The morning wore the same colour as the ashes of sandalwood log. Tears seethed their path down Faajal's bloodless cheeks. Her eyes beheld the heart of the pyre where her sister's corpse was being unmade. Orange and gold tongues doubled over the white shroud.

Gurbani stood next to her like a statue. No emotion clouded her once-full eyes. Meher and Harleen clasped Gurbani's arm, anchoring her to the world that had been too cruel. A distant rumble echoed above, mourning for the 5 women bound by an accursed destiny and unbearable weight. They carried one truth: the fence of injustice would continue to wound them if they didn't raise their voice. There was nothing left for them in endurance now. That monster had gone too far.

The white shroud darkened. The silhouette of Saira Kaur dissolved into the columns of blaze. Bright embers tossed sparks to the ascent of the flame. Saira's face flashed in Faajal's eyes—the clean slope of her cheeks, the witty almond eyes, the elegance in her stance, the sharpness of her tongue. Saira had been the only one to bear both Ravinder and Gurbani equally in her blood. A sparkle guttered towards the sky and abated, returning to the nothingness it came from.

The fire began to wane. Its hungry bites slowed into wistful licks. The orange deepened into crimson, dancing around a blanket of grey ash.

Meher led Gurbani and Harleen away, their steps leaden on the dusty earth. Faajal stayed alone with the relics of her sister and grief wringing her heart. She stood until the pyre was nothing but a mound of charred logs. The residual heat touched Faajal's soles. The world was quiet save for the cry of crows and the wind that carried disembodied souls.

Faajal treaded near the smouldering pyre. Thin bones lay beneath the cloak of glowing cinders. "You can live, now." She whispered. Shrivelled leaves rustled at a distance.

The flame hissed one last time before sinking into insignificance. Saira could finally live after death.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Faajal brushed her thumb over the tiny bells of her payal—the payal Yusuf had gifted her and Saira had wrested from her. Saira had returned it to her the night before her forced marriage.

Faajal's old trunk rested ajar across from her. Sepia memories were spilled inside it. She slid her hand into the goods of the past—wrinkled family photos, wooden toys, earthen dolls, little frocks, fairytale books, bulked diaries and scrap papers with Urdu shayaris written on them.

The silver payal jingled on her fingers. Faajal let out a painful breath. If Gurbani had agreed to her proposal, they might have been free of that monster by now. Saira might have still been breathing.

Footsteps withdrew Faajal from unmet contemplations. "Faajal di," Meher's low voice flowed to her.

Faajal turned to her, her chest swelling with a shrill ache. Feeble lines ran over her cheeks where tears had rolled down.

"Harleen di has left. She said she didn't want to step here anymore."

"She was the closest, after all," Faajal muttered.

"Shou-should we inform Chanchal di, now?"

Faajal gazed down, scaling her question. Chanchal was pregnant and had 2 boys to chase after. This sudden shock might tamp down her spirit. "No, we will do it later." Faajal drove her nails into the swell of her palms. "We will tell it was an accident."

Meher sniffled, crouching beside her sister. "Another lie?"

Faajal gave a light nod, her eyes dry of grief. "A necessary one." Her focus lifted to the younger's curious expression. "We lie to the world to give ourselves enough strength to speak the truth."

Meher gripped Faajal's hand. Solace channelled into Faajal's veins like medicine. Loss seemed to be a habit now. Her unmoist cheeks boiled beneath the skin. "After whatever happened between me and Saira di, I still loved her, Meher. And, she did too." Faajal was on the verge of choking. "It-it wasn't supposed to end this way." She clenched her gums. "I wish I could finish him–"

"Finish him." A firm voice grumbled.

Gurbani strutted to them and raised her hand to display a set of keys. Her face carried nothing but alarming plainness. Silence struck the sisters like firebolt. Faajal momentarily assumed the words or the glints of metal to be her mirage.

Gurbani's eyes gleamed with clarity. "The keys of your father's personal vault." Her voice was hard with resolve. Faajal closed her fingers around the keys. Her mind still studied whether the determined figure was Gurbani or not.

"Ma?" Meher asked. Wonder filled her round orbs.

Gurbani nodded, her look colder than the steel in Faajal's hands. "Let's taste freedom."

"Gurbani, where is my dinner?!" Ravinder growled from the dining table. His teeth gnashed against each other. He behaved normally, as if he hadn't pushed his own daughter to death.

Meher aimed a disgusted look at him, hiding behind a wall of the kitchen. "I want to pour the entire bottle now." She hissed, scrunching her nose. A vial of sedative rested in her hand.

"You sound like Chanchal," Faajal said, flipping a roti on the pan.

"She wanted to strangle him. A more painful way." Meher shook out drops from the vial into Ravinder's glass.

