Faajal could perceive the beat drumming in her ears as she sprayed perfume on her collarbones. An hour left until the Filmfare started. Her throat was already parched. "You will win, I am sure." Her stylist said, pleating her aanchal.

"There are competent others, but I do hope." Faajal breathed, a curve tugging at her lips. The satin pink-hued muslin saree dangled on her like jasmine petals. Her neck was adorned with a necklace of freshwater pearls.

The stylist bit open a bobby pin and attached it to Faajal's hair. "Should I take the Moroccan lipstick with me? Though I am afraid it may break." Faajal glimpsed at the small terracotta clay pot on the vanity. It had been her signature lip stain since 1950, after a producer gifted a box to her. It left a delicate scarlet tint on the lips and added a youthful charm.

The stylist patted her shoulder. "Go, win a statuette for us."

Faajal exhaled, rolling her eyes. One part of her longed for the name on the golden envelope to be hers. Another part coiled back from the likely disappointment if her name wasn't there. Only Waheguru knew who was to attain the jet black statuette.

"Di!" Chanchal raced to her, her gold-bordered saree fluttering with her steps. The younger somehow managed to earn Ravinder's approval for attending the ceremony with Faajal as a guest. A gold choker and a pair of jhumkas shone with Chanchal's fulgent smile. White lilies were tucked into her topknot—Pran's favourite flowers. The past couple of months, Chanchal and Pran's togetherness matured into an inexplicable warmth none could fully discern. They stored each other's words in exchanged letters, furtive phone calls, and cautiously mailed presents. Pran had gifted Chanchal Italian cooking utensils, and Chanchal had sent lunchboxes to his set.

"No idea who will win 'Best Actor' tonight." Chanchal clucked her tongue. Apprehension had clawed Bollywood too, as both of its famed youths were nominated—Yusuf and Pran. Faajal had her heart soliciting for both. If Yusuf was the love of her life, Pran was the brother she needed. The problem was that only one could win.

Both sisters got in their car and rode to the venue. At the gateway of the venue, cameramen and columnists swarmed, clicking photos of passing celebrities and interviewing them. Faajal cleared her throat and fixed her posture. Madhu Sharma was ready once again to gleam at the world. Chanchal's saree crumpled under her grip. Faajal cradled the younger's hand into hers. Anxiety was a common feeling for those facing the camera flashes for the first time.

The black Rolls-Royce halted on the red carpet. Security guards dragged the door, and Madhu Sharma stepped out. Her placid radiance drew lenses instantly to her. Fans' roars heightened into a thunder and the cameras spurted into a storm of flickers. Chanchal followed along, her unease slowly thawing.

"MADHU! MADHU, HERE!" Cameramen yelled at her and pressed the shutter buttons. Chanchal winced from the series of vibrant flashes, her eyes squinted. Faajal towed her to the centre and whispered in her ear, "It's just a minute, sister."

After 2 minutes, they entered the venue, waving at fans for the last time. "Madhu Sharma!" A husky female voice thrummed against Faajal's eardrums from behind. She spun back to catch the woman whose keen scrutiny had bought her this luminous career—Devika Rani. Her former boss looked older now, her once-flawless skin now wrinkled. Yet, her presence carried enough weight to turn eyes on her, grounded and ambiguous.

"Mam!" Faajal nearly ran to Devika Rani and touched her feet per ritual. Devika Rani treaded back. "It doesn't suit you, Madhu." Some locks of her hair had greyed.

"What are you saying, mam? Your contribution to my career is beyond thanks. How do you do now?"

"Very well. Such a long time has passed, hasn't it? The junior artist I hired once is now the industry's glory." Devika Rani sighed, her tone tender. It had been 5 years since she left Bombay Talkies for a quiet life with her new husband. "Where's Raj? Where's Pran?"

"I haven't seen them yet," Faajal said.

Devika Rani snickered. "Heard both were nominated. Bollywood is tense now. By the way, have you thought about taking it any further with Raj?"

Faajal stammered, "Well," There was no hiding from Devika Rani, the mentor who could sense it all. "Do keep us in your prayers, mam." Her finger, unawarely, grazed the silver churi. Devika Rani gave a knowing smile and petted her arm. "Good luck for today."

