Saiyaara (2025) Movie ft. Aneet, Alam, and Ahaan

Saiyaara (2025) is a Hindi musical romance that treats first love not like a fairy tale, but like a storm that lights up your life and slowly pulls it apart. Mohit Suri directs newcomers Aneet (as Vaani) and Ahaan (as Krish), with Alam in a key supporting part that quietly shapes where their story ends up.

Set between cramped Mumbai flats, indie gig venues and late‑night studios, the film tracks two young people who discover that making music together is easier than surviving life together. It’s polished, emotional and very YRF, but there’s more ache here than glitter.

Story, emotions and backdrop

Vaani is an aspiring writer who carries a notebook everywhere and has a habit of turning every feeling into a line of verse. Krish is a part‑time delivery boy and part‑time singer who uploads covers from his terrace and dreams of one big break. They meet at a low‑key open‑mic, where her words and his tune accidentally collide into a song that the small audience won’t stop humming.

From there, Saiyaara becomes the story of that accidental partnership growing into a relationship. Early scenes are light , train rides, cheap coffees, shared headphones , but Suri starts dropping hints of the weight ahead: Vaani’s missed appointments, her sudden blanks in conversation, the way she covers it up with jokes.

Performances and characters

Aneet plays Vaani with a mix of curiosity and fragility. She’s not the manic “film heroine” type; she is shy at first, then surprisingly sharp when comfortable, and later you see fear creeping into her eyes long before anyone says the word illness. Her best scenes are the small ones , forgetting a lyric she wrote, laughing it off, then going home and crying in the bathroom.

Ahaan’s Krish is all rough edges and big heart. He’s impulsive, a little messy, and absolutely convinced that music can fix anything. Watching him shift from carefree charmer to someone quietly Googling symptoms in the dark gives his arc some real heft.

Alam, playing Krish’s older cousin and roommate, is the film’s grounding presence. He’s the guy who pays half the rent, cracks stupid jokes and then, when things turn serious, becomes the person holding their world together in the background , managing gigs, hospital appointments, and parents who don’t understand what’s happening.

Direction, music and writing

Mohit Suri leans into his strengths: strong songs, heavy emotion and characters trying to stay afloat while life keeps punching them. The first half flows like a straight romance with musical highs; the second half gradually bends into a story about memory, identity and what “forever” actually means when the mind doesn’t cooperate.

The soundtrack is central here. Each major beat in the relationship is tied to a song they create together , a scrappy first track recorded in a bedroom, a polished studio version, and then stripped‑down reprises when Vaani struggles to remember the words she once wrote. The music doubles as a memory map for both of them.

Writing‑wise, the film doesn’t waste time on side plots. Almost everything ties back to how Vaani and Krish deal with the diagnosis and the way it rearranges their plans: career choices, gigs, family expectations, even where they live. Suri resists the temptation to turn the illness into a twist; it’s introduced early and treated as a constant, unwelcome third presence in their love story.

What really works

• The chemistry between Aneet and Ahaan feels fresh, unpolished and believable. They fight like real twenty‑somethings, not like script devices.
• The way the film uses songs as emotional milestones is smart; when an earlier track returns in a broken, quieter form, it hits hard.
• Alam’s character stops the story from becoming purely tragic. His dry humour and practical warmth make the heavier scenes easier to sit through.
• The film doesn’t glorify suffering. It shows the frustration, the ugly arguments, the selfish thoughts – and still lets love feel worth it.

Where it stumbles

The melodrama spikes now and then. A couple of confrontations , especially between families , go louder and more filmy than they need to, briefly pulling you out of the otherwise intimate tone.

Some viewers may also feel the second half leans into emotional punishment a bit too often. There are one or two extra hospital and breakdown scenes that repeat the same beat instead of adding new insight.

And while the film focuses tightly on the couple, it does so at the cost of depth for side characters. You sense richer stories in Vaani’s parents and Krish’s struggling bandmates, but the script doesn’t give them much room.

Audience connect and impact

Saiyaara is built for people who still enjoy classic, big‑feeling Bollywood romances but are okay with them ending on a bittersweet note instead of a wedding dance. It will especially resonate with anyone who has watched a loved one slip away slowly while still being physically present.

For fans of music‑driven stories, there’s plenty to like: rehearsals, small shows, studio politics and that constant hustle to be heard over the noise of the city.

Overall verdict

Saiyaara (2025) is a cleanly told, musically rich romance that knows exactly what it wants to do: make you fall for two flawed people and then ask how far love can stretch when memory doesn’t keep its promises. It’s not reinventing the genre, but it’s honest, heartfelt and carried by two newcomers who feel fully present in every frame.

If you’re up for a love story that will probably leave you quiet and a little wrecked on the way out, this one delivers.

Rating: 4.1/5