You had promised me, Shankar! Long before we even understood what love is, you had promised to marry me, and only me! Then, I had to settle in the city, but when I returned, hope flared again that finally we would reunite! What have you done to these dreams, SHANKAR!" Reshma took a hasty setp back as he was to fetch her wrists. Tears stroked her cheeks, stinging like the thorns of rose.

"I never knew it, Reshma! Believe me! I never even knew what her purpose was while taking my sign on that registration paper! She just came to me randomly and took my sign. I-I was busy with work since I had to receive you early. I didn't even get to look at it!" He whisked his arms to pull her close, but failed.

"I used to trust you! And you!" Reshma turned her back on him and flounced ahead. Shankar trailed behind, calling out. But his betrayal was too deafening to let other words penetrate. "Reshma, why would I marry such a woman who remains locked up all day for her mental sickness?! Who would want that?!'

She finally paused on her tracks. "YOU! FOR HER MONEY!" She left him in the hollow of the garden they had planted decades ago.

"CUT!" Sajid Hasan straddled on the director's chair, satisfaction brightened his signature smirk. "We shall chop up the first three frames and colour the wide shot to have a good look whether it's good or not." He explained to the cameraman.

Faajal sighed in reassurance. It required 3 shots to achieve the befitting crying scene. In the first take, her timing wasn't concise. In the second one, her screams weren't satisfactory, and everyone had already burrowed a crease amid his brows.

"Well, I hope she goes away real soon. I can't bear with her taunts anymore." Chanchal nagged, biting on a chop of fried cauliflower. Nowadays, Ravinder had lunch with staff and department heads. So, it was Faajal, Chanchal, Yusuf and sometimes Pran. After earning a role in a moderate-scale film, he remained engaged on his set. Though Chanchal couldn't tolerate Pran, she had been asking his whereabouts these days. Faajal couldn't decide whether it was bizarre or amusing. The probes budded in her mind solidified more and more as she assessed Chanchal.

"But, still, I don't want her to end up like ma."

"Regardless of what she did to you?" Chanchal wheezed.

"Yes,"

Saira had received a marriage proposal from the house of a Punjabi trader. He didn't have stacks of wealth, but stable enough to fulfil familial needs. Ravinder had already arranged two discussions before, and from the other side, it had been a bleary 'yes'. Now, the settlement leaned on Ravinder. His response could tie the knot or sever it instead of Saira's. He hadn't even asked her opinion on this. What Ravinder decided was what happened in their household.

"Madhu?" Faajal's makeup artist, Geeta, peeped through the door. "Urgent meeting."

Faajal arose and headed to the set where a humming crowd encircled production heads. Yusuf stood at the producer's front, brown spices still encrusted on his fingertips. He must have rushed without washing his hands.

"So, two more weeks to complete filming. Then, we enter the editorial phase. Almost 75 kilos of reels. After some trimming and rearranging, you will get to watch the final product in a sweatbox before the premiere, if you want."

"I don't. I don't want to ruin my excitement." Yusuf claimed.

"Then, we'll meet you at the premiere." Sajid Hasan replied.

"Neither do I." Faajal piped up, prompting heads at her.

"Will your father allow you to miss the pre-release watch?" Sajid Hasan asked.

"I am a part of this project, not him. So, I don't see a reason for him to force me." A curt reply, but Faajal was too aggravated by Ravinder's domineering and everyone's misconception about her choices. They presumed that Ravinder had to make every choice for her.

"Fine, then. Whatever the lead actors say." Sajid Hasan cocked his head at the producer, who nodded.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

A month and a half later,

"So, you want to change your college, now? You know how hard the entrance exam is?!" Faajal exclaimed at Meher, who kept on skimming through her textbook. She was currently in the first year of a local college, but Meher couldn't be Meher if she didn't extend her ambition. Over the past years, she had been carving her path to pursue a lawyer career, despite Ravinder's restrictions. After pleading with him countless times, they managed to make him accept. In 9th grade, a prosecutor had visited her school, spawning a desire in her to don those black robes and white bands.

"Priyanka has already told me. But, this college is basically for engineering." Meher marked a line with her pencil.

"It's literally miles away!"

Meher breathed. "You have been running miles to the studio for the last couple of years, just to feed us. How did you do it?"

Faajal lost words. She blinked to herself, drifting to the rush she had taken when she had been new to the studio. When her body had toiled thanklessly for a 15-hour shift. When others of her age were busy with dolls, she had been assigned to make money. She loved acting without any doubts, but not having overall control stirred her ire.

