Watching Veer-Zaara in the theater to celebrate its 20th anniversary was nothing short of magical. Sitting in the darkened cinema, watching it unfold on the big screen, brought me back to the first time I saw it—when the story of Veer and Zaara stirred me to my very core. No one could portray love like Shah Rukh Khan then, and I realize now, no one can portray it quite like him even today. Twenty years ago, I was young and idealistic, filled with the belief that if such love could be imagined, it could be real. The sensation of finding and living a love like that, as intense and unwavering as Veer and Zaara, filled my heart and soul with hope.

Back then, watching Veer-Zaara was more than just entertainment; it was an awakening. The story made me believe that a love so powerful was possible, that perhaps I, too, would one day experience something so pure and all-encompassing. The soulful connection to the characters and their love story stayed with me, like a dream waiting to be fulfilled. But this time, sitting alone in the theater, I felt a different wave of emotions—ones rooted not in expectation but in reflection.

I chose to go alone, a preference that might seem unusual to some but felt just right to me. With a tub of popcorn and a Pepsi (I would’ve preferred Coke, but who’s to argue in such a moment?), I settled into the recliner, savoring the experience I knew was about to unfold. I was 15 minutes late, having waited in an unexpectedly long line—the theater had merged ticketing with the concession stand, creating a bottleneck of eager moviegoers. But there was a surprising camaraderie in that line. A group of young Muslim women, their hijabs half-covered, struck up a conversation with me. They were there to watch Veer-Zaara, too—some of them experiencing it for the first time on the big screen—and their excitement only heightened my own anticipation.

Inside the theater, I found an empty row and chose a seat that gave me some solitude. As the film began, the nostalgia was overwhelming. I could remember nearly every line, every look exchanged between Shah Rukh and Preity, yet each moment felt as fresh and penetrating as it had the first time. Shah Rukh’s gaze as Veer, so full of love and vulnerability, seemed to look through the screen, touching places in my heart and soul I hadn’t known were there. I cried, almost continuously, through the film. And when Shah Rukh delivered the line, “Main qaidi number saat sau chheyaasi,” I clapped, swept up in the timeless poignancy of his blank verse and backstory—the sacrifice he made to save the honor of a girl he had barely known.

Perhaps love in those days had more room to be what it truly is. A love like Veer and Zaara might not survive in today’s time and age, where search engines leave little to mystery and information is always at our fingertips. The uncertainty, the labyrinth of emotions that once defined love, is so easily replaced by algorithms and swipes. Cinematically, I am yet to see a film in modern times that defies the odds of our left-swipe, right-swipe culture.

Leaving the theater, there was an unusual quiet among the audience, a shared understanding that we were no longer the same people we’d been when we first saw the film. For some of us, Veer-Zaara is a love story that represents a dream—one that remains elusive, even idealistic. Perhaps I was realizing, along with many others, that a love like Veer and Zaara might be more of a cinematic fantasy than a real-life possibility. Yet the young women I’d met in line still looked hopeful, discussing eagerly how they wished for their own Veer-Zaara love story. I found myself both smiling and aching at their optimism.

Watching Veer-Zaara after all these years was like revisiting an old friend, one that reminds you of dreams once held close, of loves that inspire and yet often remain out of reach. Perhaps the magic of the film lies in that very feeling—the bittersweet beauty of what we imagine love could be, and the delicate heartbreak of knowing that such a love is rare, if not impossible. Veer-Zaara may be a fantasy, but for two hours in a darkened theater, it felt like a truth.