23rd February, 1954

"Mr. Wallace is expected to arrive at Hotel Prince De Galles in not more than an hour, and the entire India is on its toes to witness one of the topmost global faces. Cameras were on the spot nearly two hours ago to broadcast the emergence of Western divas and suaves! Get on your couch and count your fingers because the grand gala will be gracing your home just after an hour stretch!"

"There's a vast crowd that we see in front of the hotel, and it seems like ladies are the dominant population. Let's ask these fickle young women about their reason to grapple! What's your name, miss?"

"HI!!! I AM ANKITA!!" The girl giggled coyly. "So, Ankita, what brings you here?"

"I'm a huge fan of LOUIS CAMERON!!! I've watched 'Anna Karenina' literally 5 times!!" She drew a profound breath before resuming amid her unstoppable giggles. "Plus, my desi favourites are Pran Malhotra and Rajan Saxena! I've stood in line for hours to get access!"

"Do you have any divas in your liking or just male superstars?"

"Of course! Of course, I've got favourite females! Nimmi, Madhu, Kalpana, Meena, Asha, Nurjahan.......they are my leading ladies!!" The girl squealed.

"Well, good luck, Ankita! Your eyes are gonna be blessed with those leading men and women waving at you. This is Aarav Khanna reporting, and we'll return soon with updates!"

Faajal switched off the radio and lifted her eyes up so that her makeup artist could stroke down eyeliner. Tears were already threatening to smudge her freshly lined eyes. One final dab of the raven black gel was dotted, and her eyes were done. "Rima, I think you should darken the shadow under my lashes."

Rima rubbed a scant amount of brown eyeshadow and lined beneath her curled lashes to create an illusion of the lashes dropping their shadows. Faajal wiped off the excess on her lip gloss applicator and coated her cherry-red lips with transparent veneer. Rima tapped the tip of her brush to foreground the mole on Faajal's cheek. "It's finally done! Still, pack up your gloss and eyeliner in case they smudge," Rima suggested, organising the cosmetics strewn on the dressing table. Faajal wanted to dress at home, but the delay of her shooting compelled Rima and her assistants to rush to the studio.

"Mam, I think we should pin stray hairs with another bobby pin." One of Rima's asisstants piped up.

Faajal's palms pressed the messy side bun. Her curls had a reputation for springing out at the most unbidden times. "Do it, then! But, just one! I'm already late!"

"Shankar dada, speed up now!" Ravinder whined to the driver operating the Rolls-Royce.

"Sahab ji, there's previously such traffic here and I'm taking the heftiest shortcut! How can I speed on these craters!"

Faajal fiddled with her fingertips, her heart straining to keep pace with her shallow breaths. 30 minutes left to strike at 7 pm. Her prayers better be answered, or a week of death glares and mockery awaited her.

In this toying of fingertips, one of the nails scratched off the crimson nail paint on her thumb. Oh, no! She couldn't help but curse herself a hundred times inwardly. Yusuf was supposed to phone her when he left. Why hasn't he called yet? Did he forget in the excitement of wishing Reuben Wallace a Happy birthday? Once he neared her grasp, he would learn his lessons the hard way! But the liability was hers to make it timely.

Her mind grappled with the web of thoughts burdening her nerves. She gulped a mouthful of air to cool her brain, but Ravinder's reproaching gaze on the rearview mirror pierced her attempt.

When it was 10 minutes to commence, her car finally stopped at the hotel, and her smile adopted the radiance of Madhu Sharma, flaunting a grey chiffon saree and her hallmark varnished lips.

"The diva is on the carpet, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, MADHU SHARMA!" The commentator hollered, and a tide of roars and screeches overpowered the red carpet. Cameras clicked, and flashes instantly illuminated the dark twilight. Faajal waved at the throng surging on the velvet barriers, guarded by security. The ebullition of ceaseless flickers could compete with a day's broad light.

"Please, PLEASE!! MADHU! JUST ONE SIGN!" Fans extended pens and papers for her to autograph. Faajal chuckled, seizing the length of her lips, not too broad, not too subtle. She picked a pen and scrawled her signature, cultivated from her newly gained proficiency in English. One by one, notepads wore her autograph. After posing for some quick shots, she scurried inside, thankful to time for not embarrassing her.