"Thank you very much, mam." Faajal paced forward. Ivory silk and transparent chandeliers draped the venue in pale gold and glamour. Still, a sense lingered that everything here was fabricated to attract cinephiles. People who fussed over magazines and tabloids didn't know the effort behind these faux sparkles.

When Faajal had just entered the show business, all of these had been like a dream to her—flickering gemstones, alluring photoshoots, obessive fans and names carved in glitter. Now, these bore little meaning after learning the industry's dour underbelly.

"Look who we have here! Raj's lady is here!" A male voice resounded. People backed, and Mehboob Khan walked to Faajal, stouter than before. His lopsided smirk hadn't changed a bit. His obsidian eyes glinted like a predator's, calm and luring. "Mehboob Khan," Faajal intended to smile, but in vain. Her inner bitterness flipped her mouth downwards.

"How do you do, my dear?" Mehboob Khan cooed. Anyone would have fallen for his mask if they didn't know the real man.

"Very well," Faajal answered, glancing around for Yusuf. She needed to leave this man as soon as possible! Mehboob Khan moved his jaw when Faajal snapped, "Have you seen Yusuf, I mean Raj?" It was terse, but if she didn't leave him sooner, chances were her pretty mask would fall off and his sharp eyes would catch her irritation, further leading to scandals.

Mehboob Khan blinked sheepishly, closing his mouth. Dismay crossed his countenance. "He is there, giving an interview." He pointed to the second doorway at the left corner. This time, his smile diminished. Vexation glared in his eyes.

"Thank you, Mr Khan," Faajal mumbled in polite detachment and wandered to the concourse where Yusuf was surrounded by columnists. She stayed in a corner, watching his responses. Pens copied each word he uttered on the notepad.

A lady interrogated, "Mr Saxena, you are famed for your youth. But nothing's permanent. How will you preserve your youth while ageing?"

Yusuf chuckled and combed his hair with his fingers. A beat of speechlessness and clinks of camera before he spoke, "By dying young." His lips ruptured into laughter, and others laughed as well. Faajal also bent her lips, but horror tainted her mind. His intention was light-hearted, but after the nightmare and his unwell episodes, she could not take it as a joke.

Faajal's heel stumbled upon a wire and clinked against the floor. Eyes darted to her, and gasps erupted. "There she is! There she is!"

A few surged forward. Faajal had no choice but to join Yusuf. Yusuf's smile broadened, his brows relaxed. Faajal shared his smile, and together, they answered the columnists. A shots were snapped of them posing together before they entered the main hall.

"HEY! Where have you two been?" Pran wheezed, a snifter puddling with wine in his hand. Chanchal stood next to him, her arms crossed on her chest.

"Hell," Chanchal replied instead. Yusuf gazed at her with dramatic pride. "You took the words from my mouth. It's like giving school exams, too many questions. If you say orange with a little change of tone, they will post it as apple on their tabloids!"

"Leave that, monkey. I am here, worried about the awards. I am certain I am not getting any." Pran's bottom lip disappeared beneath his upper one.

"But, your talent has paid off to grant you a nomination! Aren't you happy?" Chanchal chittered. "I would have been happy if I got one just by showing skin." Mischief dribbled in her words.

Pran moaned, "Are you a friend or enemy?" He raised a brow, a sultry grin escaping his mouth.

"Friend or more if you consider."

Pran shook her jhumka. Subtle chimes echoed from the gold bells at the edge of the jhumka. "Once I consider you more than that, then the whole universe will be torn apart, but you will not get rid of me."

"What if you dump me?" Chanchal played along.

"I don't dump someone who is close to my heart, who understands the real me. I would rather die." Pran seemed earnest now, his look fiery. Chanchal unfolded her arms and straightened.

Pran finished his wine. "After the dining session, meet me by the restroom. I will show you something."

"What will you show me in the restroom?" Chanchal frowned.

"Arey, idiot!" He jabbed the side of her head. "You will just wait near that area!"

"Whatever you want to show her, do it later." Yusuf cleared his throat. "The event is starting now. So, let's get to our seats, shall we?"

"So lost, huh?" Faajal jeered and winked at Chanchal, who danced her brows in denial.

They penetrated the central hall, bustled with discussions, greetings and footsteps. Men attired in tuxedos and women dazzled in sarees. Assorted perfumes mingled into one hazy scent that uplifted the mood.