"3 drops are enough," Faajal mumbled, placing the roti on Ravinder's plate. Gurbani grabbed the plate and the water glass, her hand quivering. A brief breath whooshed through her nose. "I can do this," she purred to herself.

Gurbani walked to the beast and laid his food on the table. Her head bent down. "There is no ritual of cooking for 3 days after a death. So, I asked from gurudwaras–" Gurbani paused, assimilating his blatant disregard.

He snapped his fingers at her. "We are having food cooked at home from tomorrow. I don't give a damn about these dumb rituals." He picked up the glass and emptied half of it within 3 chugs.

Gurbani watched each ounce of water swim down his throat, her body stoic with a mask of submission she had cultivated over the years.

The sisters exchanged alarmed glances, praying for the magic to happen soon.

Ravinder gobbled his food, mindless of the battle horns billowing behind him.

"Take these away, and pack my bags tonight." He wiped his lips, an unnatural weariness fumbling his motions. His eyes crossed the entire room, blinking in confusion.

Gurbani gathered the crockeries, watching Ravinder drag himself upstairs. Faajal prowled out and cocked her brows at Gurbani in query. Gurbani pressed her tongue between her teeth. "A few minutes."

Relief calmed Faajal's frantic pulse. Her nerves could not wait any longer. Meher slipped from the corner, white but resolute. "I am coming."

Both sisters climbed to their rooms. Faajal opened her closet and groped for the keys in the pile of dresses. Her fingers landed on a thin metal. She let out the breath she had been holding since she had seen the vial.

She clutched the set of keys and bounced downstairs. Gurbani dried her palms on her kameez. When she caught the keys in Faajal's hold, a faint smile tugged at her lips. Meher joined them a minute later with a pen and paper.

"The vault is in the library, but I don't know exactly where. Is your father totally asleep?" asked Gurbani.

Meher nodded. "He is snoring. I have locked his room."

The lights went off. Gloom swallowed the room. Faajal wheezed, frustrated by the timing of electricity. "Seriously? Now?"

Gurbani sighed. "The lantern is in the kitchen, maybe." She wove through the empty darkness, careful not to make a sound. Faajal followed, swishing her hands to locate the things around her. Her palm came over the kitchen wall. "Be careful, ma."

Gurbani rummaged in the credenza and found a lantern. She unscrewed the glass chimney and filled the base with kerosene. The strong odour of the oil whipped the air. Raising the wick, Gurbani lit it with a matchstick. Yellow flame shuddered awake, warming the glass. A shadow swayed over Faajal's face. The keys jingled below her fingers.

The three women interlocked their hands and placed guarded steps towards the library. The library smelled of old paper and staleness. The shelves towered proudly, crammed with books and leather files. The lantern created an amber circle on the dusty rugs, clearing the path of the raid.

Faajal rushed to the drawers of Ravinder's favourite mahogany table and began searching. Meher looked in the cabinets. Gurbani went for the shelves.

"There is nothing here." Faajal slammed the drawer shut. Papers and stationery rattled inside the drawer.

Meher clucked her tongue. "Same here." She slowly locked the cabinets.

"Faajal!" Gurbani exclaimed, tilting the lantern upwards. Faajal bolted to her, eyes wide. Meher turned to them.

"See that over there?" Gurbani pointed at the shimmer between two leather-bound books on the third shelf.

Faajal hauled a chair and mounted on it to reach the shimmer. She balanced her feet on the mere space of the shelves. Her limbs quaked as the height between her and the ground grew. Gripping onto a wooden ledge, she clambered over the third shelf.

Her fingers slid through the space between the books. The shimmer was a tiny, worn brass latch that conjoined two shelves. She pulled the yellowed arm of the latch. Puffs of dust flew on her hand. A soft cling appeared. The shelves groaned and started shifting apart without a warning.

Faajal squealed, her fingers scrambling to hook herself to the wooden ledge. Gurbani and Meher sprang back, greased with sweat. Volumes of books tumbled down and a glass showpiece shattered on the floor. The floorboard above screeched. Faajal froze. They could not take risks even if he was drugged.

The shelves creaked until they stood still. Faajal climbed down and seized the lantern from Gurbani. A narrow stairway cascaded down into a humming darkness.

The warm lantern rocked in the chill air of the unknown void. Faajal was the first one to tread on the staircase. Meher kept her sweaty hand on Faajal's shoulder. Gurbani moaned, surveying the stained walls on either side. The glow of the lantern erased the murk as they crossed each step. Their plods echoed in the brittle silence.

At the bottom, a circular iron gate waited. A yale lock latched it to a metal doorframe. Faajal inserted one of the keys into the lock and twirled it. It didn't open. She tried three keys that seemed to match the keyhole of the lock. Finally, the lock clunked open.