"You were supposed to call me!" Faajal gritted out, feigning a cheeky smile so people don't notice.

"I was so busy in rehearsal.......I recited my lines 50 times!" Yusuf rasped, sucking a brief inhale. Sweat beaded his hairline. Pomaded wisps of hair caressed his brows. His frame towered in a navy blue tuxedo, blotches of glaze flooded the silken coat. A white rose peeped from his chest pocket. "Happy–"

"I think I've heard enough on the telephone yesterday, 14 times." Faajal urged, stifling the windings smashing her throat. She had experienced innumerable gatherings, but this was on an all-inclusive scale. Oh, Waheguru, help me stay composed tonight. My image depends on it!

"Yusuf," Ashok Kumar patted Yusuf's back while Faajal chattered about her delay. Yusuf broke into a beaming smile and braced the elder. "Dadamoni!"

"Looking all polished tonight!" Ashok Kumar whistled. "And who may this queen be?"

Faajal chuckled. "Do you know when they are coming, dadamoni?"

"Western people are famed for their punctuality. If that's true, we'd hear their names in a minute or so from now."

"STAND ON YOUR TOES, PEOPLE! THE WAIT IS OVER AND THE CELEBS ARE RIGHT OUT OF THE CARS!! EVERYBODY SEND THE BIGGEST CHEERS YOU CAN NOW! INTRODUCING THE SULTRIEST, SEXIEST REUUUUBEEEEN WALLAAAAACEEEE!" Millions of screams and wails billowed in the hall, banging the walls and exploding eardrums. A magnanimous orchestra merged with yawps and everyone stood up. Faajal bolted through rows of seats to rummage for hers. Lastly, it came to her sight and she peeled the label with her screen name. "I shall go, now!" Yusuf wheezed and scrambled backstage, his countenance blue by disquiet. Faajal gave a thumbs up and urged him to rush in.

"ANOTHER MALE BEAUTY TO GRACE OUR VIEW, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, OUR SCREEN VRONSKY, LOUISSSSS CAMEROOOOOONNNN!"

Faajal couldn't discern whether the snapping of camera shutters or the deafening hollers, or the grand orchestra was louder. If this combination was booming inside, what would the outsiders be feeling?

Reuben Wallace and Louis Cameron had their grand entrance lastly through the sumptuous double doors. Desi celebrities lined along their trail, flashing the brightest laugh to greet the Western personas. Lenses closed to the gateway, imbibing every nuance and smile.

"HAZEL GREENWOOD, THE BABYGIRL OF THE WEST! BOYS GET READY!"

A blonde clucked her heels against the hefty tiles on her trail to the hall, her curves hugged by an emerald gown. A white fur shawl draped her back. She exchanged courtesies with Nimmi, then Faajal. The crinkles on her eyes deepened as she braced Faajal. "It's a pleasure to meet the dream girl." Her lips wobbled by her whispery tone.

"But, babydoll is ruling tonight!" Faajal chuckled, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. Her focus tried not to trail below Hazel's neck. 

Soon, the hall was deluged in chirpings and hummings. The press members were assigned to the rear and both directions, so snapping pictures didn't go tough. The commentator bounced on two stairs at once and welcomed the glittering audience.

"In the heart of diversity, the world celebrates its biggest art form with figures that have enriched it over the years! A big cheer for India and its talented artists!"

Vehement applause filled the hall. "Now, ladies and Gentlemen, tonight also holds significance for an event that could have altered Hollywood's fate. This day bore such a legendary artist without whose contribution, we wouldn't have made it to the top. Calling India's beloved lover boy, the ever handsome RAJAN SAXENA !!"

Yusuf strode to the centre. Limelight pooled in his brushed-back hair.

"Happy Birthday......to....you......" The titter enhanced on his lips. "Haaaapppy Birthdaaayyyy to youuuuuu." His brows relaxed to assume siren eyes. "Happy Birthdayyyy, dear Reuben.......Thanks for drawing us in your alluuuuuuureeeeee! EVERYBODY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!" Yusuf hopped in bliss.