Half an hour later, the Filmfare started. Leading men and women foresook their charisma to nervousness. The presenters clambered up the enormous silver-sheathed stairs and paused before the microphone. Dead silence loomed in the auditorium. "The air is glamorous, the wait is heavy. The entire country is awaiting its beloved star's win. The season of Filmfare has come to honour those stars whose pungence has illuminated not only India, but the world itself. Please an applause to those gems of our industry!"

A wave of claps blared across the walls, faces bore subtle smiles. The presenters introduced themselves, and the awards began with the 'Best Picture' announcement.

After 3 awards were handed to their respective winners, the time for 'Best Actress' came. The presenters breathed into the microphone, smiling. "These five artistes have not only won nominations, they have won the hearts of millions with their untouched calibre and refined dedication." They eyed the audience. Everyone lurched forward on their seats, sweat greasing their faces.

"And now, we present to you those lustrous stars of the Hindi film industry." The golden envelope was handed to the female presenter. She unlatched its mouth.

Faajal gripped Yusuf's hand, who was straddling next to her. Chanchal glanced at Faajal with assurance, sitting beside Pran. Ice whipped Faajal's stomach, stroking its walls. Shallow exhales gushed from her lungs.

"Meera Kumari for Nain Huye Bawre." A round of applause resumed before the dire stillness. "Nanda for Pyasa." The audience again clapped. "Runa for Barsaat." The hall pulsed with cheers. "And, Madhu Sharma for Tarana." Claps clattered like a hailstorm at Faajal's name. Yusuf squeezed her hand tighter.

"And, the best actress of the year award goes to," The presenter surveyed the writing of the envelope. Suspicion stalked Faajal like shadow. The bars of her ribs might crack if her heart continued to thud at a horse's pace. Currents of blood churned in her stomach and left her skin cold. Seconds resembled eternity now.

"Madhu Sharma for Tarana!"

The sentence rang in Faajal's head infinite times. She couldn't catch the tide of claps or the whistles of compliments. The world blurred past her. She forgot her name, forgot the ones beside her. It had to be a dream she was seeing eyes open.

"FAAJAL!" Yusuf jerked her violently. Her senses retracted. The world regained its form. "Oh," She glanced at Yusuf, watery-eyed. Astonishment had robbed her voice. "I..." Her mouth couldn't shape the words. "I..." Overjoyed cries clogged her throat.

"YOU HAVE WON, FAAJAL!" Yusuf clamped her shoulder so tight his nails drove into her flesh.

Her palm flew to her mouth, muffling frenzied squeals. "I KNEW IT!" Pran stamped the floor with his foot. "I KNEW OUR GIRL WOULD MAKE IT!"

Chanchal flashed a teary smile at her. Pride swelled in Faajal's chest. She, SHE was the best actress of the year! The lonely girl from Punjab, whose talent was traded for survival, finally proved her calibre to the world!

Yusuf towed her to the staircase and nudged her arm to climb up. She caught one obscure glimpse of him and clambered the stairs of glory. Her hands trembled as she advanced to clutch the black statuette. The hosts flashed cheeky smiles and moved aside to grant her the microphone.

Faajal inflated her lungs with oxygen, her stomach now settling. Eager countenances pinned her on the dias. "14-year-old Faajal would have never believed that tonight, she would be standing here as Madhu Sharma and holding this statue." Her words thrummed in quietness. She struggled to maintain her composure against the hysteria dancing in her. "I thank the Filmfare committee for assuming me eligible for this acknowledgement. I cordially wish good luck to my fellow nominees who are no less than me. Great thanks to the crew and cast members of Tarana, your co-operation means a lot to me!" Her focus slid to Yusuf, Pran and Chanchal. "Thanks to my loved ones for their indelible support. Thank you, every.....body for so much love. Madhu Sharma is nothing without you all." Her note dissolved in the air, followed by ear-splitting hollers and avid ovations. Years ago, it would have been a distant illusion to her, unfeasible and heart-aching.

Breaths suffused her, and she descended the dias. Camera lenses tracked her every moment, from her jabbered intonation to her disarrayed walk. The obsidian statuette snared shimmers in its chiselled curves. Stars smiled as she strode to her seat. Yusuf rose on his feet and braced her by her elbows. Saltwater also dribbled on his eyelids. The lips folded into the widest smile he could summon. The first person to commend her expertise, the first person to boost her esteem.