"Yes!' Meher squeaked, bouncing on her feet. Faajal's lips broke into a full smile. Delight splattered into her bones. They were just a few steps away from claiming their rights.

Faajal propelled the gate forward only to be greeted by another barrier: a giant circular door. At its centre sat a rotating dial lock, ringed by letters and numbers. Her gaze moved to Gurbani, who stood flabbergasted.

"The vault. How do we open it?" Faajal twirled her wrist subconsciously. Her knuckles brushed against the freezing metal door. "We don't know the code."

"I should check the drawers and the cabinets for something." Meher moved past Gurbani to evaluate the lock.

"There are hundreds of them! It will take the whole night!" Faajal urged, running her hand over the dial lock. The air was growing warm with their shared breaths. It was getting impossible to stay here longer.

"Then?" Worry edged Meher's question.

"We should gather important documents then. Have you found any in the library?" Gurbani suggested, glancing at the narrow opening above.

Faajal and Meher shook their heads in denial.

"Is it all a waste then?" Gurbani returned her focus to them. Dismay dulled her features.

Faajal raised the lantern higher, her arm aching from holding it. "We will check again tomorrow."

They closed the iron gate and followed the path back the lantern was leading them to. The library loomed into view. They fastened the uncoupled shelves together and rearranged the scattered books to their spots. Meher and Gurbani cleaned the shards of glass on the rug. As Faajal kept the last book, her eyes lingered on the subtle shimmer connecting two seemingly ordinary shelves. Behind it lived their future, awaiting them to riddle out the code.

Gurbani disposed of the glass pieces in the kitchen and picked the keys from Faajal. "I have to keep it in his cupboard now."

"Why don't we make another set?" Faajal proposed. She rubbed the metal tips of the keys. "Do you have wax?"

"Not much, but yes."

Faajal handed the lantern to Meher and gestured to her to follow. Gurbani brought a handful of beeswax after a quick inventory and kept it on the floor. Faajal removed the glass chimney of the lantern and began gliding the trembling flame over the mound of wax. Small bubbles emerged on the glossy surface. The wax began to drip. After 5 minutes, the mound had melted into a flat lump. Faajal pressed the heads of the keys onto the creamy wax one by one. Her skin blistered against the hot wax, but she had to be fast.

"There," She removed the final key from the wax before it got stuck. "I don't have any appointment tomorrow. So, I am not going out." She gazed at Meher. "Can you?"

Gurbani's stare hovered on Meher while she wiped off the remnants of wax from the keys.

"Leave it to me." Meher gently cupped the hardening wax. "I have classes tomorrow anyway."

The three women traded looks of conspiracy, aroused by one final chance. The night wasn't victory itself, but a step forward to it. The house fell silent, and the smell of kerosene started to fade—the only witnesses of the rebellion.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

"I am going out. Will have lunch outside." Ravinder put his wallet in his pocket and boarded the car. Faajal closed the gate and returned to the living room. It was 10 in the morning. Faajal flipped through a poetry collection of Ghalib while Gurbani instructed the maids in the kitchen. At intervals, they exchanged anticipating glances. Meher had gone to her college 2 hours ago. Waheguru knew how she would manage when her schedule was too tight to even study.

"Ajeeb zulm karti hain teri yeh yaadein,

Sochu toh bikhar jaaun, na sochu toh kidhar jaaun?"

[Your memories do a strange cruelty,

If I think of them, I fall to pieces, and if I don't think of them, where do I go?]

Where do I go? The same question pounded in Faajal's ears. He hadn't answered yet. What did he find in this shared devastation? The book slipped from her hands on her lap. Don't do this to yourself or me, Yusuf.

Four knocks on the main door knocked her back into reality. She opened the door to find the caretaker holding two envelopes. She thanked the caretaker and collected them. One letter was from Chanchal, and another was from the dream she had been musing about. Frenzy stirred her spirit. His answer.

Faajal scrambled to her room without wasting a heartbeat. A delicate hope nestled in her. The letters crinkled in her fingers. She traced the ragged slope of his handwriting on the second envelope before leaving it unopened on her desk. The tang of ink trailed her senses. Wine tasted better when aged.

She opened Chanchal's letter. A solid paper was tucked inside. Faajal lifted it to see a family photograph of Pran, Chanchal and their twins. Bliss curved the corners of her mouth. Chanchal's stomach poked through her drop-waist dress, her lips lit with a coy smile. Pran wrapped one arm around her back while coiling another around Aditya and Aryan, a proud smile on his face. The naughty twins flashed their sets of teeth in wide smiles.

Behind the photo, a note said, '7 months and counting.'

Faajal snickered. Who would have thought that the ones who bickered like cat and dog once would make a family today? Once Pran and Chanchal had squabbled over trivial things, vyingly mocking each other. Now they posed together, their world woven from the curve of her belly and the wrap of his arms.