The tune of Happy Birthday flowed from the orchestra, a medley of trumpets, pianos, cellos and brass drums. Each note echoed voluminously with a speck of jazz. Claps engulfed the orchestra. Reuben Wallace ascended to the stage and pulled Yusuf in a tender embrace. Yusuf fondled his shoulder, flashing a smile that curved his eyes and motioned at Reuben to the microphone. A huge cake was dragged to the stage, its height around Faajal's.

"This is, perhaps, gonna be my most memorable birthday celebration for this beautiful man has wished me!" Reuben barked out a laugh. His gaze slid to Yusuf. "Thank you very much, Mr Rajan Saxena, for wishing me a happy birthday in the sexiest voice possible! I fear you may snatch my career if you continue like this...."

The audience burst into laughter, and so did Faajal. Reuben sniffed and chortled along with Yusuf, who handed him a knife. Reuben sliced the vanilla cake, and another note of happy birthday mingled with a trumpet.

"Pran!" Faajal sprang on her heels at the sex symbol flaunting his raven black tuxedo and greased mane. He twisted to her, his eyes gleaming like molten chocolate. "HEY! I have been searching for you for ages!"

"Where's your seat?"

"Beside Nimmi and Waheeda."

Faajal collected the laugh menacing to be released. Of course, he would sit there! "Do you want a drink?" He raised his glass, puddling with grape juice. "Sure, please!"

He fetched another glass, and they chugged down the imported drink, clinking their glasses. "It's tangy but good." Faajal tutted, finishing the rest.

"You guys are drinking without me, huh?" Yusuf punched their backs, sending a jolt down her bones. As his arms unfurled around her, his breasts swelled prominently even with an undershirt. "Pran, are you sure you haven't forgotten to wear something?" He frowned, tightening his lips.

Pran surveyed from toe to chest. "No, why?"

Yusuf poked his shirt. The chiselled chest flared with its golden tan, more discernible than Yusuf's. Faajal couldn't help splaying her eyeballs, a shrill inhale slipping between her lips.

Pran sneered, "I always act a step ahead, darling!"

"Even that Reuben Wallace has dressed better than you." Yusuf drawled, rolling his eyes.

"But, that doesn't make our desi boys any less handsome!" Someone chirped past them. Nimmi showcased her sweetest smile, squinting her nose at Faajal. The latter shot a wink to welcome. Her eyes flicked between Yusuf and Pran, sparkling and somehow desiring.

Yusuf grabbed a glass and began taking sips when the crowd ceased buzzing, their attention pointed to someone's arrival.

Lustring in a pitch black party attire tailored by Christian Dior himself with a grey vest on top that accentuated his well-suited proportion of curves, Reuben Wallace stood in his six feet one inch, drawing every eye as Yusuf had sung 'In his allure.'

"Mind if I join you guys?" His baritone bashed away the pin-drop silence.

"You're most welcome, my dear!" Mehboob Khan, Yusuf's studio head, approached. A stout man basking in his early 60s, his investment was the heftiest at this event.

"The cake was absolutely delicious!" He seized a glass and tasted sips. A gentle smile warmed his face, unlike the sensual smirks he depicted on screen.

"How do you actually celebrate your birthday there?" Nargis leaned on the table beside him. "The magazines speak a great deal!"

"Me and Louis alone."

"Doesn't Monique join you?" Yusuf piped up. The mirth in Reuben's eyes dulled, though his smile tried to overcast it. "We-we have parted ways. It seemed the best." His throat tremored like tears were pooling in his eyes.

"I am sorry, I didn't mean–"

"You have no fault in this, dear! It's just fate."

Faajal had never witnessed this facet of him—acutely vulnerable and diligent. His image was famed for oozing masculinity and supreme confidence. The photographs, the interviews all portrayed him as a charming he-man.

People cordoned him off, engaging in questions and amiable chats. But Pran didn't make a move. His expression was somehow creased with vexation. He vacated the glass and stamped it on the bar.

