Faajal inserted blue glass bangles through her wrist. As each slipped down, it clinked against its predecessors and framed a melody of subdued chime. Today was Dussehra holiday, and upon Yusuf's relentless appeal to Ravinder, he finally consented with one term: she must retreat before 6 strikes. 4 o'clock was already wavering, and they hadn't commenced on their way. She dipped a brush in kajal and stroked along the curve of her eyes. A single application was adequate to enhance her doe eyes, round and glassy. With the remnant of kajal, she accentuated the mole on her cheek—her beauty mark, as Yusuf tagged.

Ringlets bounced next to her brows as she drew her crimson dupatta over her crown. Gurbani recommended the multi-coloured salwar and kameez she had bought recently, a vivacious patchwork of yellow and pink. Faajal persisted on a pure crimson one. It radiated soberness with poise by its subtle golden lacework on the rim. Safety pins secured both sides of the dupatta on her shoulder in case her rotten luck decided to spoil things. 

Her eyes studied her appearance one last time, reaching her blank feet. She couldn't wear one payal alone without him questioning where the other one was. 

Distant honks blared against her room. She scurried downstairs and faced the last person she wished to encounter: Father Dearest. His gruff glare tacked her knees. The squint of his nose implied something like he had swallowed uncooked bitter melon. "Remember that, nah?" His voice, dangerously low, rumbled in the air, darting judders in her stomach.

"Yes," Too late did she forget to tag him. His glare narrowed. She fumbled briskly, "Baba."

Yusuf waved at her behind the taxi window. Her trepidation slowly vanished into relief as her stomach uncoiled from tension. Bolting inside the taxi, she leapt on him and clamped his body so firmly, his back might crack any moment. That revitalising aroma of chameli quenched the thirst lodged since last night.

Suddenly, Yusuf tapped her back and reverted to poise. She wondered why until realisation struck. The driver was shifting unnerved, clearing his throat purposefully. Her hands left Yusuf as she faked composure. Fiery red emblazed her nose.

"You look nice." Yusuf hissed in her ear when their ride had just started. "Just don't falter before abbu."

"You are scaring me by reminding me again and again."

"I am just telling you, yarr. Have your heart strong. He may look bitter as I denied the nikaah proposal, but if you put your decency to use, he'll be pleased. The problem is with him alone. Ammi loves you like a mad lady, and my brothers are ready to take baraat to your home."

The taxi paused before an iron gate forged with extravagant latticework. Behind it, a colossal building towered proudly above, its off-white paint flattering opulence. Since his family had moved here, he had to shift to a larger apartment with higher costs. But, she hadn't assumed he would settle in such high living.

"Well, my home is on the 5th floor and the lift isn't working. Sorry in advance for the trouble." Yusuf rolled his lips in his mouth, abashedly blinking.

"Granting access to your luxurious home is enough." Faajal jested, rolling her eyes. They climbed upstairs and stopped before a mahogany door, glazing red for the light sliding on it. House no. 312, the gold plate on the door bore.

Yusuf hit the door knocker thrice until it squeaked free to reveal a teenager of not more than 18. He had a pronounced jaw, a pair of blue eyes, but unlike Yusuf's, his had an outstanding speck of purple. Ink-black hair spilled down his temple as his raven brows arched in acknowledgement. "Assalamualaikum!" His lips crooked up in a radiant curve. Despite having distinctively more honed features than Yusuf, it was his smile that aligned them together, brilliant and welcoming.

"Saat sri akal." Faajal joined both palms together, wearing a matching smile.

"Toh yeh hain hamare aeronautical engineer sahab aur abbu ki shaan."

"Andar toh pehle aane dijiye!" Ismail whined. They entered the air-conditioned living room, organised with three sets of sofas, whereas Faajal's household owned two, a gigantic showcase displaying artworks, accolades and family pictures of different eras and fancy engravings of poems on porcelain plates. A centre table poised with snow globes and stacks of newspapers and magazines resting atop. Yusuf had previously elaborated on the layout of his home, but words didn't do justice to its details.