Faajal kept the photo down, gazing at the second envelope fluttering on the desk. She stretched her arm towards it. Her racing heart subdued the earlier joy. Her fingertips crept over the thin envelope. She swallowed air to suffuse her lungs. Her tremoring hand unlatched the mouth of the envelope. Inside was a cream-coloured paper and something solid.

She drew out the paper. Along with it, a silver ring dropped on the floor. A sharp clink echoed in the room. The sound froze in the air itself. Her eyes were stuck on the metallic gleam on the porcelain tiles.

The rough edges of the paper gnashed against her skin. A dull lump built on the top of her throat, capturing her breath. Sunlight flooded the letter in her grasp. She slowly unfolded it, the air pulsing with the clink.

I am sorry.

The letters bled into one another as her vision blurred. Her chest caved. Her nails pierced through the paper. The ring shimmered on the floor like a fallen star—a vow of forever but beyond reach.

Faajal exhaled, a sound more like a bitter laugh than a cry. Her reveries mocked her in her head, magnifying her childishness.

He ended it, he ended the bond of decades by a single letter. Promises of lifetime reflected on the shiny ring. Vibrant reminiscences greyed like a worn photograph. Was the name 'mehbooba' a lie? Was the band of chameli a lie? Was the sneaking out of the studio a lie? Was the ardent fusion in that stormy night a lie? Was the silver churi on her wrist a lie?

A fathomless trench sailed between her ribs, relics of the severed love dissolved into it until she was left with nothing but a bland pain. What was she rebelling for then? Here she had been conjuring fantasies of reuniting with him, when reality had other plans.

The daylight brightened, a distress to her inner gloom. The surface of the silver ring sparkled. The vow was torn, but the ring was real. Just like Saira's passing. Just like her nephew's fate. Just like the baby she could not hold. Just like Gurbani's silent sobs in the night. Just like Meher's bashful dream. Just like Chanchal's family.

She picked the ring where his finger had once slid in. If you want it over, then it's over. It's over for both of us.

The man she had loved was dead.

"Are you alright?" Meher nudged Faajal in the elbow. They were at the dining table for lunch. Faajal mouthed a spoonful of curd that tasted like lead on her tongue. Her stomach churned in protest, wanting to spew out the food.

Faajal inclined her head in a lie. The churi felt like a cold manacle on her wrist, a reminder of what was lost. She wanted to accept the finality, yet a tiny part of her cringed. Was letting go easy? She had tried once, when Yusuf had gone to Peshawar, for a misunderstanding later solved by him. This wasn't the case now.

I will love Faajal until I die.

The declaration strummed inside her, shaking her veins. She clutched the tablecloth for support. Had that death already come? Not a physical one, but the soul of the man who would have meant it?

Her fingers uncurled, one by one. The smell of chameli, the softness of his lips, the warmth of his skin washed over her, seeping into the ridges of her ribs. If he was content with his decision, she would not interfere. His happiness meant hers.

Meher tapped Faajal's thigh. "The keys," Her voice dropped. "They are ready for tonight."

"So are we," Faajal said, her eyes hard.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Ravinder was again drugged to sleep, but this time, the dosage was higher. They had to explore every nook and cranny of the vault and take the next step.

"Here they are," Meher displayed the set of new keys from her jute satchel. Her voice was hoarse with amusement.

Faajal ran her finger over the keys. "And, the code. That's the real issue."

Meher withdrew a stethoscope from the satchel. "I am no good at this. But, I managed to learn the technique." She brought her mouth to Faajal's ear. "Our college has a rich library after all."

"Yeah, helpful for thieves." Faajal jeered to lighten the mood. A frail smile shadowed her lips before disappearing.

Gurbani tiptoed down the stairs. "He is asleep, good Lord." She wiped her palms on her kameez. "I am afraid the more the drug is given, the less it will work. We have to finish things fast."

Faajal switched off all of the lights and grabbed the lantern. "Pray that the vault opens tonight."

They charged the library once more. Faajal had clasped the latch when the floorboard above creaked. She flinched, yanking her arm back. Gurbani sneaked out of the library to confirm no one was there.

The shelves parted, and the stairway welcomed them. The darkness didn't crawl into their skins anymore. It met them like a hopeful confidant. At last, they reached the circular door. The glow of the lantern swam over the metal rings etched with numbers and letters.

Faajal's heart quickened as she held a pen over a notebook crisscrossed with numbers and letters. Her grip hardened around its nib. Meher pressed the stethoscope's diaphragm on the dial and rotated it a millimetre to the left. A sharp zip ensued. Faajal and Gurbani stepped closer, eyes pinned on the dial. Gurbani's hand quivered around the handle of the lantern.

