A woman stood under the shower. Icy drops kissed her skin and stroked down her legs. Her hair, now drenched, dangled like a canopy of black. Her mind was blank. So was her face. The beacons of strength and hope that had once twinkled in her eyes were greyed now. The stream of shower veiled her like a shelter from shame. Her world had shrivelled into the confines of that misty bathroom now. She didn't remember how much time had passed. It didn't matter. All that remained was rinsing off the sin from her body. Water brushed her body. Her bones shuddered under its coldness. But the cold seemed more sedative than tormenting. What else was left to torment her?

Blood lined her thighs and plunged down her ankles. It splattered into the water and washed away like a river of crimson. Each drop of blood fell on the white floor like a forgotten bloom.

Faajal was rummaging in the closet when her hand fell on a paper—Yusuf's photo. She lifted it to her eye level, her hands quivering. Only if he had gotten to know of their serendipity, only if destiny had not been so severe. She kept the photo down, indignity clawing to her. Her throat dried.

Someone rapped on the door. "Come in." Faajal slid into her kameez. Gurbani pushed the door and entered. Red and purple bruises littered below her eyes, temple, nose and chin. Her left eyelid was too swollen to see through. A deep gash ran on her forehead.

"Ma, do you need something?" Faajal stepped close.

Gurbani's chin wobbled. Her eyes were fixed on the ground. "I am sorry."

"Ma, why?" Faajal knitted her brows. Her palms caressed Gurbani's elbows.

"You are suffering for my fate, Faajal. All of you are the unluckiest children just because of me. I don't deserve to be your mother, Faajal. I don't." Her voice cracked. Her throat gulped back tears.

"No, ma. No. It is not your fault that you got married to him. None of it is your fault, ma." Faajal kissed Gurbani's knuckle and wiped a tear from her mother's cheek. "He will pay for his sins. Karma will tow him down one day." A whisper ran from her mouth. Her lips formed a bleak smile.

A second later, Gurbani traded her smile. Both had silent consolation flowing to each other. Faajal's palm rested on her stomach. "He or she is in paradise now, looking upon us and telling Waheguru to punish the sinner." Glassy beads dawned over her pupils. Yet, her smile persisted. She might not have much to retaliate now, but she would one day.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Suraiya twirled to Mahtab, giggling with mischief. Mahtab glanced at his accomplice. "Kya hua, Suraiya?" [What happened, Suraiya?]

"Mohabbat hogayi hain, bhaijaan." [Someone has fallen in love, brother.]

"Haye Allah! Kise?" [Oh lord, who is it?]

"Aapko." [You.] Suraiya scuttled to Mahtab and sat next to him. Mahtab shrieked. "Kisse?" [For whom?]

"Saheba-e-Alam se," Suraiya murmured in Mahtab's ear. [With the Lady of Hindustan.]

Mahtab winced and covered her mouth with his palm. "Chup, Suraiya!" [Quiet, Suraiya.] Anxiety was evident in his voice as if speaking the very title was punishable.

"Abhi se hi hukumaat karne lage, bhaijaan?" Suraiya tittered in mock surprise. [You have begun your reign already, brother?]

"Suraiya!" Mahtab whispered urgently. "Khuda keliye kabhi aisa khwab na dekha." [For God's sake, never have such a dream.]

His gaze shifted far away. "Woh Saheba-e-Alam hain. Unse nazar milane ki bhi salahiyat nahi hain mera. Hindustan ke hone waali Sultana." [She is the Lady of the World. I do not even have the ability to meet her gaze. Hindustan's future queen.]

Suraiya's smile dimmed, a sad tinge on her lips. "Toh kya hua, bhaijaan? Sultanaein toh khaas Allah ka tarf se aate hain. Lekin unke humsafar toh kahan se bhi aa sakte hain." [So what, dear brother? Queens are indeed sent by God's own grace,

But their companions may come from any place.]

Mahtab sighed. "Nadaan. Zameen ko asmaan se kya jaazbaat?" [Foolish one, what feelings does the earth have for the sky?]

