SideChat with Abrar

 This 178 minutes long film falls in the category of Action and Drama. It is directed by Koratala Siva. This movie has a star cast.  • NTR jr in a Father-Son double role as Devara and Vara  • Saif Ali Khan as Bhaira  • Murali Sharma as Muruga  • Janhvi Kapoor as Thangam  • Prakash Raj as Singappa  This movie had good Action scenes but the VFX was poor as well as Devara's entry. The story took a long time to build up but it was worth it and in places Action was too much. There is also a Mind bending twist in the End which I better not spoil. Go watch the movie to find out. A 4.7 out of 5 for me 

 In the dead of night, a Renowned Novelist named Elias Trent was found dead in his study, his skull Caved-In by the shattered Glass Globe he once called his “World.” The manuscript he’d been obsessively rewriting for weeks is gone, though the safe remains locked, untouched. The front door swings ajar, revealing a muddy footprint leading in but none leading out. Elias’s estranged sister, Marian, tells police she saw a masked figure in the window hours before the time of death. Yet security footage captures her car arriving well after midnight. On the blood-streaked desk, the detective discovers a chilling scene: Elias’s last manuscript page, stained and torn, its final line smudged: “You always were the better storyteller, weren’t you?” The detective’s unease grows as he flips through Elias’s past novels, realizing each one ends with the narrator admitting they never existed. Marian, watching him from the study door, suddenly murmurs, “He said this time, the killer wouldn’t need an ...

 She locked the door, the quiet room her only refuge from the world. The soft hum of the lamp lulled her into a fragile sense of peace. Then, faintly, the sound of breathing came from the darkest corner. 'Who's there?' she whispered, her voice trembling. A cold voice replied, 'You locked me in with you."

 She stared at her reflection in the mirror, brushing her hair in the empty room. A soft whisper echoed behind her, 'Let me try..."

 The girl sat in her room, staring at the shadowy corner where the moonlight barely reached. She heard the faintest sound of a whisper, so soft she thought it was her imagination. But then it came again, louder this time, right behind her. "Don’t turn around." Her heart froze as the voice, unmistakably her own, whispered from the darkness, "Why are you in my room?" A chill swept over her as she realized she was not alone. The mirror across the room reflected her pale, terrified face—but behind her, another girl stood, grinning, eyes hollow and wide.

 Seven years ago, as a Cold Los Angeles dawn broke over the city, Two masked figures entered the Downtown Federal Bank. Armed to the teeth, they moved with Military Precision, barking orders and corralling hostages. Unknown to them, their plan was already unraveling.   This heist, meticulously plotted in an Anonymous Darkweb chatroom named “Pro Gone”, had been intercepted by the NSA. A brilliant but reclusive hacker named Victor Kane had detected the scheme while scanning obscure forums for potential threats. Going against the protocol, he alerted the LAPD. When the SWAT team stormed the Bank within minutes, chaos erupted. One of the robbers, Miles Tatum, was shot in the leg, while his partner, Cassie Vega, managed to hold the police at bay for long enough to secure their surrender. Both were arrested, their heist crumbling before it could truly begin. Convicted and imprisoned, they spent years stewing in The Hole. Cassie, a single mother, needed the money for her daughte...

 The rain had started, light at first, then heavier, as Amelia Haynes hurried home, the bouquet of Red Roses trembling in her arms. It had been a year since her husband, Marcus, died in what the police called a tragic accident. Every Tuesday since, the roses appeared on her porch. No note, no sender. Just the flowers. Tonight, though, she’d found the bouquet on her doorstep already wilted, petals darkened as though soaked in blood. Detective Callum Reeve didn’t believe in coincidences. Marcus’s accident had been too neat, too convenient. The whispers about his gambling debts, his secret meetings in that abandoned greenhouse at the edge of town—those whispers had grown louder after Amelia came to him, pale and trembling, clutching the note she’d found tucked between the roses. "The game isn’t over yet," it read. The next day, Diana Cole—Marcus’s lover—was found dead in her apartment. Strangled, with red rose petals scattered around her body. The same note was found in her hand...