Six minutes had fled by. Sweat slid along Faajal's cheeks. Meher had shown no signs of discovery. Gurbani's chest heaved like her breaths counted on the dial.

Suddenly, Meher gasped. Her palm flew to her mouth. "Got it! Got the first letter!"

For a heartbeat, the three women only stared at each other, tangled in disbelief and awe. Fear, at last, gave way to the faint promise of freedom.

Faajal jotted the letter while Meher returned to analysing. The soft click of metal filled the silence. Faajal could sense her pulse bashing her veins. She wondered how long the code was. Its length was as unpredictable as Ravinder.

For more than half an hour, they managed to gather only three letters and two numbers, let alone the sequence. Meher put the stethoscope down and slumped beside Faajal. The air grew thick with sweat and kerosene.

"That's it." Meher closed her eyes, rasping in exhaustion.

"Are you sure?" Faajal kept a hand on the small of her back, her throat constricting.

"Positive. Now, all we have to do is arrange these letters and numbers in possible sequences and...try." A tired spark bloomed in the younger's eyes.

Gurbani stretched the lantern closer, her face brimming with hope. Meher seized the pen from Faajal and bent over the notebook. She dotted letters and numbers, tiny markers at different heights.

The pen rocked between Meher's fingers as she drew a line beneath the symbols. "Okay, here's the first combination. Faajal di, you try. I will start working on other combinations."

Faajal scanned the possible code on the notebook and closed her fingers around the dial. With a reassuring sigh, she turned the dial—two notches left, two notches right, then another left. The metal didn't respond with a loud click but a constant drone. "Is it working?" Faajal hissed.

Meher shook her head. "Wrong order." She scribbled down another sequence. Faajal copied the new array on the dial, but the dial refused to give up.

Gurbani's lips wobbled in silent prayers. They conjured six possible sequences and applied on the dial. All attempts proved to be pointless.

"This is the seventh one," Meher whispered, handing the notebook to Faajal. Faajal wiped a drop of sweat from her chin and inhaled a steady breath. Then, she aligned the letters and numbers, following Meher's latest configuration: one right, one left, two right, one left.

The metal groaned timidly. Faajal paused her breath, her fingers still hovering over the dial. The dial twitched, just a fraction, but enough to make her heart skip.

"Did it–" Gurbani whispered behind.

Faajal inched closer, her chest tightening. The dial clicked once, then twice, until the circular door shuddered. Meher rose to her feet, the pen in her hand frozen midair.

Faajal splayed her hand over the door and pushed it. Ever gradually, the door swung aside with a metallic cry. Inch by inch, it unveiled the fruits of her hard work she had never gotten to touch. The lantern bathed the path inside in gold. She pushed the door the rest of the way.

A gust of cold air swept over. The stale scent of paper and gleams of gold flowed in the dark. Faajal took the first step inside, a shiver tracing her spine. Gurbani and Meher paced behind. Light spilled over the riches Faajal had shedded her sweat for. Gold bars rested on top of each other like bricks. Bundles of currency scattered on the steel shelves like abandoned petals. A wall of three identical lockers towered at the front.

All of this was hers. Yet, Ravinder stashed them as if he owned them. "My goodness," Meher muttered, fiddling with a bundle of notes. Faajal slid her finger over the smooth veneer of a gold bar.

"This much just in the vault!" Gurbani arced the lantern over the steel shelves. "He has three bank accounts under Faajal's name."

"We should get the files now." Faajal tore her gaze from the gold bars. The real treasure wasn't the hoard of assets, but the ownership. She inserted a key into the first locker from the left. Thankfully, the lock clicked open on the first try.

Orderly piles of paper rested inside the compartment. Faajal reached for them, her hand brushing against the even surface of a folder. She pulled out the top file. Gurbani slanted closer, the lantern highlighting the bold letters on the front page—LAND DEED.

"Meher!" Faajal partly yelled out of exilharation. Meher rushed to her and started scanning the paper. "It's for the land in Chandigarh," Meher whispered, blinking at Faajal. "Di, the attorney I told you about, will need a month to take our case. He has many other clients to serve right now."

"I think," Faajal's voice trailed off. She would be gone to Jodhpur the day after tomorrow. According to the land deed, the owner of the property was Faajal, and Ravinder was the nominee. Since he didn't have an income of his own, he had to reap through Faajal's. She needed to process the legal documents before her flight. All she needed to do was just change the name of the nominee. But, this would require at least a month for only exchanging important papers, much less than officiating the nominee alteration. She needed someone who could pursue any degree to do her job, whether legal or illegal. Not that the Indian system cared about it anyway. "Deshmukh, he can do this."

"But, he doesn't have a good reputation anymore. And, what if he tells baba?"

"After all the shouting Ravinder has done to Deshmukh, do you think Deshmukh would still care about him?"