"I can't guarantee you that baba will approve, Meher. He never went to school himself and hasn't sent either of us, but you and Chanchal. If he thinks you are crossing—"

"Crossing what, di?" Meher's gaze congealed. Cold, strong esteem danced in those round eyes. "We shouldn't only pity ourselves but rather try to stretch our boundaries to end this misery."

A while settled in silence till a phone call disrupted. Faajal wandered to her telephone and picked up the call. "Hello?"

"Hello, I want to have some words with Madhu. Is she here?"

"I am Madhu. Who is speaking?"

"I am Geeta."

"Oh, Geeta! Yes, yes....what happened?"

"Can I come to your home to explain everything?"

"Is something serious going on?" Anxiety stirred within Faajal.

"Nothing to worry about, but it's important."

Faajal shared her address and scrambled to Gurbani, who embroidered on a kurta while heeding Chanchal's fresh gossip on the neighbouring aunty and her son's eloping with the girl of a rickshawala, "Ma! Do we have snacks?"

Gurbani replied, "Yes, would you want some?"

"NO, NO! My makeup artist Geeta is coming!"

"Oh! You should have told me earlier, Faajal. I'd have prepared better things–" Gurbani shirked off the needle and hustled to the kitchen.

"She has just told me!" Fajaal dashed behind. Gurbani kept a half-empty can of biscuits, a packet holding two rasgullas, and nearly eaten cubes of badam ka halwa from the fridge on the dining table while Faajal scrubbed the fancy plates and spoons. Chanchal joined a second later. "Oh Waheguru, please don't let her eat badam ka halwa. Finally, after days, ma has brought it out."

Faajal worked more vigorously to rub off a brown blotch on a gold-rimmed plate. "Aren't you satisfied with finishing all ten at once?"

Chanchal dried the plates with a towel and placed them near Gurbani to arrange the snacks. "I wonder why unwanted people have to visit now! The living room is a literal disaster!"

"Should people stop coming then? It happens, and that's when we put our speed to good use." Gurbani sighed, scooping rasgullas on a plate beside badam ka halwa.

Minutes later, 

Faajal and Chanchal placed cushions and magazines in their positions while Gurbani mopped the floor clean when a ramble alerted them. Faajal peeped out the window to notice Geeta scouring in her bag at a taxi's front. " She has come!! MA, let go of the mop!"

Gurbani bolted away right after three seconds, and Faajal smoothed her hair. "Chanchal, do I look good?"

"Stunning as always!"

The calling bell wailed, and Faajal wrenched the knob to greet Geeta. "Namaste! This early? I must say you're punctual." Faajal bore a gentle smile, stepping aside to let her in.

"The premiere is tomorrow, and director sahab has urged so much since last night." Geeta perched on the sofa.

"Water?" Faajal pushed her glass forward.

Geeta picked it up. "Yes, please. I was in much rush." A smile warmed her face that reached her eyes. After gulping the whole glass down, Geeta sucked in air and leaned on the sofa. "Madhu, first tell me that you won't refuse."

" What's the matter?"

" First, promise me."

" Fine. I won't. Now, tell me."

Geeta kept her lips pursed before opening up finally, "Director sahab wants you to have a makeover for the event. He wants stylists to prepare you and he has even appointed one."

Faajal processed her revelation for a beat. Eminent stars could hire stylists to set their clothing and exterior for shows and gatherings. She was used to getting ready by herself, some handy hacks were her tool to enhance her features. It didn't bother her anyway but having a stylist? Her head throbbed to realise she would be getting the same treatment as celebrities.

"So, Madhu Sharma, meet me at the studio at sharp two pm." Geeta smiled as if she had grasped Faajal's frenzy. She was to leave the sofa when she cut off, "Oh, what saree are you going to wear?"

"I have a green sequinned chiffon saree."

"No white chiffon?"

"Yes, I do have it but it's not that fancy. Just a tiny lace on the border."

"Bring that one." Geeta patted her shoulder.

"But, my baba may not give permission."

"For his approval, director sahab has sent me."

It took a while to settle into Faajal. Ravinder and these things? Someone better pinch her to prove it's true.

" So, prepare yourself for this magic tomorrow. Your love would just die seeing you in all white, shining and oozing like a goddess." A wily giggle spread on her.

Faajal flushed, excitement dribbled in her stomach, but dread scratched the base of her spine. Please, come fast tomorrow.