"14th February may be hailed as Valentine's Day, but another festival crashes Bollywood as 'The Bombay's Girl of Indian Cinema' treads on her 25th year on this day. Fans have been flooding her doorstep with thousands of flowers, cards, and even gleaming apparel to wish the tragedienne the happiest birthday. With 'Ajeeb Dastan' smashing the box office in late January, it's all on cloud nine! Happiest Birthday to the undisputed star!"-Filmfare.

A proud smile sparked on Faajal as she placed down the magazine. It was the tenth magazine featuring her birthday. The Spring morning filtered sunshine through the vast window of her bungalow 'Kismat'. After procuring millions from constant box office successes, Ravinder bought a new bungalow. Saira and Harleen had tied their knots in 1951 and 1953. Hence, only she, Chanchal, Meher, Gurbani and Ravinder stayed inside the 4000 square feet bungalow.

About 500 letters and cards had piled up on the threshold, and certainly by now, Ravinder had tossed them into the trash can. Faajal opted to keep the apparel, sliding a few into her closet and handing some to Chanchal and Meher. Someone had gifted her a set of three Jasmine perfumes, enticing longing for who had handed her first-ever birthday present. That crimson rose, now flattened by pages inked with secrets and wrinkled by ages. Yet, its beauty lurked in the satin petals. How a mere flower could stem a decade-long journey! That day felt like yesterday when her heart had been cowering to unleash its path to his, when the blooms of her garden had finally steered her to let her rangrez frolic in those.

Her gaze slid to the telephone in her room. Thanks to Ravinder, the second largest room was designated to her, the uppermost floor of the bungalow and privacy wasn't a distant possibility anymore. She could have her own telephone, conversing with Yusuf or her friends whenever desire struck.

What's keeping you from calling me, rangrez? Anticipation provoked her longing. She had imagined his call would be the tune she would wake to, and hear his ribbing voice quell the thirst lodged in her chest. It was half past ten in the morning, and Yusuf Khan Dehlavi was nowhere in contact with her. The world hustled to wish her on her birthday, but her expectations lingered on one person in the world.

"Di, another present." Chanchal trotted to her, carrying a bouquet filled with lilies, baby's breath and tuberoses. "And this note." Chanchal gestured towards the note stashed in the flowers. Faajal received the bouquet and unfolded the note.

Sorry for this lame gift and not meeting you, but my schedule isn't permitting me.

P.S: Don't let your parents see Life Magazine tomorrow.

Pran

Faajal snorted, adoring the fresh flowers. He must have finished his explicit photoshoot with Life Magazine by now. A bellowing star by 1950 and Bollywood's sexpot by 1952, Pran Malhotra was the first male star to have an unclad photo session in Bollywood. Though he assured he was going only topless, she wouldn't assume how much audacity he was to pursue. Pran was, after all, a playboy material. With striking details and irresistible sexual appeal to lure women, he might not mind showing the chiselled ups and downs of his frame. Girls battled for a peek on the screen into his half-transparent chest, and till now, he had been proposed over 3500 times.

By 12, she had to reach Chopra Studios for shooting. Her director had suggested she take some time off today. Hence, she could enjoy a seven-hour shift instead of working from nine in the morning to six in the evening.

Midday had scattered over the sky, the sun torched above, leaking all its shine before retiring. Faajal straddled in her private chamber, skimming through a collection of shayaris Yusuf had gifted last year.

Main jab bhi tumhe dekhta hu yahi sochta hoon,

Ya tum hi zindagi ho ya zindagi ki surat tumhari jaise hain. 

[Every time I see you, I wonder:

Either you are life itself, or life wears your face.]

Someone rapped on the door. She thumped the book to a side and reached for the call. The door whined sideways, and a set of cerulean orbs captured her, beaming light. If not assessed closely, they seemed viridia, enriched with opulence.

"Well," Yusuf's face broke into a sweltering grin. "Sorry,"

Ecstasy splattered into Faajal, but she rather collected it, masking in vexed indifference. She granted him access but wedged her tongue shut. Today, she would leave no stone unturned to revel in jeering him. He should taste his own medicine.

Her arms hung woven over her chest as she darted him a questioning glare. "Well, I know you're angry, I've already said sorry, nah?!" He nagged, placing the steel box on the centre table. A brow twitched on her forehead. He rolled his eyes and exhaled. His hand withdrew a rose from his chest pocket and displayed it before her, puckering his lips.

He was too adorable to handle. Faajal could sense her ribcage loosening, ready to melt in awe, risking her composure.

His frame was looming closer, making her almost swallow her embittered veneer. His gaze was intent, eclipsing twinkles. Faajal trotted behind, her heart racing. Pray he doesn't act rash on you! That's how you bear the result of dodging the master in his own game!

Contrary to her probes, he flung open her cupboard and groped for something. Unscrewing the medicine dispenser, he hurled a pill in his mouth.

Faajal narrowed her look, prying to catch him. Her feet laid cautious treads but in vain. He spun back and grasped her movement. "What?"

