Faajal was dived into her realm of contemplation . It has been days since she scrawled on some verses. Her pen exuded ink on the thin paper as she raked through words to compose a perfect line. She remained melted on the balcony floor.

"Phone aaya hain." A cold voice rumbled through the peace. Saira stood stoic behind her. Faajal tilted to her and gave a timid nod. Since that conflict, they hadn't even shared any daily conversation except yes, no or whenever no mediums of communication was left. Their talks consisted of terse sighs and trimmed words.

Faajal wandered to the ringing telephone and picked. "Hello?"

"Thought you were missing me." He was there again, playing with her.

"Why should I miss someone who's always in my pages?"

"But, I am missing you very bad. Recite some shayaris for me."

Faajal moaned, being a witness of his flattery for 6 years. She couldn't suppress the smile shading her face. "I was writing when you called."

"Recite whatever you have written till now."

"Hold the call." She kept the mouthpiece aside and hastily fetched her diary. Clearing her throat, she hovered the latest page up to her eyes.

Tere sassoon mein jo hain jahan ke sare nazakat,

Tere lafzon mein jo hain dil ki chahaat.

"Tere muskurahat pe hain saat dariya ka safar." He added on the phone. "Tere ansoon mein hain jigar-e-apna beqarar."

"Wah! Aap bhi toh shayari karne lage hain!" Faajal's grin culminated to an impressed giggle.

"Yeh cheez toh mere baye haath ka khel hain! Bas ek chhoti si khoofiyan." He sneered. "Phir kal jo hoga woh bhi toh tere baye haath ka khel hoga, hain na?" She switched roles with him, now playing the teaser.

He hissed under breath. "Fear is a distant thing now. You watch your own–"

Faajal sensed movements rustling near. "Abh main rakhti hu. Kaal baatein karenge." She desperately whispered and cut the call.

"Tune meri suyi aur dhaaga ka dabba dekhi?" Gurbani inquired, scanning her eyes around. Faajal shook her head in decline. "Maine idhar hi toh–" Gurbani rummaged over the cupboards.

Faajal aided her in searching. She turned aside the boxes and jars posed on the cupboards. Behind an enormous jar of mango achar, the tin can filled with sewing accessories rested. "Ma! Mujhe mil gayi!"

"Haye! Yaad hi nahi thi ki yeh dabba yahan thi!" Gurbani took the box and was to stride away, but stopped. "Accha, kal kabh jayegi?"

"Subeh 9 baaje. Tujhe akele hi jaana parega."

"Chanchal shayad kaal nahi jayegi. Main teri mami ke ghar ja rahi hu tere baba ke saath."

"Kabh?" Faajal shrieked, pouring more emphasis than she wanted.

"Abhi tak ticket nahi mili. Kaal jaake ticket lenge." Gurbani turned away. Faajal retreated to the balcony and continued her effort to pen some lines.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

"So, we will be shooting this in an arc. The metal band is a bit short. So, we are taking a long view." Sajid Hasan demonstrated to the crew including the poor-fated Yusuf and intimidated Faajal. She wondered if the procedure would sail smoothly regarding their twisted fate.

Yusuf rubbed his wet palms, frozen and paled, though he tried to stay enthused and uplifted. "How long will it need?" His throat was stoic, but a tiny shiver was noticeable.

"Ten minutes is enough. We don't want the flame eat up the set." Sajid Hasan snickered, oblivious to Yusuf's condition.

They parted in groups accordingly and prepared for the shot. Faajal longed to soothe him and utter some emboldening words, but the heavy makeup process snatched her chance.

Tiny ripples of fire crackled, ringing around Yusuf who stood stiff. Dark blemishes were dabbed on his face to represent the character in trouble. Staff fed the flame papers and twigs to expand the burning crests.

As the flame doubled in scale, it started crumbling up the ring around Yusuf. The remarkable growth protruded heat onto Faajal's cheeks, making her wonder how he felt so close.

"YUSUF! ACT AS PRACRISED! FLEE TO YOUR LEFT WHEN LINES ARE DONE!" Sajid Hasan bellowed on a loudspeaker and asked the cameraman to begin.

"NO! NO! Reshma!" Shankar covered his eyes, stinging from the puffs of fume. He desperately groped for safety, but his surroundings blocked any access. Helpless and crestfallen, he freezes in the centre, the steady wave of torching orange approaching him. "Oh lord, save me this once! Let her know I never married anyone!" A concluding plea before the fire slammed his front, and he perished to the temerity of fate.

"YUSUF, RUN!" Sajid Hasan yelled on the loudspeaker, but Yusuf didn't. Faajal scrambled forward, astounded by his blank response. The flame was to touch his face soon, its volume vaster in a beat. Sajid Hasan left his seat and resumed commanding, now attracting a throng of concerned crew members. Some fetched pitchers and propelled at the base of fire, some stepped nearer, aiming instructions at Yusuf, but in vain. He showed no strain to escape, just standing bone-chilled—no sign left of his consciousness.