"I wonder where you will reside if you reach Ashok Kumar's success." Faajal sat on the sofa, her eyes marvelling at the affluence.

"You haven't seen the bedroom. They are a huge mess. Ammi never got to cherish something like this. If I can't provide for her, what's the worth of those paychecks then?"

She curled her bottom lip against her teeth. If she could also give her ma the privileges she deserved!

Ismail brought a glass of water and rested it on the table. "Ammi says food will take more than an hour, so it's all we can provide for now unless you want to preach your vegetarian customs." He grinned, sitting on the opposite sofa.

Faajal slurped a sip and gently repositioned the crystal glass on the table. 5 o'clock ticked on the clock and her limit could provide with only an hour now.

"You will have your dinner from here or no escape from here, okay vabijaan?" Ismail jeered, donning a serious face.

Faajal masked her fret with a strained laugh. "I cannot assure, but I will try as long as I can."

"Tu waaha kya kar raha hain?" An intimidatingly low voice boomed from the entrance of the living room, flinching all of them. Faajal peeked at Yusuf, whose wary glance left no doubts in her mind. Rashidul Khan Dehlavi stormed through the tiled aisle. Haye Waheguru, give me the courage!

A middle-aged man stood before them, not more than 5'10''. His skin resembled the fresh snow scooped from the fields of Kashmir, pure white with not a single splash of other shades, not even a speck of blood. In this structure of pallor, two eyes hung, rich blue like Yusuf's but opaque. If emotions stirred within him, his eyes showcased no sign of it. Light brown streaks covered his head, the fronting strands longer and shinier. Though Yusuf never mentioned, he had been endorsed with Rashidul Khan Dehlavi's exact physical measurement. Any prominent movie star would feel lame next to this man, such was his magnetism.

"I see," His mouth twisted with disrelish as one of his brows arched as if evaluating the whole room. "Don't you have your studies left?" He glared at Ismail. The younger flushed purple and immediately hurried out of the room.

The other two shot up, breaths caught beneath their throats. Faajal gulped down the dread freezing her tongue. The older walked through the sofas to the flamboyant armchair resting gaudily in an open corner. When Rashidul acquired his seat, they folded on the sofa.

Awkward silence drifted between them till Rashidul flipped open a newspaper and ended the silence. "You're that girl, then?"

Faajal nodded, despite Yusuf nudging her knee to word her answer.

"What does your father do?"

"He had a land in our village." Faajal stammered against her vehemence for esteem. "Then-then, we came here."

"What does he do here?" The faint rustle of newspaper flipping echoed.

"He, well, the past government caused some issues. So, he lost his land and couldn't–"

His frown knitted deeper. "Don't twirl things. What does he do now?"

"Nothing." A pang of shame smit her, compelling her to lower her gaze.

"That's why he has put you to work?"

"Yes," Faajal answered as though she were a culprit, being interrogated by investigators.

Rashidul's face contorted in a grimace as he clucked his tongue. "Parents nowadays put their girls to earn? Such a shame!"

"What's wrong with it, abbu, if a girl earns?" Yusuf rose against. "If she has the capability, she should."

"Then, who would manage the household? The outside world isn't suitable for girls regarding the situation."

"Only if she doesn't know how to protect herself. And household chores can be done by both men and women, as well as earning bread. She does that. She feeds her sisters and pays for their tuition, just like I do."

"You're different." Rashidul protested.

"No, I am not. We both work in the same profession. We both earn. How do we seem different?" Yusuf's neck had now tautened. His declining forbearance churned her stomach. Didn't he stop now, Rashidul's impression would estrange them from their relationship more and more.

Rashidul gaped his mouth to revolt, but retreated, gritting his jaw. "Never mind. You younglings will eventually understand once life turns its back on you."

Silence thrummed between father and son, and Faajal watched the dismayed faces anxiously as if her arrival had jinxed the temperament. "Like older ones have been knowing the world since millennials."