"Deshmukh isn't any less. Why did he pick the case despite knowing the chances of winning?" Meher stroked a thumb over the details of the land deed.

"Fees. He would not have gotten such a huge amount from any other client." Faajal observed the bundles of notes. "We shall go tomorrow. Take a few bundles."

Meher tossed two stacks of bills as if they were toys. "Then, we shall start with the bank accounts. We need to get the money first. And, banks take less time than registry offices."

Faajal rummaged through the lockers to gather bank statements and other depository credentials. While she and Meher arranged the papers in the required order, Gurbani cleaned up the mess of papers and closed the lockers.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

"Faajal!" Someone had been tugging Faajal's arm since the last full minute. Faajal moaned, spinning to another side to avoid the voice. Last night's raid had cost two hours of her sleep. She wrapped the blanket around her and curled into a ball.

"Faajal!" A strong swat on her back knocked her from slumber. "Who–" Faajal snapped up to see Gurbani. "What, ma?" The morning light blinded her for a moment.

"Don't you have to go that lawyer's chamber?"

Faajal checked the alarm clock. "It's only 7 am. We will go at 9." She flung the blanket over herself. "Let me sleep now."

Gurbani peeled the blanket. "You are going to be late! Bombay has heavy traffic!"

Faajal relinquished at the plea and kicked off the blanket. Attired in her signature fabric, chiffon, she opened the trunk where the bundles of bills were stored. The documents were with Meher. She reached in to withdraw the bundles, and the ring caught her sight. Her pulse faltered. A shadow gnawed at the fringes of her mind. Just like the ring, the churi bore no meaning, but a haunting residue.

Her fingers twined on the churi, absorbing its familiar weight one last time. Every engraving embodied the distinct flavour of every moment of the voyage. With a stinging force, she pulled it out. It was detached from her, just as the man named Yusuf Khan Dehlavi.

The gemstones on the churi trapped sun rays into their core. A warm gust stole into the room. The churi slipped from her fingertips and plunged into the abyss of memoirs.

Stuffing the bundles into her purse, Faajal strode downstairs. "Where are you going?" Ravinder chewed his breakfast at the dining table. Faajal struggled to prevent her face from distorting in irritation. "Nargis' house. A renowned Iranian director is coming there. She is holding a party." It was half-true because last week, a female Iranian filmmaker had actually arrived in Bombay for a multi-national collaboration. Lies sounded better when steeped in truth.

Ravinder frowned in disbelief. Very few matters of the industry managed to escape his ear. It was one of them. "I didn't hear about this."

"Well, it hasn't been advertised much. And, Nargis didn't want the words to spread because it's an only-ladies gathering."

"Fine, go." Ravinder reclined on his chair, sipping on orange juice. "Before twelve."

Faajal forced herself to nod. Little did this creature know what she was up to. Meher waved at her from the porch. They bounced to the car together and rode to Dehmukh's chamber.

Faajal pressed the brass calling bell on the wall beside a fancy oak door. Deshmukh's nameplate hung above the switch. His degrees gleamed in golden letters below his name, gloating yet futile. The door shifted slightly, and a slender woman peeped out from the slit. "Yes?"

Faajal cleared her throat. "We wish to see Mr Deshmukh."

"Who you might be?" The woman furrowed her forehead, and a trace of caution laced her speech.

"Tell him Faajal Kaur has come." Out came sunglasses from Faajal's purse.

"Let her in." A husky voice rumbled inside.

The woman stepped aside and Faajal swaggered into the chamber. Meher paced behind her, part confident, part cynical.

"What brings you here?" Deshmukh didn't even show the courtesy of standing up. His voice sounded more like a warning than an invitation.

Faajal stayed still for a moment, matching her gaze with Deshmukh's glower. When Deshmukh didn't seem to soften, she dragged out a chair and perched. "How do you do?" A cloying remark dipped in ice.

Deshmukh's jaw worked violently, but didn't reciprocate. "Meet my sister, Meher." Faajal gestured at Meher, who flashed a scaled smile, not too wide, not too curt. "Mr Deshmukh, we have an urgent business, and I suppose no one can help us faster than you."

"Are you ridiculing me?" The words milled out of his mouth.

Faajal scratched the bridge of her nose. Last night's raid had honed her resolve into boldness. She had her approach curated already. "We want to change the nominee of my bank deposits and get rid of my dear father from the property papers."

Deshmukh stared at her as if she were mad. His face paled, features paralysed. The air pulsed with Faajal's proposal and the spark of conspiracy.

Deshmukh formed his reply after seconds had elapsed. "Are you in your right mind?"

A pucker conjoined Faajal's brows. "I think you are not deaf to not hear me." She drummed on the glass table in front of her. "I don't have much time. If you want the deal, listen carefully. If not, then goodbye."