Gradually, Western personas merged well, and Hotel De Galles sounded like an indigenous gathering, no formalities but earnestness in attendees' tones. Yusuf swapped words with some French directors, and they offered him a role. He cackled it off. "I am serious, young man!" An elderly filmmaker said, fixing his spectacles.

"There are more competent people than me! But, thank you, Monsieur Anthony."

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

"What's this fabric?" Kate Anderson rubbed Faajal's saree, now blowing puffs from her cigarette. "It looks nice!"

"Chiffon from Dubai." Faajal gulped down a dose of apple juice.

"It matches well with your chubby face." Kate pinched her cheek. "Now that's what I call a couple made in heaven! Both you and your lover boy are a perfect match! Unique looks, talent, aura, fame! That's called equality!" Her pink lipstick stained the end of the cigarette. "How much time has it been?"

"By the grace of God, a decade." Faajal smiled, nibbling on her inner cheek.

"That's huge! I wonder if mine stays for ten months." Jane Camryn sneered, and the ladies burst into laughter.

"My longest boyfriend stayed for four years till that asshole cheated on me!" Nargis screeched. She had always been that headstrong girl, banishing social norms for her will. She did whatever she wanted, and even the studio bosses feared her. "I spat on his face and kicked him out of my farmhouse."

"Men are like this." Kate scoffed. "They have always been like this."

"Not all men, though." Hazel objected. "You saw Wallace? Gosh! He's devoted, but his ladies aren't!"

"Monique shouldn't have done that! At least, they could have a contract!" Kate scowled.

Faajal frowned. "What about him? I heard their breakup."

"Breakup? Girl, that's a full-length drama!" Kate waved off. "While filming 'A Lazy Millionaire', Reuben and Monique fell over each other. Hollywood was happy that Reuben was finally pulling himself together after a failed marriage and the death of his ex. They rambled together everywhere they went. He dropped her off every night. After months, he proposed, but she refused. He gave time and proposed again, so immersed in reveries. She hastily accepted, and they toured in Spain for two weeks. After the tour, she discovered her pregnancy. She was damn scared that studios might fire her. She decided to part ways with Reuben. Heartbroken, he agreed but conditioned that she hand over the child to him. He always wants children of his own. He loves kiddos. He donates thousands to UNICEF monthly. Anyways, they were living on that contract, apart from each other. When her labour date came, he was anxiously awaiting his newborn child, but the cot was empty. That woman had sold that newborn baby!"

Faajal gasped, weighing the throe Reuben had to sweep through. May any child never carry such misfortune!

"Learning of this trouble, his studio threatened to sue him. So, he started his own production company. But, in fear of losing their most valuable asset, they bought his company and got him back. Reuben was never the same again!"

"What's sad about this lad is that his mother was a prostitute who died when he was just 4. His nan was a literal abuser. He worked in coal factories, rubber factories, tyre factories, as an electrician, a postman, everything you can imagine!"

Kate's words lowered to a whisper. "Some think his wife even raped him!"

Nargis wheezed. "WHAT?! We see him shining on screen!"

"He should take a break from love life, honestly. He's too desperate! His pal Louis is cool about love. He's been sticking to a good boy routine. No relationship till now." 

Jane snorted. "And that's impossible in Hollywood. I don't know what's behind that man. This age is prone to falling in love a million times! I am damn sure he's hiding something!" 

"Tinseltown is made up of lies, darling!" Cecilia Jamerson sighed. "In fact all industries are."

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

"Casablanca's cinematography was impressive, Mr Warner! I heard that you had a curtain rod to shoot the rain scene?" Mehboob Khan thawed a cube of butter on his steak.

"I originally wanted to use a downfacing slider, but it was so heavy to even lift. Though the cameraman had to swing over a bar, risking his life, it was all worth it!" Jack Warner chopped his steak. "Louis looked so gorgeous, didn't you, pup?"

Louis Cameron drifted his ocean-green pupils to his boss, a smile shadowed the edges of his lips. "The emphasis on cultural elements was excellent in Anhonee." His gaze angled to Yusuf. "Mr Saxena played well."

Mehboob waved off. "But, Raj is better for romantic roles. It sells more!"