Longing dug a chasm in his heart, impossible to ever refill. Her stance, her smile, her golden payals, every nuance haunted him like a warm memory. Perceptible, but too distant to reach.

"Phir kya banna chahte ho?" Suraiya drawled, leaning her head on his shoulder. [Then, what do you wish to be?]

"Agha," [Servant,]

Suraiya grinned, excitement in her look. "Saheba-e-Alam ke." [Of the Lady of Hindustan.]

"Kabhi nahi, Suraiya! Dobara unka naam maat lena. Agar kisi ne sunn liya?" [Never, Suraiya! Don't mention Her Grace's name again. What if someone hears?]

"Badnaami se kyu darte ho?" [Why are you afraid of dishonour?]

Mahtab closed his eyes. "Badnaami main abh nahi darta. Bas unki ruswayi nahi chahta." [I don't fear dishonour. I only don't want her disgrace.]

"CUT!"

Yusuf stretched his arms and wheezed. "These costumes could not have been any heavier, Feroz."

"These are replicas of real ones, made of pure silk and muslin, Yusuf." Feroz snorted, leaving his seat and whispered about something into Yusuf's ear. Yusuf's head slightly inclined.

Faajal twiddled with a page of her script, sitting nearby. Neither amusement at the actors' delivery nor earnestness to revise her own dialogues was sketched on her face. The world scurried in its rapid pace, and here she was, stranded in the middle of nowhere. Her transient mirth mocked her from behind, its gorging echoes scarring the dead flesh in her ribs.

Her eyes dropped, her mind teetered like gravel on a cliff. Nothing meant to her. Nothing. What was important anymore when her soul was robbed of her? The baby must be playing with angels now, tasting the honey of paradise and hearing the croon of celestials. Had she or he pleaded not to be hacked out during the surgery?

"Aye," Yusuf's call echoed like a smothered chime. Grief numbed her senses to respond to him. Shame dawned on her at the mere sight of him now.

He jostled her arm. "Faajal," She flinched back. His brows puckered at her retreat. Drawing a slow breath, she lifted her head. Her eyes were greeted by his captivating ones. Holding eye contact with him was a wrestle she was cowering in. Her heart prayed that her eyes stayed devoid of any emotion. When faces lacked expressions, eyes exposed the soul. She didn't want her soul naked in front of him. Not when a secret brewed within it that he could not ever learn.

He sat next to her, concern furrowing his temple. "Are you feeling alright? Feeling nauseous again?"

Faajal pursed her lips, shaking her head in denial. Those symptoms would never return.

He cradled her hand on his. "Then, why is your mood off?

"Where? I am trying to memorise my lines." Her fingertips stroked her nape.

"I was supposed to show you the baby frock I had bought. But I forgot to bring it. Next time for sure!" His eyes gleamed with excitement.

A weep itched her throat, but she concealed it with a weak smile. Awkward silence spread between them. Earlier, every second had been profuse with words. Now, they were close, yet far.

After 30 seconds of excruciating quietness, Yusuf spoke, "Mehboob Khan is holding a party at his home. This Tuesday, I heard. Everyone's invited, including Feroz. Your baba must be the first person to be invited, I suppose." He gave a light laugh.

Faajal arched a brow, faking interest. Yusuf was to utter more if Feroz had not called her. Faajal was grateful for the interruption. His presence alone was a salt to her wounds.

"Saheba-e-Alam ko mera saalam." Suraiya folded in a bow to Nurjahan in the garden. [My salutations to the Lady of the World.] Nurjahan hoisted her gaze to Suraiya, a quill fluttering between her fingers. Nurjahan's closest companion, Arshad, winced with a flick of his hand. "Yahan kyu aayi ho batameez ladki!" [Why have you come here, you ill-mannered girl!]

"Aha, aane do use." [Aha, let her come.] She turned to Suraiya's beaming face. "Bolo kya chahti ho." [Say what you want.]