Deshmukh fixed her with a bitter eye. "I don't want your case either. Your father," He inhaled sharply. "He has doomed my image. You think I would engage in all those petty affairs of yours?"

Meher huffed, placed the briefcase onto the table and pressed the lock open. The lid of the briefcase sprang up, and the arranged bundles of fresh bills came to light, spilling the smell of paper and power.

Deshmukh's gaze softened. His eyes traced every detail of the shimmering bills. Marvel dissolved the contempt that had darkened his expression.

"For the ways you have resorted to, you should have your license cancelled. But, if you help us, you might save your career." Meher intruded on his daze, her demeanour crisp.

Irate fleeted Deshmukh's plump face. "Are you threatening me? You?"

"Yes. Advocate Roy is my teacher." Advocate Roy, the former attorney of the Supreme Court, was a name alone could command respect out of the most unyielding of minds.

Deshmukh stayed still for a moment. His eyes moved between the money and Faajal. Meher watched the lawyer with mock amusement, her lips on the verge of smirking.

"I suppose you don't want–" Faajal reached for the briefcase, but Deshmukh placed his hand on the briefcase, firm and possessive. "What's your plan?" He showed no interest, nor was he willing to let go—just as Faajal had predicted.

"It's simple. Just remove my father's name from all the properties and investment records. Every last one of them." Faajal leaned back, eyes pointed at Deshmukh.

"He is your legal guardian. If he finds out–"

Meher cut in. "He won't. Everything is bought in Faajal di's name. The bank deposits are legally hers. You just have to remove him."

"He has the authority," claimed Deshmukh. Sincerity, mixed with terror, draped his visage.

"Not anymore." Faajal peered at him over the rims of her red-tinted sunglasses, then pushed the sliding glasses up her nose. "Can you do it?"

Deshmukh fidgeted with his fingers, his gaze retreating to the briefcase. Hush blanketed the room, save for the hum of the air conditioner.

Faajal trained her look on him, stoic outside. But hesitation started to grow roots in her surety inwardly. Deshmukh had taken the Ganga Jamuna case out of greed that ended in pure disaster.

"Yes," Deshmukh murmured under his breath. Newfound esteem bashed away his sulkiness. "But, we need your father's signature for that."

Meher steepled her fingers on the table. "I can manage that."

Deshmukh's eyes swelled wide. "You are an aspiring lawyer, aren't you? You threaten me when you are willing to do such things yourself."

"Sahab, when the goal doesn't betray ethics, the process doesn't either. And, you went for greed. I am going for freedom." Meher stated unflinchingly.

Deshmukh's palm still hadn't left the briefcase. But Faajal was loving toying with his covetousness. She drew the briefcase to herself and arose. "It's time for me to leave now. My flight is tomorrow. I shall collect the bank statements today as much as I can. You and Meher will handle the rest."

Desmukh rose to his feet; undue earnestness illuminated his profile. "I shall try my best."

The day following, Faajal and Ravinder made their way to the airport for the flight. Gurbani and Meher accompanied them to see them off. "Take care of yourself." Gurbani patted Faajal's shoulder. A down-hearted smile tugged at her lips. "And, do try to mend things with..." She inhaled. "Yusuf."

Faajal snickered, more like a rueful expression. Only did she know about the letter. He was a co-star now. The bandages of courage she had wrapped around her heart untwined. The gashes began to bleed once more. When the name itself could undo her composure, could she get over the memories?

"Meher," Faajal hastily changed the topic to dispel the ache in her chest. "Keep in close contact."

Meher peered at Ravinder, who was meters away, chatting with someone. "Today, we are working with the bank records. Your signature might be needed. Do answer my letters timely."

"Madhu, at the camera, please!"

"Wave at us!"

"Have a nice trip to Jodhpur!"

An army of cameramen and columnists buzzed in front of the plane as Faajal ascended the boarding stairs. A puff of air fleeted past her, playing with her curls. Faajal waved at the lenses. A deliberate smile graced her signature red-painted lips. The outer world captured the glamorous beauty while her inner world wilted in ugliness.

The plane levitated, and Bombay shrank in view. Buildings mapped the city like colourful dots. Vehicles snaked through the roads like ants. The whir of the propellers melded with the sophisticated quietness inside.

Faajal straddled in her seat, the script on her lap. Yet, her mind roamed elsewhere. Thickets of clouds crossed the window. Sunlight slanted through them. After 3 hours, the city of forts emerged into view. The aircraft landed, and Faajal was greeted by another sea of reporters and photographers. Her fake smile was almost perfect, except this time, her jaw unbiddenly trembled. Her lungs tightened. She was close to him now.

"Hey! We thought the flight was going to be delayed." Feroz chirped from the reception of the Taj Hari Mahal, the grandest hotel in Jodhpur.