"Arrey dekho toh kaun aayi hain?" A bright chirping tore the cold War. [Arrey, see who has come?]  A woman in her late 40s peeked from the aisle, her hazel eyes puddling with joy and warmth. A round face, plump lips and rosy cheeks complemented her excitement.

Farozan entered the room, but soon her sheen was dimmed by Rashidul's scruffy stare. "Andar nahi aaoge? Tune bhi kya bichari ko yahan bitha ke rakkhi hain, Yusuf!" [Won't you come in? Why have you only made her sit here, Yusuf?] She gestured for Faajal to come along. Faajal glanced at Yusuf, who encouraged her to follow along. She trailed behind, relieved to leave this unnerving disharmony.

"Iss bandar ko bhi main aur kya hi kahu? Unhone kucch kaha kya?" Farozan led her to the master bedroom. [What more can I even say about this money? Did he say anything?]

"Nahi, aisi koi baat nahi, aunty ji." Faajal sat on the bed. [No, that's not the matter, aunty ji.]

"Haat! Paraya samajhti hain kya mujhe?" Farozan patted her shoulder.  [Do you think of me as an outsider?] "Nahi, nahi!" Faajal protested. [No, no!]

"Phir ammi bol mujhe!" [Then, call me mother!]

"Really?" A hint of innocence coloured Faajal's voice. The warmth from this woman, whom she had just met moments ago, stirred her affection and created an instant connection.

Farozan's face loosened as if a lingering thirst was finally quenched. "Joh mann chahe bula puttar!" She held Faajal's chin. [Call me whatever you wish, daughter.] "Tere ahsan maand hu, ki tune mere iss bimaar launde ke akelepan mein sahara banke rahi, isse badhi ahsaan kya ho sakta hain?" Her hands cupped to Faajal. [I'm indebted to you for standing by my ailing boy in his loneliness. What greater kindness exists?]

Faajal grasped her conjoined hands immediately. "Usne mujhe bachaya hain. Main khush kismaat hu." [He saved me. I am blessed.'

A jubilant smile glimmered on Farozan's face, alike Yusuf's—sparkling with such a mirth that could dissolve the shell around the hardest of hearts.

"Naam jaisa hi mukhra! Kahan se iss pari ko na jaane bandar uthake le aaya." [A face that lives up to her name! God knows where this monkey dragged this fairy from.]

"Jannat ke bagiche se." Yusuf flattered, leaning on the bedroom door, donned a deviant grin. [From the garden of heaven.]

"Yeh hi toh soch rahi hu ki tere nalayek haaton mein iss phool ka na jaane kya haal hoga?" Farozan snarled, mock incredulity spiced her expression. [This is exactly what worries me—God knows what state this flower's in, left to your clumsy hands!] Faajal couldn't quell her giggles, smothering them with her palm.

"Jaundice waale ankhon mein duniya peeli hi dikhti hain." He flounced out, leaving the two women alone again. [Through jaundiced eyes, the whole world looks yellow.] No words were exchanged for a brief second before Farozan approached, "Ek baat puchu?" [Can I ask something?]

"Beshaak!" [Undoubtedly!]

"Nikaah ki baat sochi kucch?" Her voice fell to a reserved whisper. [Have you given any thought to marriage?] Faajal stammered, devising an answer on the topic she preferred to leave undiscussed for now. Not that she had no desire, but they were still young and had a long journey ahead to build their careers. The gleam on Farozan's expression faltered. Faajal nibbled her bottom lip, moving her jaw to transcribe her reply. Pink tinged her cheeks. She hoped the elder would take it as coyness. "Abhi keliye nahi sochi jyda." [Haven't thought much for now.]

"Baat pakki nahi hain?" [Isn't it final?]

"Aisa nahi! Matlab khwaish hain par umr jyda nahi." [Not that! I mean I do have wish, but I am still young.]

"Voh toh hain, par jaldhi baatein shaatein karni paregi nah? Uss mangni ko inkar karne ke baad Yusuf aur uske abbu ke bichh ek alag hi jaang lag gayi." [That's right, but we'll have to negotiate quickly. After rejecting that proposal, a silent war began between Yusuf and his father]

"Ammi, where the hell have you been?" A raw male voice screeched from the door. "Where have you kept my shirt?" He walked in with a bare chest, his lean body beaming with golden streaks. He was tanner than his parents and older siblings, but his hair was similar.