"Main dekhna chahti thi ki log shehzaadi ko dekkhe hosh aur havas kyu kho baithte hain?" [I just wanted to see what it is about the princess that makes people lose their minds.]

Nurjahan chuckled. "Kisne khoya hain?" [Who lost it?]

"Mere Khursheed bhaijaan." [My dear brother Khursheed.]

Arshad roared, "Chup, pagal ladki!" [Shut up, crazy girl!]

"Mera naam Suraiya hain." [My name is Suraiya.]

Nurjahan said, "Aapke bhai bhi apko Suraiya kehti hain?" [Does your brother also call you Suraiya?]

"Pehle kehte the. Abhi toh sirf ek naam unke munh pe hain: Saheba-e-Alam." [He used to say before. Now there's only one name on his lips: Saheba-e-Alam.]

A lock brushed Nurjahan's cheek. She jotted down her note on a paper, folded it and handed it to Suraiya. "Apne bhaijaan ko dena." [Give it to your dear brother.]

Suraiya gave her a salam and scurried away, stealing a playful glance at Arshad.

Arshad gasped, "Shehzaadi, yeh khaat khatre se khaali nahi hain." [Princess, this letter carries peril within it.]

Suraiya sighed. "Kabhi isq karke dekho. Dil se darr nikal jayegi." ["Experience love once. Fear will vanish from your heart.]

The bells of her payal jingled as she crossed past the garden pool, carrying the message of love.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Faajal dropped her eyelids, folding her legs on the sofa. Her head rested on its velvety covering. Solitude was a nectar her bruises needed. Being confined to the quietude of her chamber was far better than faking emotions she no longer felt.

The baby must have borne half of Yusuf and half of her. At one thunder the angel had been created, at another thunder it had been stolen away.

A knock cut the hush. Faajal glanced at the door. "Who is it?"

"Me," Yusuf's gentle voice echoed.

Faajal hissed in agony. Was Waheguru so careless to send Yusuf over and over when she tried to avoid him? Her face creased. She inhaled deeply and opened the door.

"I have news for you." Yusuf beamed, a half-hearted smile flickering at the sides of his lips.

Faajal stepped aside, letting him in. He perched on the sofa and gestured to her to join him. She let out a small sigh through her nose and sat. The icy wind from the air conditioner hardened her soles.

Yusuf nibbled on his lip, a strange expression cast on his face. The hum of the air conditioner accompanied the stiff silence before Yusuf cleared his throat. "I have left Mehboob studios."

Faajal straightened up, incredulity marking her countenance. "Didn't you renew it last year?" If he was acting out of desperation, the consequences were far worse than one could imagine. Opposing Mehboob Khan was akin to putting an axe on own feet. And contract termination had serious penalties. "Are you sure about this?"

"100%. I can not live like this anymore." His tone pitched up. "No freedom to choose my own roles. If I ever choose one for myself, then I have to work on ten others of his choice! I can't do this anymore. Not like this." Yusuf cocked his head in denial. "And Ashok Kumar also ended ties with that Mehboob. Why can't I?"

"He has been in the industry longer than you." Faajal was still reserved from him, but warning him was her responsibility. He was baiting the tiger that could tear down his career in the twinkling of an eye, the very career he toiled for with a heart condition. "He might not be as famous as you now, but he is the first superstar of Indian cinema."

Yusuf shrugged. He might have expected her to acknowledge his courage and send him appreciative words. His courage was truly worthy of sincere credit. But, she could not ignore the likely perils.

"You are saying this because you are used to playing safe, Faajal. If we want to earn our rights, we have to fight for them. Risks come and go, but chances may not." He tutted, whirling his pupils.

Faajal scooted closer to him, her apt eyes clawing to him. "I have never been in the safe zone, Yusuf. That's why I want you to be cautious. One wrong step and everything may end." His chameli cologne coaxed her senses to him until their skins brushed each other.