Faajal loaded her luggage in a cart and handed the key to her room to the hotel porter. "So did I. Thankfully, the pilot was quick." She wandered to Feroz, wrapping her dupatta around her back. "You must be feeling excited."

Colours dulled from Feroz's face. "Don't remind me. Soldiers are moody. The government is impulsive, too."

The military forces had lent Feroz this huge sum of soldiers on one condition: the film had to earn at least four times the soldiers' expenses.

"Lunch is in your room. We are having a rehearsal at 5 pm." Feroz tapped his wristwatch.

After a rehearsal with a leaden armour and artillery, Faajal retreated to the leisure of her hotel room. Her thighs ached from riding a horse. Scarlet wales cut into her palms from wielding sword and shield. The filming would happen tomorrow. When the practice session inflicted deep bruises, the actual shoot would be tougher, wearing Nurjahan's expressions. She had to constrain both her body and her face.

─•~❉᯽❉~•─

Night washed the sky in black. Faajal made her bed and donned casual clothes. Brushing her teeth, she climbed down to the floor below. She had to discuss a scene with Feroz. He must be pacing around his room, panting in anxiety.

As she limped towards Feroz's room, two voices thundered from the ajar door. One was Feroz's, another was Yusuf's. "No, Feroz! Ah," Yusuf croaked, hiccups interrupting his words. "I-I did...that. I cannot li-live like this....Feroz!" Sobs wracked through his throat.

Faajal paused on her feet. A large lump closed her throat. She pressed herself against the wall and brought her ear close to the door.

Yusuf gasped, an uneven rhythm of exhales. "Feroz, it's over. I-I ended it!"

"Why?" Feroz's voice was gentle, almost like an intimate whisper. "You know, you can't live like this. Then, why?"

"Her-her father," Yusuf swallowed a shaking breath. "He came to me last week." His voice steadied, yet exhaustion clung to it. "In the set. At night."

Faajal's hand clinched the hem of her dress. Alarm crept into her skin. "Then?" Feroz asked.

"I thought he was up to some damn business of his. I wanted to lash out the moment I saw him! For the pain he has caused her and me! But, you know, what he said, Feroz?" A hitch hindered Yusuf's speech. Another series of gasps ensued.

Faajal could sense her heart dropping. She leaned closer, hungry for the next words.

"He told me to leave Faajal! That-that I am a dying man. I am going to die anyway. If she gets married to me," Yusuf's words splintered into a whine. "My passing will break her! I will ruin her future! So...so, he told me to leave her, Feroz."

Her heart shattered into a thousand unreadable fragments and sank in the pit of her stomach. Hot tears bloomed over her iris. Her gaze fell on her wrist, where the churi no longer tethered her to him. Still, a thin pale line marked her skin from years of carrying. Her palm covered her mouth to quell the weep at the back of her tongue.

"And, I did that. Because he was right, Feroz." Yusuf muttered through stifled sobs. "I am dying. I can feel it. My heart...it's declining. Every breath feels like borrowed. My chest, it hurts all the time. I feel like dying after just five minutes of running. I-I feel like there's a stone on my chest, Feroz. I-I freed her. She won't break when I die. I can go away peacfu-peacefully now." His note cracked in a shriek.

Something clattered on the floor. "Yusuf! Yusuf, get up!" Feroz pleaded. Panic split through Faajal. The urge to barge into the room grew, but she should not follow.

"She won't return to me, Feroz. She is gone. I deserve to die..." Yusuf's words came in hoarse whispers now. "I," A sharp thump overlapped the voice.

"Yusuf! You-you are bleeding. Yusuf, can you hear me?" Feroz begged, fright jolting his speech. "Yusuf!"

Faajal flinched, sucking a weak inhale to calm her pulse.

The man she had loved was dead.

She should not have conjured the words. Bile scalded the bottom of her throat. She bit into her bottom lip, the taste of blood seeping into her the tip of her tongue.

Feroz staggered out, dragging Yusuf along. Yusuf's arm was draped over Feroz's shoulder as Feroz supported his weight. "Yusuf! Yusuf, talk to me, please."

Faajal hurried to a nearby corner and peeped from there.

Yusuf didn't respond to Feroz's cries. Threads of blood streamed out of his mouth. His head fell slack over one side, his eyes barely open. Breath burst from his lips, unrhythmically. A cough ripped open his throat, and more crimson liquid spilled down.

Faajal fought the impulse to bolt to him. Water framed her eyes, each drop as heavy as a milestone.

A steady trail of blood followed the two men until they ascended to Yusuf's room by the elevator. Faajal shivered in the cranny of the corridor. The burden of the truth fused into her bones.

The sky was clear tonight with a full moon that seemed to brighten every second. But her moon was fading.