"Why did you take this pill?" Her voice was low and rich. Nerves nagged at her head.

"You don't offer me snacks or cook me something. So, I am having these to fill my stomach."

She neared, her gaze trained on him. His cheeks flushed in bright pink. Her fingers hovered to clutch his. He was to whisk his arm away, but she was swift enough to cage it. His skin was searing. "You seem to have a fever!"

"Nah! It's just the weather. It's too hot!" He shrugged as she hardened her clamp.

"No! Yusuf, look how hot your hand is! You shouldn't have come here!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes, Yusuf! You should take rest instead of celebrating this day, which comes every year!"

"Now you have touched me, this fever will fly away."

She sneered sullenly. "Hmhmm, everything goes by your commands!"

"Of course!" Yusuf cradled her up in his arms and scrambled by the vast window overlooking fancy buildings and crammed roads, bustling with horns and engines.

"Yusuf, leave me!" Faajal bashed his forearms and writhed, but his grip was too firm to crack.

He let her down on the tiled floor, eliciting venomous glares and unmouthed curses in her. "Look, I didn't buy these rasgullas to freeze on the table. So-" He slumped beside her, resting the steel box and the rose in front.

"I won't have this!" She whined, resisting her stomach's temptation.

He grunted, "Fine, I'll have these myself." He lifted the lid of the steel box, and a sweet aroma wafted to her- warm rasgullas smoked inside. Yusuf clucked his tongue, pitying her. She prowled to snatch it away, but he was swift to parry. "You don't seem to want it anyway."

"Give me that, you rascal!" she sputtered, pressing the chuckle, urging her.

"But, you don't seem-" His mouth yielded chortles thundering the walls. Faajal snatched it, hurling dagger eyes and unlatched the lid to tuck two rasgullas at once. Her tongue squashed the velvety balls to spit the syrup across her mouth. The grooves of her teeth went sticky with sugar.

"Kucch mere liye bhi bacha ke rakhna!" He snapped his finger, peeping beside her. [Leave some for me.] He tapped her chin with the tip of the rose. She shoved a rasgulla between his lips, startling him, but eventually, he mixed with her and emptied the box.

The white tiles mirrored the spectacle of the sun as they observed birds take their flight to an infinite horizon. Orange and red strokes cordoned the sun. Now, the sun wasn't torching, rather bathed the earth in soothing lustre, hovering like an ember in the heavens. Faajal's ringlets swung in the gale licking their skins. A shock of brown hair slashed through Yusuf's brow.

Faajal wrapped the dupatta around her back. "Thanks for the rasgulla."

"Janamdin Mubarak, mehbooba." He drawled, a smile teasing his mouth. [Happy birthday, mehbooba.] "Aap kitne saal ke huye hain?" [How old have you become?]

She slapped his left breast, provoking a wince from him. "Paata nahi ladkiyon ki umar nahi pucchte?" [Don't you know you shouldn't ask girls' age?]

His finger writhed her earlobe, making her hiss. "You need to be tamed, Madhu Sharma."

She plunged onto his chest and towed her dupatta over them. "Then, you need to stop looking this beautiful all the time." A lustful whisper faded from her into the complimentary symphony of their breaths. When her chest fell, his rose. When hers rose, his fell. Their hearts slapped each other's breasts. The world morphed into a blur. Nothing mattered save for them, this moment, this rose and the lingering taste of rasgulla. Her inhales drank his scent, that signature chameli. A lopsided bow wiggled his chin, sharp like the sun, brilliant like the moon. "25."

"How many years I have survived in your mockery! A decade?!"

"You must for a century, rangrez."

"I deny such liability! I will surely die if I do! Besides, who are you anyway?" He drawled.

"Your mehbooba."

"Or more than that?" The edge of his tone drove her to invent his purpose. Was he actually signalling in some other way, or was she overstudying?

"You'd better take a rest after shooting! Try to get home earlier!" Faajal warned him, sticking the back of her hand on his temple. The heat was mild but persistent.

"You'll get sick if you worry too much." He groaned, a smile flirting with his lips.

"Sahab, this card came for you." Yusuf's driver hurried to him, suspending an umbrella over Yusuf and handed him a violet envelope. Yusuf donned his blue sunglass, though noon was giving way to eventide. "Oh! This! Have you got this, Faajal?"

Faajal took a closer look. "No,"

"Perhaps, it has reached your bungalow's mailbox. Check it out."

Beloved Madhu Sharma,

We are thrilled to announce that The International Gratia Film Festival will be hosted by India this year to mark the longevity of cinema, uniting celebrated global screen personas on the eventide of 23rd February. We cordially expect your presence in the magnanimous event to bespeak the magnificent art medium.

Venue:

Hotel Prince De Galles

Colaba, Bombay

A/N: I wanted to update on 14th Feb, but couldn't. So sorry! But, good news has come! We have bagged a silver medal in the Sarvottam Awards hosted by @Henrittes! Thanks to the judge for her kind consideration of thinking me worthy!