The flame now stretched up to a mighty tsunami, its tip ready to engulf him. The brink was downing to his crown—a few feet apart. Orangey red shadow cast over his face. It was so close, Faajal felt her heart collapse to witness a gruesome mishap. NO! NO! NO! NO!

The entire world slowed into a beat. Her mind couldn't care for others, but for him and the consequence laid before her. Breaths struck her throat, heaving her stomach. Her sight was a blurred line with people swarming. He was nowhere. He wasn't there.

"Come on! Lay him down here!" Someone shouted, bringing her from stupor. Staff carried Yusuf to a nearby sofa and laid him down, followed by Sajid Hasan. The mist of shock faded as his face appeared, blooming with hope. Oh, Waheguru! Her stomach loosened, discarding its frozen shell. Sweat slashed her forehead as she slurped in inhales.

She bolted to his sweat-soaked body and buried his face in her chest, careless to others watching. "You! Oh!" She grazed his hair shakily. His greased face soaked her saree as his frame quivered frantically.

Minutes later, he turned stable and moving, but two crimson drops occurred below his nostrils. She tapped those beads, studying precisely. Nosebleed again!

He met her nervous gaze, faltering. "Someone get a doctor!" She gasped. "No, no." Yusuf declined hoarsely, but in vain. "I am okay, just—"

"Why are you watching my face?! Call a doctor!" Faajal screamed at the staff who hurried off. Her arms clenched around his head, wiping his drenched forehead. The red streaks lengthened by time, and his complexion paled. His breathing slowed, yet rougher than usual. "I told you," Faajal hissed. "I told you not to risk."

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

"Your blood pressure is way higher than the common scale of your age. It's 130/95! Have you consulted with anyone before?" The doctor unlatched the cuff on Yusuf's left arm. Yusuf shook his head in denial.

"Have you experienced such occurrences before?"

Yusuf barely moved his mouth, but Faajal answered with a sudden burst of energy. "YES! Yes! I've seen it twice."

"Has it been happening recently or it's a long term condition?"

Yusuf curved his nape down, heaving a sigh. Silence altered their conversation till he opened up, "I-I was a blue baby. That's all I know."

"You better take adequate actions till this problem is mild. Come to my chamber tomorrow." The doctor handed him a visiting card and left his seat. "Do take proper rest today."

The visiting card was crumpled in Yusuf's grip. His gaze was lost in faraway thoughts. Faajal perched beside him. "I told you not to hide things, nah? Do you think by hiding these you can get rid of them?" She cupped his chin.

He didn't respond, too focused on something demanding his mind.

"If something happened to you, I would have died myself!"

He slammed her lips with his palm, fuming red. "Never that. Forget it, Faajal. Possibilities don't matter, but the reality."

Treads approached them. "We shall shoot after the lunch break. Till then Yusuf, take some rest. It's been a hasty day." Sajid Hasan assured.

"What about the scene, sahab? Was it appropriate?"

"It went well. Don't take stress." He patted Yusuf's shoulder and walked away.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

"Here, take another spoon." Faajal lifted a spoonful of khir before his mouth despite his denial. "I have already swallowed seven spoons before!" He retorted, squinting his nose. "You won't get this daily, so enjoy as much as you can! Here!" She dug the spoon in his mouth, causing him to flinch and glare. A smear of khir gleamed on his bottom lip. She wiped it and licked the sweet milky cream. "Serving a sick person brings blessings."

"I am not sick! Who tells that? I am perfectly fine and attractive!"

"Fine, fine! Don't stress, otherwise you'll have a nosebleed again." She shoved the last spoon of khir in his mouth.

"A nosebleed is nothing before the heartbleed you inflict every day."

Faajal wheezed, "What did I do?"

"Poke with your merciless tongue. Honestly, why did I fall in love with you who takes pride in grinding my pride into dust?"

"So that you don't grow boastful about your gift. Not everyone is as lucky as you. You and Pran need to understand that and stop your business."

He shot up from the sofa. "Oye, meri koi gal nahi hain! Main toh ek chitthi lekkhe khatam karta hu. Aur woh bandar! Woh das kudiyon ke saath sota hain!"

"Chitthi ho yah jo bhi ho, tari faltu ki timepass ki dukan band karni paregi! Kya maza aata hain? Jaake uss time mein thoda apni kala ka istemal kar le!"

"Tere se baat karna hi bekar!" He again plopped down.

"Toh karne ko kaun dasada hain?" She hurls off the steel box and spoon on the table and starts packing their lunchboxes.

"Yeh dil."

She stopped in her tracks in a beat and tilted to him. A cheeky smile had adorned his face with naughtiness glinting over. "Sambhal ke rakkhiyon. Bina munh se bhi uski baatein paata chal jati hain hume." His smile smeared on her, illuminating the brown eyes.

"Jiske pas hain, usiko hi toh paata lagegi na?" 

A/N: Sorry for the delay, readers! I was on a much-needed vacation. Check out my new project, 'Can We Be?'. The first chapter and prologue have been uploaded.

XOXO,

Luna