Her words must have carried weight as his knitted brows loosened. "I have the most versatile actress of this generation on my side. Can anything ever go wrong?" One edge of his mouth swayed up, instilling her with a feeling she thought was hard to retrieve now—warmth. Her guard was crumbling, and the urge to rest her forehead on his shoulder was growing strong.

"Mehbooba," His lips fostered a full smile. Beacons infused his irises. Faajal's brows jumped in response. "There was a local fair at Pune. So many children were playing in the fields, beaming at their parents." His words melted to a whisper. "Sometimes, I wonder if we can also have that. You know, little ones like you and me." His tone turned tentative, but gravitas was there.

All blood drained out of Faajal. Each word of his innocent confession stung her chest like an unbidden blade, and the secret twisted the blade even deeper.

"Some with your chubby cheeks and my eyes. Some with my lips and your nose. So many little Faajal and Yusuf floundering around the house."

An image of a newborn surfaced in Faajal's vision, drifting further and further. She could see it, but never touch it. Never feel the joy of holding one of her own. A scream gurgled at the base of her lungs, to unleash the grief marring her heart, to retaliate on the sinner. She dropped her head on Yusuf's shoulder, finally and closed her eyes. The feel of his skin kissed her scars in utter silence.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

After Faajal reached home, she was called into the study room by Ravinder. She flung off her bag in vexation and obeyed. In the study room, Ravinder massaged his forehead with documents placed on the table. His other hand continuously tapped the table.

Faajal stopped at his front. Since that night, she refused to speak to the murderer of her child. Ravinder's keen eyes shifted to her. He exhaled sharply, frustration apparent on him. "Has your lover said anything to you regarding Mehboob studios?"

"Yes." A curt answer sprang from her mouth. What might he be up to again?

"What did he say?"

Now, this man had to meddle in their private conversations, too. "He is leaving."

Ravinder's fingertips pressed into the middle of his temple, his hairline greased with sweat. "Has he said anything about the production of Ganga Jamuna?"

"No." A brow curved above Faajal's eye. Something must have gone wrong with the production of Ganga Jamuna. Karan Mishra had visited Feroz at the set today. Counting their strained visages and the tight air, things must have gone off-plan.

"Make sure you take your copy of the contract and other details tomorrow."

"Why?" Faajal didn't flinch back from the terse question. Her tongue was made of steel now.

"Because I told you so." Danger guttered in the elder's eyes. Faajal spun back and trailed away. His agog demands must have spoiled the agreement. Only Waheguru knew what else was left to bear with now.

Gurbani emerged upstairs, half of her face veiled with her dupatta. "Ma, can you get the blue file from the left corner of my cupboard? That man needs it." She grasped her towels and bathrobe. Gurbani replied, "Are you feeling well, nah?"

Faajal had 2 blue files—one of her medical reports and another of her projects. "I am alright, ma. I want that contract one."

"I guess it's the top one?"

"Hmm." Faajal entered the bathroom. The scent of vanilla and rose wafted across the tiled walls. She pulled away her butterfly hairpin, and dark strands poured down.

Gurbani's low voice penetrated the bathroom door. "Faajal, I have kept it in your bag."

Faajal squeezed out a drop of body wash on the loofah. "Thanks, ma."

When Faajal was to retire to bed, the telephone echoed. "Hello?"

"It's me, Feroz, Faajal."

"Yes, Feroz?"

"Do you know that your baba has breached the agreement?" Feroz's tone was solemn. Faajal swallowed. "No, why?"

"He collected the advance payment from Karan Mishra, but now he refuses to send you to Pune. But, he was well aware of this term when the contract was given to him!"

"I don't know much, but I heard once that he negotiated with Mr Mishra." Pressure built up in Faajal's stomach.

"Negotiated? He almost put up a fight with him. Anyways, Faajal, Mishra wants to meet you tomorrow."

"Alright, Feroz."

"And please tell your baba not to bring any third party in this matter. Especially not his good friend." Feroz cut the call.

