Faajal discussed the scene she would deliver with the art director who lectured her for the third time on altering her costume.

"Faajal, look, you don't have to rush to the backroom. Just stand aside and slip on your other dress. "

"Sir, it's too big to wear it there. Plus, how do I tie up the skirt?" Faajal frowned.

"It's easy-" The other explained, irking her nerves again. No matter how she clarified these men would stick to their beliefs. After enduring a lengthy lecture from the director she wandered to the changing room and garbed in the heaviest batch of gowns she ever put on. She wondered whether the established actresses suffered like this or the crew melted to their glamour, lessening these procedures.

"No, father. Don't do such an injustice to your daughter's heart. She'd rather succumb than bear the loss of her heartbeat!" Suraiya lamented in front of her defying father.

The play Faajal was participating focused on Suraiya, a hopeless teenager from an aristocratic Muslim lineage, who was forbidden on her path of love. Fostering a soft corner for the boy of their gateman, she stood contrast to her family's principles.

The audience before leaned forward at the peak of their tension.

Suraiya's father drove his palm on her cheek, imprinting 4 red lines paralleled in that delicate skin. Suraiya didn't turn her face. Enraged breaths fumed from her father's nostrils, his eyes opaque. No remorse not even reluctance hindered them from shooting an icy stare at the dejected teenager.

The play concluded with Suraiya's father murdering the ill-fated boy of the gateman and Suraiya welcoming death by sipping rat venom. Faajal could comprehend some sniffles from the audience as they gradually vacated the seats.

"Why don't you try for films?" the play's director drifted closer, his expression bright in amusement.

Faajal widened her lips in a smile. "Thank you, sir."

"No, I mean you should really go into films. Your presentation is quite natural and potent in its point. That's a lot of improvement in just a couple of months." he frowned.

"Thank you, sir." Faajal left for the changing room, still, the idea whisked in her mind. After a number of months of playing a junior artist, her will strived for more, something brighter than this conventional job. She wanted an expansive range to showcase her dexterity and prove her worth. 

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

At lunch break,

"Why aren't you eating, now?" Ravinder mumbled, rolling his orbs while taking a mouthful of rice. Faajal gave a slight nod, wringing the warm grains of rice. She couldn't concentrate on food when an opportunity ushered there, perhaps harbouring a possibility of being promoted to the next level, another tread of her life that could change her fate.

Ravinder hissed in vexation, curling his lips bitterly. "Will you stay unfed till night?

"No, baba." she reverted to her meal. Finishing her meal earlier would mean meeting Yusuf if this man dislodged from her way. Ravinder left his seat by the time Faajal was washing her hands. "I am going, now. Make sure to arrive for the next recording on time." he sharpened his tone as his eyes pinned her where she stood. Ravinder played cards with some staff members every noon. So, Faajal sneaked her trail to Yusuf within the time Ravinder remained engaged.

"Oye," she whispered from behind, tapping his shoulder. Yusuf, who was pre-occupied with savouring lichies, jerked from her undeclared emergence. "You? Almost kicked the soul out of me," he whined, darting her a distasteful glare, squinting his nose. She shoved him aside and sat on his side. "Tasting lichies without me?" she nudged his ribs, causing him to hiss in pang.

"Here you go," he peeled one and handed to her, juicy and ripe. As soon as she dove her teeth into its flesh, its fragrant and sweet juice splattered on her tongue. This exceptional taste persuaded her to gobble one more. "Where you found these?"

"My neighbour is a farmer. He has been growing these. These are too sweet, aren't they?"

"Hmm," she swallowed the bulbous flesh and licked off the remnants on her fingers.

"I call them 'Allah ke rasgulle'."

A wide grin spread on her face. "Allah ke rasgulle? Tu bhi na,"

"Oh, wait," he racked in his pouch for something. Faajal slanted closer to have a look. A magazine occupied his hand from the pouch, a portrait glazing on the cover page. The title said 'Ashok Kumar to blow the industry again'

"Isn't he looking just impeccable?" Yusuf seemed to liquefy like ice placed on heat, the fond bent on his juice-smeared lips melded with longing. Faajal scanned the photograph with keen eyes to catch the reason of Yusuf's admiration. Ashok Kumar possessed average facial features except for two round eyes that stood wider than other males'. "He is like okay," Faajal relucted to express her impression, wavering to his reaction.