The crowd's uproar died, and anxious eyes were exchanged—Best Actor was yet to be announced. Pran shuffled on his back, his tongue poking his inner cheek. Yusuf lowered his look to his shoes. His chest pumped drastically. His fingers dived into the leather armrest.

"Now, we present to you those nominees who have not only showcased aptitude, but also spellbound every man and woman by their charisma." Another golden envelope was transferred to the male presenter. He pulled open its seal and huffed. "Pran Malhotra for CID." Pran nipped his tongue. Women's howls overpowered men's, accompanied by applause.

"Karan Mehra for Ek Khwab." Cheers filled the hall. "Amit Bhatt for Guzra Hua Zamana." Shrieks erupted, startling Yusuf. Hush swallowed the cries again.

Beacons guttered in the presenters' eyes. "Rajan Saxena for Madhumati." Faajal was the first to clap, followed by a thunderous round of laudation a millisecond later.

Yusuf's hand bobbed like the last petal of a dandelion against the breeze. Perspiration wreathed his knuckles. Stark placidity substituted for the deafening applause. Pran cracked his neck, his spry smirk vanished. Mute agitation washed people's faces. Only one could win. If either Yusuf or Pran won, the other might be happy for his best friend's accomplishment, but a tiny disappointment, a fragment of envy would haunt him. Anticipation cleaved into the auditorium like a bleak whisper.

The male presenter opened the new envelope and gulped. "And the award goes to..."

Beats abated into slow torment. Air hitched the base of Faajal's throat. Eager eyes targeted the dias, awaiting the announcement that could define history.

"Pran Malhotra for CID!"

Applause didn't flood over. Instead, chasmic silence chilled the audience. Pran blinked, dumbfounded. His mouth dangled loose. Others coiled back in their seats, frowning. Yusuf went rigid. Light faded from his orbs. His chin shook, but didn't expel words.

Pran glanced at him, torn between joy and disbelief. 4 seconds later, Yusuf met his gaze, a contrived smile on his lips. "Congratulations, dear friend!" He muttered, a subtle crack in his voice.

Pran smiled back, a half-hearted one. His expression bore pain. Claps rang, then a tempest filled the hall. Reluctant faces managed full smiles. Yusuf stood and hugged Pran. "You did it! You did it!" He patted the latter's back. His limbs jerked faintly. Pran braced his shoulders and sighed, his joy yet coalesced with shock. Faajal blew a kiss at Pran and fondled his forearm. His arm aligned with her back and gave a squash. Chanchal clapped louder. Pran threw a wink at her. Yusuf and Pran traded proud smiles, and Pran set out for the dais. Faajal squeezed Yusuf's fingers. Glossy drops flicked on his lids. He didn't stare back at her. Ache boomed behind his fluttering lashes. She wove their fingers together, attempting to solace the newfound bruise of his heart.

Pran clutched the black lady. His body towered proudly like the crest of the sun. He paused at the microphone, his confidence dimming. "Tonight, I am not the deserving nominee of this award. There were countless actors way better than me, their potential outshining mine. It is an unthinkable milestone of my career." He stopped, his exhales audible. "I thank my dear friends for supporting me throughout this journey. I congratulate my fellow nominees for their indelible expertise in the field of cinema. This award is not mine. I want to dedicate it to someone who ignited my passion for cinema way back when I was 5. We talked the same, acted the same, even thought the same." His head tilted to Yusuf. "Without you, I would not have been eligible for this. Thanks to the Filmfare committee for assuming me competent for this. Thank you, everyone, once again."

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

"AVM is lucky tonight with a total of 5 wins! That's huge." Mehboob Khan mouthed a spoonful of fried rice. "Pran Malhotra, I must say you did the right thing by obeying your executive." A brow wiggled atop his eye. "Some people think their own preferences are good, but studio heads are experienced with films. They know which one is better for you." His narrow eyes zoomed to Yusuf for a brief second. "You are sure to win awards through your executive's guidance unless you are on your own sweet will." A sour smile lifted his mouth, steeped in sweetness.

Yusuf froze on his seat, the spoon between his fingers suspended midair. His facial bones tightened, his look dulled to a stormy grey.

