Let’s be honest. Bollywood has been selling us some wild ideas about love for years–the kind where the guy is a “damaged genius” with zero emotional regulation, and the girl is just there — quiet, loyal, crying in the corner while he throws a tantrum. Enter Saiyaara, a film that doesn’t scream love through violence or manipulation, it whispers it through respect, space, and personal growth. Directed by Mohit Suri and led by fresh faces Ahaan Panday and Aneet Padda, Saiyaara feels like a collective exhale after holding our breath through Animal and Kabir Singh.
Ahaan Panday–yes, from that film family–doesn’t ride in on nepotism fumes. He shows up with real emotion, vulnerability, and pain as Krish. And Aneet Padda? She’s a force. Her Vaani isn’t just a love interest. She’s a whole, layered woman with agency, a past, and clear boundaries.
Let’s back up. In Kabir Singh, the hero’s idea of romance is slapping his partner, getting high, hooking up with strangers, and still being handed a redemption arc. In Animal, Ranbir’s Ranvijay labels himself an “alpha” while emotionally torturing his wife. And guess what? These women stay. They always stay. Because apparently, that’s “true love.” But, in reality, that’s trauma bonding with a Bollywood filter.
What makes Saiyaara radical is what it doesn’t do. No over-the-top monologues about dying for love. No obsessive texting. No chasing people through airports. Just two people–Krish and Vaani–learning to choose each other after choosing themselves.
Krish walks away from a toxic home, gives up on his drunkard father, not out of rebellion but survival. He says, “Mujhe kuch banna hai, aise gareebi mein nahi jeena.” Vaani, recovering from being ghosted before her wedding, refuses to marry out of fear or pity. Even when Krish proposes to her in hospital, she gently says no. Not because she doesn’t love him, but because she doesn’t want him to give up on himself. She says, “Shadi hojayegi kabhi bhi. Nahi bhi hogi toh regret nahi hoga. Regret hoga agar tum apne sapne chhod doge.”
Let that sink in. A Bollywood heroine says no to marriage because she wants the hero to chase his dreams.
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When Vaani is later diagnosed with Alzheimer’s, she doesn’t cling to Krish. She walks away–again, not out of weakness, but clarity. She wants to remember who she is without becoming someone’s emotional project. And when they reunite? It’s not to complete each other, but because they’ve already completed themselves.
And the best part? Saiyaara never shames you for choosing yourself. It doesn’t guilt-trip the characters (or the audience) for walking away from chaos. Instead, it says: if it costs your peace, your dreams, or your identity — it’s not love. It’s just noise.
In a world where Ranvijays and Arjun Reddys are dominating our idea of love, Saiyaara challenges them. It’s soft and self-aware. It tells you love isn’t about fixing broken people–it’s about building something healthy with someone who’s also doing the work.
This film doesn’t glorify pain, it celebrates healing. It tells you that you can take time, walk away, come back, and still be whole. That the right love won’t ask you to shrink. It’ll see you fully.
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So maybe, just maybe, Saiyaara is the romantic drama we have been waiting for.