"Ammi!" He strode inside, widening his eyes in a scowl, until he realised Faajal was there, too stunned as him to speak further. "Oh, shit!" He took a sprint out, speedy enough to defeat a cheetah. Faajal snapped aside, too mortified to observe longer.

"Forgive him." Farozan grimaced, squeezing her eyelids. "Yaqoob is just restless. I have to do all his work, despite him being a 17-year-old gigantic brat!" She hurried out, leaving Faajal in this unfamiliar room. Without Farozan, the room appeared cold, enveloped with an aching gloom.

"So, ammi must have eaten up your head." Yusuf smiled, tossing a slice of apple at her. She caught the juicy flesh discreetly and broke off a bite. He flopped beside her, munching the golden underskin of the apple. "Sorry for abbu. You know, narrow-minded people, still not accustomed to the show business."

"Although he should have, given his son's growing stardom."

Yusuf snarled, brushing off his hand. "Nah! Stardom is a thing I dreamt of as a newling in the business, entranced by the external show. I want to be an actor who can engross diverse characters, make people experience the character themselves."

"And allure girls," Faajal added, furrowing.

"Aish!" He scratched the back of his head, grinning. "What's my fault? I ain't like Pran. He sleeps with ten girls a day."

"Ek baat kaan kholke sunn liyon! Main teri naukrani nahi hu joh har pal tere kapde aur khaana parosti rahu!" Farozan's voice rumbled outside. [Listen clearly! I'm not your maid, to spend every moment tending to your clothes and meals!]

"Toh maine toh udhar hi rakkhi thi apni shirt! Apne kyu almari mein ghusayi?!" Yaqoob retorted afar. [I kept my shirt there. Why did you shove it in the cupboard?]

"I am sorry I brought you in this chaotic household." Yusuf sighed, bending his head.

"Don't be. Mine isn't any less." She rinsed off the juice on her fingers.

"Put your feet up."

A lump numbed her throat. If she lifted her feet, he would notice the payals missing and inquire the reason. "It's alright here."

"Oh, come on!" He tried to tow her thigh, but her limb congealed to resist him. "Nah! I am okay like this!" She whined, hoping he would give up.

"Fine," He groaned. "Do you want to pay a visit to my disaster of a room? I finally cleaned up after ages just for you."

"If you allow, sir." She winked. "Allowance granted, my child!" He played along and led her to his room. It stood in the innermost part of the apartment.

"Hello!" A thin male voice chirped from inside just as she was about to step in. His face sparkled with a mischievous smile and glinting eyes embodying a doe's glassy pairs. They were brown, but the lightest shade possible. Ink-black hair veined all over his head, but the sides were trimmed. He seemed no more than 15.

"Put that damn undershirt in the cupboard, Anas!" Yusuf spat, pointing at the silken white undershirt lying on a study table. The younger briskly stashed it in the cupboard and retreated with his beaming smile.

"So, you're the youngest and the naughtiest, hmm?" Faajal remarked, earning a shy chuckle from the younger.

"Your saiyaan is my teacher after all."

"Behave yourself!" Yusuf cautioned, sharpening his look at Anas, who uncomfortably stirred on his knees.

"Don't you scold him! Chanchal and Meher literally blabbered the hell out of you! He is just talking!" She faced Anas. "And we haven't even been introduced properly! Right, Anas?"

"Absolutely! Today, you shall have no control over me, Mr dictator!"

"If we truly had control, you wouldn't have turned so useless." Yusuf kinked his mouth. "What do I tell people that this 7th fail, rubbish of a brother invites stray dogs to the threshold because HE CAN'T SEE THEIR PAIN! But, he doesn't see the toil I go through to provide for the food he feeds to the pained dogs."

"It's not bad......I mean helping poor creatures." Faajal objected, knowing his ire. But, the amusement delighted from his adorable outrage was her favourite task.