Others chortled, complying. A feverish smile lurked on Yusuf's face, but it was bleak, defiant. Since smashing the industry with 'Sangdil', he was incorporated into romance more than other genres. Whenever he attempted to topple on the other side, Mehboob Khan would tow his collar under control. If questioned, Mehboob Khan had a smile plastered on to decline and lure him into the studio's choice. As much as Yusuf worshipped acting, he needed freedom too.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

"When did you join MGM?" Yusuf questioned Reuben, licking spoonfuls of vanilla ice cream.

"In 1949. I used to be in Paramount. Just playing side roles. At first, I was rejected five times." 

Yusuf shrieked. "Are you kidding?" Reuben laughed. "No, no! I approached many studios, but they denied, saying I looked like an open taxi."

"No, I mean, they really said that to REUBEN WALLACE!"

"Not everyone is born with good looks like you."

"Oh, come on! I joined as a clapper boy. My volcano of a father used to beat the hell out of me for having an interest towards these. So, I left home and proposed to many studios. Their environment wasn't good, so I joined Bombay Talkies. After getting a hit, I signed a contract with Mehboob Studios, you see that plump guy there–" Yusuf pointed at Mehboob Khan, who conversed with filmmakers and producers. "He hired me and polished my image!"

"When did you find your lady?" Reuben kept his empty bowl of pastry aside. His sight whisked to Faajal, who devoured her brownie.

"God bless me for that day! While–"

"In 1944. I came to Bombay for a job and joined Talkies. That's when—" She drawled, mischief glinting in her countenance. "I found this fool."

"You are speaking too much, mehbooba." His voice shrilled playfully.

"So, a decade of togetherness? That's some rare luck." Reuben smiled.

Yusuf and Faajal shared smiles. Her skin grew tinted with pink as his arm lapped around her waist. Pride billowed in her chest. But Reuben's smile wasn't for glee. A dim-hued bow on his mouth to shroud the agony clawing his chest. Life was indeed playing cruel with him.

"Hey, guys! Get ready! The ball is on the way!" Pran scurried to them. A red lip marked his left collar. He withdrew a cigarette and groped for a lighter when Reuben offered. "Here,"

Pran's vivacious mannerism dulled. He inclined his head close to the lighter and consumed a string of smoke.

Yusuf left his seat. "Reuben, won't you dance? I am sure any lady would be over the moon to have you in dance."

"Not tonight, darling. Just tired." Reuben heaved a sigh.

"Perhaps, Faajal-I mean Madhu can partner up." Yusuf stared at Faajal. She hastily agreed, though discomfort churned her blood. Reuben gazed at Yusuf, then Faajal, wary of his decision.

"Come on, Reuben!" Yusuf dragged him up and ushered them to the ballroom, where pairs were already twirling with a classic carol. Since the media had left, snapping photos of famed Western and Indian pairs, no menace remained to misinterpret their teaming. 

"Come on, just dance. I shall check out some mates." Yusuf urged and drifted out.

A/N: Okayy, sorry to disrupt your reading but this song fits Reuben much, so I had to put in.

https://youtu.be/MXRixIalOmw

Reuben cleared his throat, avoiding eye contact with Faajal. Faajal tried to pose her stare on his reluctant face. He laced her waist and conjoined their fingers. "Shall we?"

She rested her hand on his shoulder and nodded. At first, their steps were languid, both maintaining a mute refrain, but as the music progressed, they eased. Their movements and twirls smoothened. Their bodies bobbed with each note.

"Now, I understand why he fell in love with you. You're way too beautiful, just like him." Reuben muttered, beaming a mesmerised smile. "No surgery, no falsity, no vulgarity. Just pure charm."

Faajal could recognise the hue of his pupils. They weren't deep blue as illustrated in photos and movies. They were grey, a rich shade of grey like the sky in rainfall when it was intent on suffusing the earth with moisture and humbleness. Those grey orbs had lamented for a thousand bruises hurled on the heart. "You're also beautiful, Reuben."

His smile pulled further. The lazy chandelier lustre highlighted his cheekbones and the cleft of his chin. His jawline wasn't V-shaped but in the middle of square and oval, unlike traditional machos. His cheekbones stood higher than typical proportions. Yet defying the common idea of good looks, he won his title.

