Then he was gone, moving back to where the crew was setting up the next shot, leaving her standing there with juice and sandwich and the phantom sensation of his hand still burning through the fabric of her kurta.
Later, when she was coordinating with another actor’s assistant about scheduling conflicts, Vikram materialized with a chair.
“Sit,” he’d said simply, positioning it behind her. “You’ve been on your feet long enough.”
He didn’t wait for acknowledgment. Just set the chair down and walked away, leaving her staring after him.
The other assistant, a woman who’d been in the industry for years, watched him go with raised eyebrows. “Wow. He really doesn’t let you overwork, does he?”
Divya sat slowly, unsure how to respond. Because Vikram had always been protective of his crew. Always made sure people took breaks, stayed hydrated, didn’t push past their limits.
This was just... more visible. More deliberate. Moreabout herspecifically.
Not long after, a junior crew member had spoken over Divya during a logistics discussion, Vikram’s voice had cut through: “Let her finish.”
Not loud. Not aggressive. But absolute.
The crew member had gone red, stammered an apology. Divya had finished her point in the sudden silence, acutely aware of Vikram’s presence at the edge of the conversation, listening, making space for her words.
By late afternoon, the makeup artist whispered to her colleague, loud enough for Divya to overhear. “He’s never been like this before. Not with any of his girlfriends. Not even with Riya.”
“That’s because this one’s real,” the colleague whispered back. “Look at how he looks at her.”
Divya kept her eyes on her notebook, pretending not to hear.
This one’s real.
Right.
As real as the agreement they’d made in her parents’ bedroom. As real as the expiration date they both knew existed.
She reminded herself of this. Told herself the attentiveness was performance. Good acting. Vikram Khanna, National Award nominee, selling a love story to save both their reputations.
It helped.
Mostly.
Chapter 19
Eight Days Into Marriage
The afternoon shoot was supposed to be simple, a romantic scene where the CEO confesses his feelings to his assistant. Light touching. Hand-holding. A near-kiss interrupted by a phone call.
Except Vikram couldn’t seem to get through it.
“Cut,” Farhan called for the fifth time. “Vikram, what’s going on? This should be effortless for you.”
Vikram stood in the middle of the set, looking frustrated. His co-star Anika waited patiently beside him, professional smile in place despite having to reset repeatedly.
“I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair, messing up what makeup had carefully styled. “The rhythm’s wrong.”
“We’ve been shooting this for an hour,” Farhan said, checking his watch. “You want to break for lunch and come back to it?”
“No.” Vikram’s jaw set. Then his eyes found Divya across the set. “Actually, yes. But give me five minutes first. I want to try something.”
He crossed to where she stood near the monitors, ignoring Farhan’s confused look.
“What’s wrong?” she asked as he approached, automatically shifting into problem-solving mode.