What might have happened that Ravinder was trying to pull even Mehboob Khan into this? If he had one true friend in the industry, it was Mehboob Khan—both were money-hungry individuals after all.

Faajal curled up on the bed, preparing herself for another turmoil tomorrow.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Faajal's hands fisted into firm balls as she stood before Feroz's meeting chamber. Muffled discussions sneaked through the slit of the door. She twisted it open, and half of the production team greeted her, their expression rather lukewarm.

Karan Mishra had a brow raised, his eyes frozen in a glare. Faajal huffed, tapping his armrest with his fingers. Faajal perched between them, expressionless. Beats stretched among them without words. Only an unsolicited dullness settled in the air.

"Does your father always intervene in your projects?" Karan Mishra's rigid voice concluded the quietness.

"He is the one who handles all the financial sectors," Faajal responded, her speech clipped.

Karan Mishra rubbed his jawline. "Just last week, I informed your father about the shooting in Pune for only 20 days. He even agreed. Now, he doesn't want it. This sudden shift of decision, Madhu," His stare shot to her. "You know, how much effort it takes!" His forbearance was wearing out. He clenched his jaw. "It took me days to build the set! And, now he is doing all this! He claims that you can not shoot outside Bombay! But, I had informed him earlier!"

Faajal kept her quiet, her fingers woven together. "Look, Madhu," Karan Mishra absorbed a deep breath. "I have given you an advance payment. I, as the director, have the full right to remove any cast! I apologize if I sound rude, but if your father keeps throwing tantrums–" Karan Mishra bit out. "I can also take action."

"So, you are filling my daughter's ear behind my back?" The devil's roar split Faajal's eardrums. By the door, Ravinder stood, simmering like an escalating flame. His mouth crooked in a mocking smirk.

"I am telling her the truth!" Karan Mishra bit out, shooting up from his seat.

Ravinder reached him. "What truth?! That you are forcing her to shoot outside?" He glowered at Karan Mishra, his look steeped in disgust.

Karan Mishra laughed bitterly, a sharp mockery. "Forcing? Forcing? You and your daughter both agreed with the outside shooting, might I remind you?"

"When I am saying it's not comfortable for her, who are you to question that?!" Ravinder stole a glance at Faajal.

"A chameleon is even ashamed after seeing you, Ravinder Singh! Last week, you were all but oiling people's feet, and now you are twisting things! This shooting will happen in Pune. That's it and that's final!" Karan Mishra's finger pointed at Ravinder. "And, if you are not okay with this, then pay back my advance payment!"

He flounced out of the room. Feroz chewed his lower lip, dancing his legs. Ravinder seethed like a boiling volcano, his rage threatening to eat anyone within its reach. Faajal gritted her teeth. She never felt so powerless in her life. The career was hers, yet it was being toyed with by another.

Feroz approached Ravinder. "Sahab, be careful. Karan Mishra has a reputation for being strict. He once pressed legal charges against Filmistan's executive for breaching budget planning."

"Do you think I care about that scoundrel? If he wants to press legal charges, I will show him what it is really like!"

"No, baba!" Faajal lastly regained her voice. She would not let him act on his fragile ego, not when her hard-won career hinged on it. Ravinder's gaze sparked at her. Faajal calmed herself. "Please, I don't need to do this film right now. Cancel it and return the money. It is for our own good."

Ravinder spurted, "Don't you teach me what's good now!" He stormed out.

Faajal quenched the irate moan on her tongue. She reached her room and carefully placed the blue file in the mini vault. If 'Ganga Jamuna' were to be cancelled, these papers would be needed.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Suraiya scuttled to Mahtab and handed him the letter. "Bhai, yeh lo khaat." [Brother, here is a letter.]

Mahtab frowned, lowering his voice. "Kiska khaat?" [Whose letter?]

A crooked grin opened Suraiya's mouth. "Saheba-e-Alam ka." [Of the Lady of the World.]

Mahtab shrieked, recoiling. "Kisi ne dekha toh nahi?" [Has anyone seen this?]