"I am afraid thousands vie for a 3-second appearance as an extra, and here we are defying guidance."

Yusuf shot up and dropped his silverware. The metal fork and knife landed on the plate with a clang. The dining area fell quiet. Brows raised, and flustered glances drifted. "I feel unwell," Yusuf muttered, his tone low and glacial. His palm crawled to the left of his chest. There was a little twitch on the edge of his mouth, barely noticeable. "If you excuse me, I shall take my leave." His chair whined as he forced it back and walked away. Faajal stopped chewing, dismay etched on her. "We have an after-party photoshoot." Her words faded in vain. He stormed away, his fiery footsteps cutting the anxious silence.

Faajal shifted her gaze to her plate and swallowed the shallow dish. Each slice of vegetable and meat seemed bland despite being cooked by the fanciest chefs of India.

After dinner, it was time for the interviews of the winners. Faajal handled hers with feigned glee. When it was Pran's turn, he was nowhere. Staff scoured around. Faajal checked the auditorium and the dining area. Pran was present at the dinner half an hour ago. She hadn't noticed Chanchal too. They were supposed to be near the restroom, but waiters and staff searched. They were not there.

Pran's manager was spotted in a corridor. Faajal questioned him about Pran.

"I saw him going to the parking lot right now! Madhu ji, is it fair to leave the interview now?!" The manager scowled.

"Where was he going?" Faajal prompted.

"I do not know! But.....I saw your sister and father."

"Chanchal?!" Faajal staggered back, horror flooding her mind.

"Yes,"

Had Ravinder caught them together and misinterpreted their attachment? "I have to go now. Oh no!" Faajal mumbled to herself and zoomed out of the venue.

'Kismat' shimmered brighter tonight. Its white walls were washed with ivory. Faajal descended from Ashok Kumar's Porsche she had borrowed. Sweat seeped into her hairline. A feet away from the iron gate, Pran's car rested. Oh Waheguru! Don't let anything wrong happen.

Faajal treaded past the threshold, her body numb. The closer she stepped, the louder a voice sounded. "HOW DARE YOU TALK BACK!"

Faajal paused on her tracks, the distant yells chilling her bones. She sped towards the half-open doors. The doors creaked aside and unravelled the ruckus she half-expected. Chanchal writhed in Ravinder's grip. Ravinder's merciless glare pierced through her, and Pran stood opposite, fuming.

Faajal stepped inside, her gaze questioning.

Ravinder gritted out. "Look! Another queen has come!" He stomped a few steps to Faajal. "LOOK WHAT THIS SISTER OF YOURS HAS DONE! LOOK, LOOK!" He snooted.

"He is just a friend, baba!" Chanchal growled, trying to get free of his grasp.

"Friend, huh? Friend?" He wrenched her elbow. Chanchal coiled in pain, a hiss escaping her mouth. "One has already made her friend something else! This time I won't allow you! You have enough guilt on your plate already!" He dragged Chanchal upstairs. She pulled back with full determination to dodge him.

"You will know who's a friend and who's not when you're locked up for days!"

Faajal shrieked, "Baba, for God's sake, we can talk with her later! Please, don't do this!" She scurried behind, but Ravinder thrust her away. "You won't tell me what to do, Faajal! I have accepted yours, but hers?" His glare slid to Pran, a sinister smile bent his lips. "NEVER!" He again towed Chanchal, trembling against her protests.

"STOP!" Pran's scream thrummed across the walls. The world settled into an eerie hush. Ravinder halted his endeavour, his eyes dilated and veined with crimson. Faajal flinched back, her lungs frozen. Only distant sniffs could be heard—Gurbani wept above, her face masked with her dupatta.

Pran eyed Ravinder like he was the nastiest being on earth. His trudge towards Ravinder echoed in the chilling calm. "You have done a lot. You put your daughter to work for your own gain, you marry them off to strangers for your own reputation, you count their earnings for your own needs. Open your eyes, Ravinder!" Pran's words were callous, a filed blade lashing the roof of patriarchy. Pran neared Chanchal and grabbed her wrist. Chanchal jerked off Ravinder's hand and grew close to Pran.

Faajal gulped back, her orbs whisking back and forth. "Even after Faajal's efforts to keep your belly full, you don't seem to learn your lesson, Ravinder!" Pran stuck out his index finger and pointed at Ravinder. Ravinder simmered like a volcano soon to rupture. After all, none had dared to mouth his name until now.

