The moment the car pulled away, Vikram’s shoulders dropped. He exhaled heavily and hooked a finger beneath his tie knot, tugging it loose. He unfastened his top button. Then the next.
“Home, sir?” his driver asked.
“Yes.”
The car merged into late-night traffic.
Vikram reached for his phone. Three missed calls from his publicist. An email from his agent. A text from his mother.
And a message from Divya.
He opened it immediately. Tomorrow’s schedule broken down into precise blocks, color-coded by priority.
She’d shifted his morning interview from 8:00 to 8:30.
Added a note: “Spoke with Filmfare. They agreed to the later start since your dinner ran late. Coffee will be ready when you arrive.”
She’d known he would be tired. Had made the adjustment without being asked. Had solved the problem before he’d recognized it would exist.
The corner of his mouth lifted without performance or calculation.
His thumb hovered over her name. He should send a quick thanks. Instead, he found himself scrolling back up, rereading the precise, practical words.
He remembered her laugh from that afternoon.
The memory triggered something physical, a lightening in his chest, a slight acceleration of his pulse.
Vikram closed his eyes.
Tomorrow’s script reading. That’s what he should be thinking about. Character motivations. Emotional beats.
Not the way Divya tucked her hair behind her ear when concentrating. Not how she hummed tunelessly when organizing his calendar. Not the fact that she’d somehow known he hated early mornings after late events.
He opened his eyes and navigated to the script notes. He needed to focus. Keep the boundaries clear. Maintain the professional distance.
But as the car carried him home, Vikram found himself wondering what Divya was doing right now.
Whether she was still awake.
Whether she ever looked at the photos of him and Riya and believed the performance they so carefully staged.
Whether it would matter to her if she knew the truth.
Midnight
Divya’s laptop lit up her room. She lowered the brightness, but the images stayed sharp.
Vikram’s hand on Riya’s wrist.
Their heads tilted close.
The warm gold lighting of Citrus turning them into something almost unreal.
Every entertainment site carried the same headline: “Bollywood’s Golden Couple Enjoy Intimate Dinner Date.”
She sat cross-legged on her narrow bed, back against the wall. Laptop balanced on her knees. Her old college festival t-shirt hung loose. Hair damp from a quick shower.
On screen, Riya shimmered in midnight blue silk. Diamonds at her ears. Perfect waves. Vikram beside her, tailored and effortless, smiling like the world existed to frame him.