000 Hz. Just kidding. I feel music in my bones." She thinks: He’s a fraud
"Feel the frequency, Reyansh. It's 432 Hz. The frequency of love." xxx bollywood
The crowd gasps. The producer panics.
"True love doesn't need ears. It needs rhythm."