"Arrey, bhaijaan. Dil dene mein der nahi aur dil lene mein itni der?!" [Oh, brother! You didn't take long to give your heart, so why does it take so long to take hers?!]

Mahtab snatched away the letter from Suraiya's grip, a sheer smile pulling at his lips. He tiptoed to a dingy corner, far away from watchful eyes and unfolded the letter.

Agar arsh mein pehle se hi ek qamar khuda na banata, shayad tumhara soorat qaus-o-quzah ke beech hoti. Main jaang ke istaqaamat ke gulam hu. Mere dil mein tha lahoon ka aftaab. Lekin khursheed naam ka yeh yagaana moajaza ne mere qalb ko noor-e-chahat se bhar diya hain. Bolo, Mahtab! Kya tumhare qalb mein bhi yeh tamanna hain jo mujhe shab mein sone nahi deti? Kya tumhare jeest mein bhi gulshan-e-suroor ki roshni khel rahi hain? Tumhare jawab ke intezaar mein rahungi.

[If God had not already placed a moon in the heavens, perhaps your face would have been set among the colours of the rainbow. I am a servant bound to the steadfastness of battle. In my heart, once burned only the sun of blood. Yet this rare miracle named Mahtab has filled my soul with the light of love. Tell me, Mahtab! Does your heart also carry this longing that robs me of my sleep at night? Does the radiance of the garden of delight also dance within your being? I will wait for your answer.]

Mahtab pressed the letter to his chest, her confession a mirror of his own. He wanted to cry a 'yes', he wanted to run to her and bare his furtive heart. But, a wall of fear encased him. Once he reciprocated, this tale would wander on endless tongues. People would speak ill of Nurjahan. Never in his life did he want that! He seized a paper and a quill, and gouged the heart of the paper, every stroke of ink a lash on his longing.

Shehzaadi, asmaan ko sitare kabhi zameen ke raakh se kya jazbaat? Kabhi shayad sitara ka nazar raakh ke upar aa bhi jaye, toh bhi kabhi woh dono mil na sake. Kyuki taqdeer ka pabandi hain. Aise hi mujh jaise ek muhaz agha ke piche aapke tamanna ki fazlah na kare. Aapke khals nigahon ke kabil lakhon hain, lekin hum jaise ek mamoli agha nahi.

[Princess, what feelings can the stars of the sky ever share with the ashes of the earth? Perhaps, at times, a star's gaze may fall upon the ashes, yet the two can never meet—for destiny binds them apart. In the same way, for someone like me, a humble poet, you must not waste your priceless desire. Your pure gaze is worthy of countless souls, but not of one as ordinary as I.]

He folded the letter and tucked it into a lotus of the garden pond. His heart shattered into fragments, yet he would not let her fall for him. Not when he was a spy of the enemy, disguised as a poet in the court of the Mughals.

The lotus sailed away, bearing a shard of his bleeding heart.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

3 days flew by and the industry's biggest personas started getting ready for Mehboob Khan's extravagant party. He was holding it in his 8000 square feet mansion. Famed producers, executives, filmmakers and artistes were invited to the grand gala.

"I wonder how I will endure that man's face!" Yusuf fixed his cufflinks. He and Faajal decided to get ready by themselves in the studio. The private party would last for a few hours, without cameras. So, they didn't need stylists to look all polished in the cameras.

"If you have the courage to terminate the contract, it should not be much of a bother." Faajal hooked a pair of gold kanoti jhumkas on her earlobes. She grabbed a black clip and secured one chain of the jhumka into her hair. Her hair was elaborated into a loose knot.

"Good lord, your father is off there." Yusuf moaned, struggling to choose between a red and a blue tie.

Faajal applied a peach-coloured lipstick, looking at her reflection on the vanity. After using it, she closed its cap. "Yusuf, come here a bit."

Yusuf strode to her, adjusting his shrewd collar. Faajal touched her kundan locket. "Should I wear this?"

