Tushar Srivastav
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Chapter 7: The Pitch Begins
🕑 Added 2025-06-28 20:30:00 +0000 UTCThe book sat on the kitchen table like a lit fuse.
Ayaan waited as Rishi shuffled in, half-asleep, his hair a storm of black curls and his UCLA sweatshirt sagging off one shoulder. He was clutching a chipped ceramic mug that said "World's Okayest Dad," a joke gift from his friend last Christmas. Ayaan had started making tea for him every morning nowโa quiet ritual, one that stitched their early hours together before the rest of the day unravelled them.
"What's this?" Rishi asked, setting the mug down and nodding at the red-and-gold hardcover.
"It's a book I found. British," Ayaan replied casually. Too casual. He pushed a piece of toast across the table. "Have you ever heard of Harry Potter?"
Rishi glanced at it. "Some sort of wizard thing?"
"Yeah. Kinda. It's about this kid who doesn't know he's special. But he is. His parents died when he was a baby. He lives under the stairs. Then, one day, this giant shows up and tells him he's magic. And... things change."
Rishi took a slow sip of tea. "Sounds familiar."
Ayaan tilted his head. "You mean, like a movie you've seen?"
"No," Rishi said. "Like you."
That threw Ayaan off his rhythm. He blinked. I smiled but didn't reply.
Later that night, he added a new bullet point to his notebook:
He sees me in the story. This is good.
Setting the Bait
Over the next few evenings, Ayaan began reading chapters aloud. Not all at once. Just a few pages here and there. He was careful to time it for when Rishi was finishing work or nursing a drink on the couch.
He didn't ask for permission. He just began.
"Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal..."
Rishi didn't always look up, but he didn't stop him either. Sometimes, he even asked, "What happened next?"
On the third night, Rishi let the boy read until nearly 9 p.m.
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"Hey, Dad," Ayaan asked one afternoon while sorting out his crayons for a school project, "didn't you say you knew someone who works in movies?"
"Who, Mark?"
"Yeah. What does he do?"
"Back in college, he wanted to direct. But I think he went into production. Last I heard, he was at Warner."
"Like Warner Bros.?"
"Yeah. Big job, I think. Haven't talked in a decade."
"Would he... I mean, could he make a movie out of a book? Like, if someone brought him an excellent story?"
Rishi chuckled. "You thinking of pitching something?"
"Maybe," Ayaan said, pretending to focus on glueing a cut-out star to his poster board. "Just curious."
Rishi's Thoughts
That night, after Ayaan had gone to bed, Rishi lingered in the living room longer than usual. The book was lying on the coffee table. He flipped it open to where Ayaan had dog-eared the corner.
He read a little. Not much. Just enough to understand why it had his son hooked.
He leaned back, eyes half-closed. In the quiet, he remembered Ayaan's early obsession with music, how he sang to his mother when he was two, how Clara cried when she first heard him hum a tune in pitch. And nowโa sudden passion for storytelling.
Rishi wasn't sure if it was Clara's absence or something more profound that had awakened all this in Ayaan.
But he was paying attention now.
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It was a Saturday morning. Ayaan had waited all week for the right moment. He decided to strike after their usual tea and cassette ritual.
They were sitting on the floor. Sunlight slanted through the blinds. The tape had finished rewinding.
"You know," Ayaan said, almost to himself, "this book would make an incredible movie. Like, bigger than Hook."
Rishi looked over, amused. "That good, huh?"
"No one's made it yet," Ayaan said quickly. "And if someone buys the rights now... before it becomes a bestseller..."
Rishi squinted. "You know a lot about this kind of thing."
"I read stuff," Ayaan said, then smiled, letting it drop.
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The following week, Rishi dug out an old leather address book from the hall closet.
"You keep contacts in there?" Ayaan asked.
"I used to. Before everything went digital."
Rishi thumbed through until he landed on a familiar name. He tapped the page.
"Still got his number."
He didn't say he would call. But he didn't put the book back either.
That night, Ayaan lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, heart pounding. The next step was close.
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At school, while other kids talked about Tamagotchis and Power Rangers, Ayaan scribbled storyboards in the margins of his notebook.
His drawing wasn't great, but his ideas were clear:
A train steaming through the mist.
A massive, bearded man silhouetted against the moon.
A boy in round glasses lifts a wand for the first time.
But he didn't stop there. After school, Ayaan went to the library and checked out books on screenwriting and film adaptations. He borrowed Zoey's coloured pencils to refine his sketches and used an old cereal box to make a mock film poster: Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived. He even crafted a fake production note page, listing actors he imagined playing the roles, though none of them had been discovered yet.
He practised aloud how he'd explain the plot to an adult. Simple, clear sentences. Words that sounded like wonder.
He also wrote a short letter for his father to share with Mark:
"Dear Mr. Silver,
I'm Ayaan. I'm seven. I read a book called Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, and I think it would make a great movie. It has magic, friendship, scary parts, and brave parts. I hope you like it. My dad helped me write this."
He left it unsigned at firstโhe wanted to practice his signature.
Rishi found the letter in a stack of storyboards and paused. He read it twice. Then he quietly folded it, placed it in his briefcase, and walked away.
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It came three days later.
Rishi had been quiet during dinner. Ayaan had tried not to hope.
Then, as they were washing dishes, Rishi said, "So... I called Mark."
Ayaan almost dropped a plate.
"He remembered me," Rishi said, his voice unreadable. "He's actually in development now. And he told me to send him whatever I had."
Ayaan stared. "Like... he'd read it?"
"If it's good," Rishi said. "He'll consider passing it along."
Ayaan exhaled slowly. The room spun a little. This was real.
"So," Rishi added, raising an eyebrow, "you still want to pitch this wizard kid?"
Ayaan grinned. "Oh, yeah."