 Jason Ward was born into shadows. Grief and hatred, gifts from a society that failed him, shaped his every step. His father, a factory worker, died in an industrial accident caused by Corporate Negligence. His mother, consumed by depression, died of an overdose. By 16, Jason knew the world would offer him no salvation. The glitches in the system—bureaucratic red tape, corrupted officials, and apathetic authorities—pushed him to the margins of legality. One night, caught stealing scraps, Jason encountered Victor "Viper" Calloway, the Kingpin of Las Vegas’s criminal underworld. Impressed by Jason’s audacity, Viper took him under his wing. Jason’s rise was meteoric. He studied under Viper, learning the art of manipulation, negotiation and calculated violence. His intellect was his weapon and his hatred, his fuel. By 22, Jason was running high-stakes operations: arms deals, drug trafficking, and cyber fraud. He exploited the cracks in Vegas’s systems, turning every weakness int...

 “I love her like the stars,” he whispered to himself one night, tears tracing constellations on his cheeks, “Beautiful, infinite but never mine.” Yet, as he looked up at the sky, he realized something bittersweet—the stars didn’t belong to anyone, but they still lit up the darkness. So he loved her quietly, endlessly, knowing some things are meant to be admired, not possessed.

 The call came late that night. A neighbor's trembling voice shattered his world. "Your mother... she’s gone." He froze, his pen still in hand from filling out forms for the future she had dreamed for him. The train ride home felt endless, yet somehow too short; he dreaded arriving to a house now emptied of her presence. Her room smelled faintly of lavender, but it was an uneasy scent—one he wanted to soon vanish. He sat by her bed, still made, and whispered, “I’m sorry, Maa… I wasn’t here.” But there was no response, only the silence that had taken her place. University became a blur. His classmates laughed, celebrated, and spoke of dreams while he sat alone, a shadow among them. Nights were worse. He would lie in his bed, clutching the corner of a pillow, the way he once held her dress when he was a child. Tears streamed down as memories played cruel tricks: her laughter in the kitchen, her soft touch on his forehead when he was sick. No one understood. "You should...

 The candle of her life, now a flickering glow, A treasure lent, not mine to forever own. Her breath, a verse the heavens stole, A melody engraved upon my soul. I begged the stars, "Let her stay!" in vain, Yet they whispered, "Love is born to give pain." She was life’s gift, and I, the debtor below.

 The room had a Fragile Stillness, the scent of antiseptic masking the Sweet Perfume she used to wear. Her frail hand trembled as he held it, veins now the map of a War she could no longer fight. Her once lively eyes, now dimming, searched his face for solace. "I wish I could give you my life," he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of uselessness. She smiled faintly, her lips barely forming the words, "You've already given me more than enough love I never thought I'd find." He leaned closer, his tears falling on her hand. "Stay. Please... just stay a little longer." Her breathing faltered, and with it, his world. "You’ve been my always, my forever," she murmured, her strength slipping away like grains of sand. The monitor beeped, slower and slower. His heart raced as if it could beat for them both. "Don’t go where I can’t follow," he begged. Her final breath carried a whisper only he could hear. "Even the stars ...

 Heronymous was a 17-year-old prodigy from the underbelly of the dark web. His username was whispered in hushed chats on forums. To most, he was a myth. But Heronymous was real, and his greatest claim to fame was about to unfold. One late night, while scanning vulnerable servers, he stumbled upon an unmarked NSA backdoor. The irony of its label—Nothing Here—made him smirk. He couldn't resist. With a few keystrokes, he bypassed the first firewall, then another, then another. Hours later, he was in. At first, he thought it was nothing useful. But as he dove deeper, he realized the treasure he’d unearthed. Nothing Here wasn’t just a surveillance program—it was the program capable of monitoring emails, cameras, financial systems and even encrypted networks. Heronymous couldn’t resist testing its power. He hacked into bank systems, rerouted funds, and hacked millions in bitcoins into untraceable wallets. He lived like a king in anonymity, leaving no trace—or so he thought. But every act...

 SEVEN or often stylized as SE7EN, is a crime thriller movie released way back in September 22, 1995. This 2 hours and 7 minutes film was directed by one the Best, David Fincher and written by Andrew Kevin Walker. This movie takes place in the 80s New York when Crime and Drug Addiction was on the rise. Detective Lt. William Somerset played by Morgan Freeman was called to Investigate a Murder of man who apparently died of overeating. His Guts burst out and killed him. He was paired with David Mills played by Brad Pitt. Both of them were opposite from each other. Mills was All Talk and had anger issues. Mills was newly transferred here with his Pregnant Wife and William was Retiring in a Few days. At first William didn't want this case but sometimes you have to do things you don't want to. The second murder was of a famius Lawyer and like the story “Merchant of Venice” he was missing a Pound of Flesh and the Word “Greed” was written there with his Blood. This made William wonder ...