Yusuf ran his tongue over his teeth, deep in thought. "I don't think it matches. Like, you are wearing the earring from one set and this locket from the other–"

"Then, you choose one for me." Faajal shrugged. "No, no, it's first class–" Yusuf tried to compensate. Faajal handed him the key to her cupboard, heaving a sigh. "Just take out one of your choices."

He inclined his head. She could not suppress the smile on her face. He opened the cupboard and unlocked the mini vault. Rummaging through velvet boxes, he brought out 2 boxes and opened them. The lockets inside them didn't seem to satisfy him. So, putting them back, he was to withdraw another box when a bunch of papers cascaded down on the floor, and the blue file dropped along.

Faajal caught Yusuf kneeling over the papers on the mirror. He began gathering them, but suddenly his hands paused. He picked up a blue paper, his gaze steady on the lines written on it.

Faajal's breaths stalled in her lungs. Legal agreements had ivory paper. Clinical records were printed on blue paper.

"Yusuf!" She dashed to him and snatched away the paper, her cry a little louder than intended. Yusuf flinched, his pupils dilated. His gaze whisked from Faajal to the paper.

She briskly packed the strewn papers and shoved them into the file, her movements shaky. Yusuf's brows creased deeper, his eyes probing. The unspoken question in his expression formed a hot lump in Faajal's throat. Unease jangled her mind.

She thrust the file into the mini vault and locked the cupboard. "Thank you for helping me choose." A false smile parted her lips, her fingers crawling over the velvet box on Yusuf's left hand. Extracting the key from the cupboard, Faajal sat before the vanity and placed the key inside her purse.

Yusuf looped his tie around his neck and started coiling it, his facial features eerily puckered. Faajal stood up and wrapped her arms around his back. Her nose brushed his shoulder. "Looking handsome, I must say." A coy laugh escaped her mouth.

He uttered no word. A cool detachment shadowed his mannerisms. But Faajal clung to him, remorse prodding her like a needle.

The telephone rang. Faajal let go of Yusuf and received the call. "Hello?"

"Where are you two?" Feroz giggled; others' laughter droned behind his voice.

"We are coming now." Faajal stammered, exhaling tediously.

"Also, Faajal, don't forget to tell the watchman to stay until 11. I think I will return before that, but in case I am late."

"Okay, Feroz." Faajal almost ended the call when Feroz piped up, "Also, Faajal! Hello?"

"Yes, yes, Feroz?"

"Has the staff left?"

Faajal peeked at Yusuf, who was sliding into his black blazer. "Yes, everyone has left. It is just us in the studio right now."

"Okay, come fast! The cake is going to be cut soon!"

The conversation ended. Faajal rotated to Yusuf. "Shall we go then?" He nodded and marched towards the exit. Faajal switched off the lights and scampered with him.

They entered Yusuf's convertible Ferrari. Yusuf occupied the driver's seat. He inserted the key to the ignition. The engine droned in its wake.

Faajal hooked the seatbelt, ready to ride, when Yusuf muttered, "I am coming from the washroom." He left his seat and stepped inside the studio building. His shadow melted into the murk of the studio.

Minutes fled. Faajal tapped her toes anxiously. It would not take him this long in the washroom. Was he up to something else? His aloof attitude flashed in her head. Instinctively, she opened her purse to check the key. Her cupboard and vault had 2 keys each, and to her horror, both had their spare keys missing. No, no, NO! It could not be! 

Faajal sprinted out of the car and rushed to her room, her heart hammering in her ears. Cold sweat broke out in her palms. Her ragged breaths resonated on her way to him.

There he was, in the timid light of her room. His eyes were darting back and forth over the blue paper. As his vision imbibed each word, his eyes crimsoned. His jaw tightened. His coldness morphed into angst.

Faajal paused in the threshold, banging her heels against the floor. Anger and regret, all blending in her like a tempest. Pain surged through her at his mistrust. Her nails dug into the wall.

"Why?" His rasp sliced like an abrupt thunderclap. His body quaked like a leaf in gale.