"You have done a lot! She's your daughter! Your blood! And you treat her like she's an insect?! This is how you claim yourself as her father!" Pran barked, veins ticked in his neck. Trepidation cloaked the air and crushed Faajal's nerves. Her throat went parched. Her insides tangled into an icy knot.

"No more, Ravinder! No more." Pran bit out.

Ravinder's jawline hardened, his nostrils splayed and reddened. Quietness dropped again, only eye contact was conveyed.

Faajal brought her feet closer, her brain certain of a mishap. Ravinder barely lost his temper nowadays until tonight. He had returned to his earlier facet, indignant and horrendous. Faajal could only gauge the aftermath of this dissonance.

A millisecond of wrathful glances before Ravinder lunged towards Pran and lifted his palm at him. Faajal sucked in a hiss and hurried to Ravinder, her pupils bulging out. Ravinder's hand was halfway in the air when Chanchal blocked his hand. Her teeth ground against each other as she choked back angry sobs.

"Not anymore, Ravinder Singh. I have had enough!" Chanchal bellowed. "You hit my ma, I endured it! You hit my sisters, I endured it! You tortured Faajal di, I endured it! I only endured!" Wails spurted from her. "But, if you hit him, I won't endure anymore! NOT ANYMORE!"

"WHY? WHY DOES HE MEAN SO MUCH TO YOU?" Ravinder stomped a foot forward, his roars booming through the living room. "TELL ME! DOES HE MATTER MORE THAN YOUR FAMILY? WHO'S HE? WHY DO YOU CARE SO MUCH ABOUT HIM?"

Chanchal inhaled sharply, cocking her head and squeezed her eyes shut. "BECAUSE I LOVE HIM!"

Those words struck like lightning tearing apart the sky. Stillness thickened between them. Chanchal splayed her fingers on Pran's chest, her lips wore a subtle curve. "Because I.....I love him and so does he."

Pran had water cascading down his cheeks too. He huddled her closer with a protective arm. Their gazes were glued to Ravinder, fierce and resolute.

Ravinder's calm retreated. His brows loosened into a blank expression. But he was no less stubborn. He would definitely place either a condition or a trade.

Pran cupped Chanchal's face. "I wanted your daughter from the day I met her, Ravinder Singh. I started loving her then." A smile lit his mouth. Chanchal's hand curled into a grip on his shirt, her nails crinkling the delicate fabric. Proud admiration crossed her expression.

"And if loving her means warring a tyrant like you, I will do that a hundred times with a smile!" His note fractured. "She's not an object you can marry off to some stranger nobles for money and respect!"

Ravinder trotted closer, his countenance betraying no emotion. His prying eyes trailed to Chanchal. "Girl, you have one choice now: This whore or family."

Chanchal looked at Faajal, who had blanched into chalk-white. Faajal would not call Chanchal selfish if she chose Pran. But could Chanchal afford to lose her family? Gurbani and Meher had come downstairs now with pained anticipation. All focus was on Chanchal now, on her answer, which would alter destiny.

"Him." Chanchal turned back with Pran and headed towards the exit. Faajal muffled the howl behind her tongue. The world eroded on her head. Gurbani rushed behind Chanchal, but Meher restrained her. "Chanchal, Chanchal, no!" Her sobs came in startled gasps as she struggled against Meher. "Please, my child, no!"

The doors were to creak shut when Ravinder grumbled, "Chanchal Kaur is dead from now on. And no one," His attention pivoted to Faajal. "Will ever speak her name again unless they want the same consequence." 

"Baba, how can you do—" Faajal advanced to Ravinder, but he flounced away.

The slit between the doors closed with a thud, parting freedom and family.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

The next day, Meher sneaked into Faajal's room before breakfast. "Faajal di," She chewed her inner cheek and showed Faajal the front page of a newspaper.

"Welcome, Mrs Malhotra!"

The headline read in bold text, and below was a huge picture of Chanchal and Pran posed together in the backyard of Pran's bungalow. A rich red sindoor streaked her hairline.

A/N: Longest chapter yet! Please vote and comment if you enjoyed this chapter, pretty people!

Also, here's a little surprise for you all!

𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐧 𝐱 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥: