Two days after the unch party, the house had returned to its usual deceptive calm.

  I sat alone at the dining table, picking absently at my lunch. I wore a soft pastel cotton kurti with white leggings, the kind Sameera would have preferred at home-elegant without trying. A light chiffon dupatta rested around my neck, its ends falling protectively across my chest as my open hair framed my face. Sunlight spilled across the polished wood, catching on the gss bowl of sad and the stainless steel cutlery id out neatly before him.

  Beside my pte y a thick envelope.

  It had arrived an hour ago through hand delivery from VK's office. The person who had brought it had said it contained the contract papers.

  The contract papers.

  For the film.

  For Sameera.

  Awaiting her signature.

  Only she wasn't here.

  I stared at the envelope as if it were a living thing.

  Of course this was bound to happen. Of course contracts would come. Of course signatures would be needed. Aarav should have foreseen this, I thought.

  My mind drifted back to the night of the unch party.

  After they had returned, after I had changed out of that red gown and scrubbed the makeup off my face, I had finally told Aarav what had been simmering inside me the whole evening.

  "I can't take this," I had said. "All this dispy of affection in front of the servants. The photographers. The hugging. The kissing. It's too much."

  Aarav had listened without interrupting.

  Then he had quietly walked to the cupboard and brought out a small bag.

  He had pced it on the table between us.

  The zip sound had seemed unnaturally loud in the silent room.

  Inside-bundles of cash.

  "This contains three khs for attending the unch party," Aarav had said calmly. "And twenty thousand for the two days you have been Sameera."

  I had gone silent.

  My eyes had fixed on the money with an intensity I hadn't intended to show.

  Aarav had watched me for a moment.

  Then his voice had changed-losing the lightness, turning firm, almost grave.

  "Look," he had said, "if you wish, you can go now. Take the money and scoot."

  He had paused deliberately.

  "But if you wish to continue, remember-no more compints. Pying Sameera..." he had waved his hand vaguely, "...will involve showing, acting out, moments of love and affection to the world. Otherwise someone will know something is off. And in this industry, gossip spreads like wildfire."

  I had felt trapped.

  Aarav had leaned back and said quietly, "Take your decision now."

  I needed the money. There was no point pretending otherwise.

  This was the only way I could see, for now.

  "Okay," I had said at st, my voice ft. "But next time... make a bank transfer."

  I had walked out of the room before Aarav could see the humiliation burning in my chest.

  "Hi, Jaan."

  Aarav's greeting pulled me back to the present.

  So Aarav had returned from the writers' meeting he had gone to in the morning.

  He walked casually toward me, still in his outdoor clothes, smelling faintly of cologne and the city. He pced his hands on my shoulders and bent close to my neck in a gesture of familiarity as the servants watched.

  The sudden proximity made me instinctively adjust the dupatta, pulling it tighter across my chest and neck.

  "Lunch done?" he asked softly.

  I only nodded and pointed toward the envelope.

  Aarav's eyes lit up instantly.

  "The contract papers?" he said with a smile. "Great. There must be a signing amount too. A cheque. Let's see."

  He tore open the envelope with casual eagerness and slid the stack of papers aside until a cheque fell free.

  He picked it up.

  His smile widened.

  "Wow," he said, turning it toward me. "A signing amount of fifty khs."

  My eyes widened.

  Fifty khs.

  Just for signing.

  As the cook left the room, I asked Aarav quietly, "How much is he paying Sameera for the whole movie?"

  Aarav's voice held unmistakable satisfaction. "I negotiated. Ten crores. Not a rupee less."

  I exhaled slowly.

  Ten crores.

  I thought of the endless hours I had spent studying charts, chasing stock tips, watching crypto graphs rise and crash, making gains that vanished as quickly as they came.

  Acting was easier.

  If only I had been blessed with the tall, macho look needed to be a hero.

  My eyes returned to the papers.

  "But... the signature?" I asked.

  "Sign it," Aarav said casually, putting a piece of chicken fry into his mouth.

  I lowered his voice instinctively and gnced toward the kitchen. "You forget. You need Sameera's signature."

  Just then, the cook entered with fresh rotis.

  Aarav smiled warmly at me and said loudly, "Later, dear. After lunch."

  In the privacy of the bedroom, I shut the door behind us, flinging the dupatta back over my shoulder in an unconscious gesture without realising it.

  "What do you mean, sign?" I demanded in a hushed voice. "I can't sign for her."

  Aarav smiled as if I had asked something na?ve.

  "But you can," he said. "You both have almost simir handwriting. I'm sure you can manage her signature after a little practice."

  I shook my head. "No. I can't forge her signature."

  Aarav waved it away lightly. "Oh, take it easy, Sam. It's not like you're signing a cheque to withdraw money. It's just a signature on a contract. For Sameera. Rex."

  I still looked unconvinced.

  Aarav watched me carefully.

  Then he said, in a softer tone, "Okay. I know why you're hesitating. Fine. Ten percent of the signing amount. Not more than that. It's Sameera's money."

  Ten percent.

  Five khs.

  I swallowed.

  I needed that.

  But that wasn't why I had hesitated. I had genuinely felt that signing as Sameera was wrong.

  But then another thought slid quietly into pce.

  What harm was there in putting Sameera's signature on a document she would have signed herself if she were here?

  I was helping her.

  Because she wasn't here.

  In fact, she should be thanking me.

  And so, yes... I deserved the money.

  The reasoning settled into my mind like something logical and acceptable.

  "Our handwriting is simir," I said slowly. "But I'll need to practice her signature."

  Aarav ughed lightly. "Oh, practice all you want. But the document needs to reach VK's office by six p.m. today."

  I looked up.

  For a fleeting second, I thought I saw something like satisfaction pass across Aarav's face.

  ---

  The next morning, a little while after Aarav had left for a meeting with VK, I got into the car and instructed the driver quietly, “The Mandarin Pce.”

  He gnced at me in the rearview mirror, a faint crease forming on his forehead at the unfamiliar name, but he didn't ask anything. Perhaps Sameera had never visited this restaurant. Probably this pce didn't belong to the circles she moved in.

  I didn't care. It suited my purpose.

  I was dressed in a green Anarkali from Sameera's wardrobe. The fabric fell in generous folds to my ankles, embroidered with fine gold thread along the edges. The fre was dramatic, almost regal-but the cut was loose. Mercifully loose. It hid rather than dispyed. A matching dupatta rested across my shoulders and chest like a protective veil. I wore rge dark sungsses that swallowed half my face.

  I hoped it would be enough.

  As we neared the restaurant, I pulled a soft scarf from my bag and wrapped it around my hair and face.

  Sungsses. Scarf. Dupatta.

  I hoped that would be sufficient to hide me from the world.

  The Mandarin Pce stood tucked away in a quiet ne-understated but expensive, the kind of pce where people came to talk business discreetly. Perfect.

  I stepped inside with my head lowered and chose a corner table with my back to the rest of the diners. From there, I could see the entrance without being seen too easily myself.

  I checked my watch.

  11:55 a.m.

  I had told Zahir to come sharp at noon.

  A waiter approached. I immediately dipped my face into the menu as if the printed words were of life-or-death importance.

  "Ma'am?"

  "Pi?a coda," I said without looking up.

  My own voice sounded strange to me-soft, measured, practiced.

  I hated how easily I had learned to sound like Sameera.

  At 12:05, Zahir entered.

  He spotted me almost immediately and walked toward the table, eyes wide with disbelief.

  "Dude," he whispered as he sat down, leaning forward, "is that you? You are a spitting image of Sameera."

  "Tell me something I don't know," I replied dryly. "Two more weeks. Helps me clear my debts."

  I pulled the small bag from beside my chair and pced it on the table, sliding it toward him.

  "I need you to do me a small favour," I said quietly. "Go to the address I'll send you and give this money to Bhai."

  Zahir's face lost colour.

  "Me? No way, dude," he said instantly.

  I pointed to myself. "Look at me. I can't go like this. I have only you who can do this for me."

  He hesitated, fingers hovering uncertainly near the bag.

  I forced a smile. "Come on, yaar. You're returning money. Bhai will be happy."

  Reluctantly, he nodded. "Okay."

  "And after a couple of days, give him five more. I'll transfer it to your account."

  He nodded again, still uneasy.

  Then, trying to lighten the mood, he grinned. "Gosh, man. From handsome but poor, you became beautiful and rich."

  I gave a short ugh. "Yeah. These actresses have it easy, man. Imagine getting ten crores for a movie for looking sexy, showing cleavage, dancing, and kissing the hero."

  I tapped lightly against my chest. "Except I don't really have anything to show."

  Zahir ughed. "You can sign movies with a no-exposure cuse."

  "Yeah," I replied. "And Sameera would kill me for wrecking her career."

  We both chuckled softly, the absurdity briefly easing the tension.

  And then-

  A loud cp nded on Zahir's back.

  "Hey, Zahir! What's up!"

  We both looked up.

  Rahul.

  Zahir's friend. The one whose birthday we had attended a few nights ago.

  Rahul's eyes moved from Zahir to me.

  His face lit up as he recognised me-and then, a heartbeat ter, his eyes gleamed as if a far bigger puzzle had clicked into pce.

  "Oh my God, you," he said loudly. "I get it now!"

  My stomach dropped.

  "I was wondering that night-you looked like Sameera, the heroine. Imagine! But I was so foolish. You are Sameera yourself! The rising superstar!"

  His voice carried.

  Far too much.

  "Keep your voice down," I hissed, panic tightening my throat.

  But Rahul was too excited to notice.

  "Imagine! You came to my birthday party, even danced with me! And I didn't know it was Sameera!"

  Heads began to turn from nearby tables. Whispering started. A couple of diners openly stared now.

  My pulse began to pound in my ears.

  This could go very, very wrong. What would Aarav say?

  He continued, "Was it for a new role or something? Living among commoners?"

  Zahir turned to him. "Rahul, quiet now. I will expin ter."

  I looked around. I was now the centre of attention in the restaurant.

  "I need to leave," I muttered to Zahir urgently. "Do as I told you."

  I stood up quickly, heart racing.

  But it was already too te.

  As I hurried toward the exit, a couple of people were already lifting their phones to click pictures. A young girl, eyes wide with excitement, rushed toward me.

  "Ma'am! Ma'am! One selfie, please!"

  I didn't stop. I pushed past gently, hurrying out of the restaurant, my dupatta slipping from my shoulder as my breath turned ragged.

  I reached the car, yanked the door open, and slid inside.

  "Go," I told the driver. "Quickly."

  The car pulled away.

  Through the rear window, I saw people standing outside the restaurant, pointing excitedly at my car.

  I sank back into the seat, my hands trembling.

  I had come here hoping to remain unnoticed.

  But this face refused to let me.

  --

  That's the end of Chapter 11. Do let me know your thoughts on the chapter. Comment freely. Drop a like if you enjoyed reading it.

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  > ? Moon Winters, 2025. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, pces, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resembnce to real people, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  No part of this story may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.