Yusuf snapped to her, his eyes bulged out. "What? He is the first icon of Indian cinema!"

Faajal quaked back in surprise at his hollering. "I know, I know, but, ummm-"

Yusuf sighed when she didn't find an adequate response. "You know what? Forget it-" The lines between his brows deepened. "Don't know when I am going to reach this stardom. You know, everything just feels flat here as a junior artist. Perform a play, the audience applause, grab your check, get treated worse than an insect because you aren't a big star and then return home!" he glowered.

Faajal exhaled sharply in response to his scowls. She related to his words and in addition to this discrimination, her family members were always there to poke her for every single thing. Companionable silence pulsated between them, both staring distant as if trying to rummage in the future and discover the unseen to be salvaged from this cycle of misery and mistreatment.

Finally, Yusuf's mumble ended the quietness. "I have something for you." He scoured in his bag and revealed a wooden box. Faajal arched her brows in unspoken query but he hushed her. Out of the box, he displayed a silver payal tinkling as his wrist quivered. Tiny bells dangled in each joint of those shimmering chains. He beckoned to lift her foot but she declined. She couldn't let someone divine as him touch her feet. After several refusals, he forced her ankle up and ringed the payal around it. The bells clinking like chimes of heaven. When his fingers crossed around her anklet to secure it, Faajal felt her heartbeat gain an instant leapt. She couldn't help the pink dusted on her face. Her heart pumped so fast, she prayed he shouldn't hear it.

"I couldn't manage another one this time. But, when I gather some more money, we'll go together to that shop." his gaze met hers, fiery and fervent. In such a simple manner he spoke, yet those words chimed like echoes of angels. Those eyes streaked with azure held all her focus, the reality dissolved in insignificance. "Thank you, Yusuf. But, what do I give you? I have nothing to gift."

"Your heart, maybe." His voice softened, barely audible through the breeze sweeping over them. Faajal noticed sparks scattering in the depth of his eyes. Blood coursed through her veins, now speedier at the warmth blooming in her stomach. But, she wouldn't read too much into his utterings. He was a trained teaser and she was a frequent sufferer.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Faajal returned, her mind bubbled in delight thinking of his present. But, she took them off to avoid Ravinder's outburst. She didn't wish this special thing to be snatched away by someone who ruined her life. She shoved the payal inside her bag before Ravinder arrived and washed her hands off the lichee juice. 'Allah ke rasgulle' the note flooded back, quirking the sides of her lips instinctively.

A few treads reached her way. Ravinder returned with a relieved smile, sure to have won his match. Faajal thanked his mood for at least effacing the unnecessary fury within him. "Want to stay idle like this for the rest of your time? Be prepared, now."

Faajal swept a curt incline and entered her busy world again. After rehearsing for the upcoming play, she departed from the studio, wearied and drained. Still, the warmth of his affection kindled in her heart, shielding her from dismay and mockery.

She retired on her bed where her sisters laid jangled on each other. Everyone slipped into slumber except for her, despite the lengthy hours of labour. Her limbs yearned to shut down but her mind protested. It revered in relapsing into that moment his hand brushed against her skin. Suddenly, Faajal grasped Chanchal peeping at her, a wry grin playing on her mouth. "Did he do something adorable again, didi?"

Faajal showed her the payal stashed beneath her pillow. The younger's eyes widened as she muffled a gasp. "He is in-"

Faajal briskly pressed her palm on her mouth. "No, Chanchal. We're just friends. Waheguru aisa na kare," she envisaged the horror on her family's face if these words came true.

Chanchal huffed and turned away, leaving Faajal in the jangle of thoughts. Whenever he smiled, the stars appeared inadequate before his aura. Whenever those azure eyes gleamed, those tiny balls imitated the sight of raindrops falling on ocean in the deepest of nights. His skin seemed to be sculpted of some reserved elements only granted to the golden creatures of Waheguru. So, transculent it was that even the thinest of veins trailed visible across his body. He was indeed precious.

Millions of thanks fell short to pay the gratitude Faajal owned to him for inviting the flicker of hope and anew future in her life. Now, he ruled as The Kohinoor of Her Heart.

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