"But, people prefer me as sexy."

"People can do many things, but you're beautiful inside and out. Forget what people love about you. You must always know your beauty, Reuben."

"William would love to hear that."

Faajal arched her brow in query. "That's my real name. William Jasper Crawford."

"It sounds prettier than your stage one. Jasper is a gemstone, right?"

"Uhuh," They took another twirl, now cornering to the ivory silken curtains. The moon was mirrored on the ceramic tiles. "That's my mother's name."

"She must be so proud of you."

"She's no more." The air blackened. His lips disappeared into a slim line. Faajal could do as much as blink, having no words for consolation.

"What's your real name?"

"My real name is Faajal. Faajal Kaur."

"What does it mean?"

"Accomplished," Faajal emphasised with dignity.

"Then, you shouldn't have changed that."

"Studio gave it to me. I began as baby Faajal."

"Your mother named you well, darling. Accomplished, that's what you are. Your performance is valued by efforts. People don't forget your hard work, sticking only to your glittering attire or gorgeous face or your body."

Faajal's foot unconsciously tromped on his, making him spring back and wince. "I-I am sorry, Reuben. I didn't see—"

"It's alright, Faajal. Can I call you by your real name?" He repositioned.

Her name from his mouth darted a shiver down the hollow of her back. His diligent spirit, mingled with a tinge of solitude, bound her to pity even more. He was naively befriending her, unreserved about possible wounds.

"You shall call me whatever you want, Reuben." An ardent smile shaded her lips. He was, after all, a version of her, dwelling in a distinct world. She had the love of her life to endure the hailstorm of social norms and familial strife. He was bearing innumerable banes, duelling with misfortune to get the love of his life. 

They danced until the arena gradually lost attendees and the music waned. When everyone was boarding for home, it was around one at midnight.

"I guess, it's time. Wish we could stay more." Louis pursed his mouth, looping his hand around Reuben's.

"Well, I can negotiate with some producers to give you roles so that you can stay here. Shall I?" Yusuf jeered.

"Americans won't spare us, will they?" Reuben laughed, his mood lighter. He had a contagious laugh like Yusuf's.

"I guess it's about time you leave. The press is ready to eat your head for minutes." Yusuf winked.

They stood until Reuben and Louis boarded Reuben's car, though they had emerged separately. The media clicked photos. Yusuf and Faajal trotted inside, where desi stars were groaning and yawning.

"So, did you enjoy?" Yusuf asked as they trudged through the arched aisle to the hall.

"Yeah, meeting new people, new talks, new gossip.'

"Did you enjoy the Waltz with Reuben?"

"Hmhmm. He's shy, though, I mean, we see his picture all confident and sultry. He's the opposite. And there are quite a few tragedies beyond his persona, too." Faajal implied him to bring his ear. "Some assume he was raped!"

"What?! Who told you this?"

"Jane Camryn and Kate Anderson. Also, his ex Monique, you were talking about, she had gotten pregnant, but she sold the child without his knowledge!"

"Don't you think these are rumours by MGM to gain publicity? Mehboob also does that." His tread halted.

"I saw dire melancholy in those eyes, Yusuf. He is feigning all this glamour." Faajal killed the gap between them. Their scents floated on one breath.

"Don't we all do?" His lips pulled a crescent over them, not like the ones he had to wear before the public, but the smile he wore for her, the smile her heart had an imprint of. He drew the rose out and tucked it into her messy bun. Her fingers grazed the left side of his chest. Her eyes were fixated on him, intoxicated by the beauty of his being. 

A/N: This is the longest chapter I've written! Over 4100 words! I can't describe how happy I am! But, there's also bleak news. I have an important exam coming up which means a lot to my life. So, for now, this is the last chapter before 13th May. I know it's too long, and I am dejected over it! But if I don't make good preparations, my mom will bury me alive, and therefore, I won't be able to finish this novel for you, pretty people! So, stay tuned. Don't leave this helpless author of yours, because I love you guys so much! Pray for me that I pass this storm to treat you more! Because YuJaal's story goes on!

XoXo,

Luna