He let a weary sigh out. "Allah help me from them!"

"Says a school dropper himself. See, vabijaan?" Anas clucked his tongue in seeming disappointment. "It's a pity you're stuck with him." He sat on the bottom of bunk bed.

"Not a pity for me, but for him in some cases, because he has faced enough troubles for me." Faajal smiled at Yusuf, whose frown relaxed slightly. She sat on the single bed and scanned the room. It was moderate-sized with a huge cupboard occupying one wall, a study table large enough to fit two, a dressing table beside the single bed and a wall ornated with badminton rackets, verses of the Quran and posters of film stars like Ashok Kumar at top, of course, Fatema Rashid, Nurjahan, K.L Saagar.

"May I come in?" Yaqoob hesitantly peeped from the entrance, and Faajal chuckled. His cheeks burned deep red before her as he wobbled his lips to greet her. Faajal detoured from the unexpected moment and flashed a wider smile in an attempt to soothe his unease.

"I am Yaqoob, the third of—of the brothers." He took mousy steps near Anas, stifled.

"If you're comfortable, you can sit. And take it easy. Such occurrences are common at my home." Faajal said. "What occurrence? What happened?" Anas fired queries, but Faajal kept quiet, tearing her gaze from a flustered Yaqoob. Anas kept squeaking until Yaqoob jabbed his knees and shot a death glare.

Yusuf glanced at the clock that read 5.45 "Oye, Yaqoob! Pulao abhi tak huyi ki nahi?" He pointed at Faajal. "Isski woh khadoos baap phir bhat bhat karne lagega! Das din apna munh mendak jaisa karke rakkhega aur isski jaan khayega!"

Yaqoob scurried out, and Yusuf perched beside Faajal. "Today, I went to Devika Rani's mansion." A yawning silence before an unforeseen confession. "I'm leaving Bombay Talkies."

Faajal couldn't cognize what he just revealed. "Wait, what?" The studio that lent him the route to stardom, the studio that had been his primary arena for acting, 6 total years of involvement, could he leave all these in a mere day?

"Are you serious? Why would you leave? Only the luckiest get to work here!"

"If I rely on just one agency, chances are I may miss big chances. All the big stars alter contracts, and it's been years. I want something new." He bit his bottom lip.

"Where will you contact now?" Faajal scooted nearer.

"Mehboob Studios wishes to hire me. After this shooting ends, they will arrange a meeting."

Her mouth wriggled in dismay. How would she meet him if he pursued another studio? The sneak-ins to backstages, the stolen moments of bliss, savouring lunch together, everything would come to an end. She couldn't even change her contract without Ravinder's allowance.

Half an hour later, they occupied the dining table and feasted on scented pulao, shahi vegetable curry, fried spicy cauliflower, thick lentils and burhani, a tangy lassi with faint spice. Rashidul obtained the head seat, maintaining his cold poise. All this time, no word escaped his guard, not even a breath. Yusuf and his three brothers uplifted the atmosphere with their teasing and race of who could gobble the most. By the quantity of their eaten items, no doubt was left to prove they were Pashtunis—four glasses of burhani, six spoonfuls of pulao, nearly all of the fried cauliflowers and uncounted portions of lentils. Their spoons weren't your normal ones but oversized at least three times of common size.

With a content stomach but a dreary mood, Faajal boarded a taxi, accompanied by Yusuf. 45 minutes past her curfew already, riling presumptions of Ravinder's reaction gnarled her, but Yusuf convinced her nothing would happen. According to him, she should stop tarnishing her glee by probing that man's reaction. Even Faajal wanted that, but the perils roused by her ponderings would do more bad than good. Petulance could provide a brief moment of satisfaction rather than any betterment.

She descended from the taxi and had one last glimpse of Yusuf. He waved at her, mirth coating his radiance. The taxi started rolling forward, ripping apart their stares before sweeping away into a blur of yellow, flaring red lights. 

A/N: I know I am late again, but so many things were happening at once in my life. Anyway, I have something to show you guys. Also, check out the book cover!