This story is an extension to my quintale - Behind Those Shimmery Drapes.
https://penmancy.com/behind-those-shimmery-drapes
Vikram and Anaaya open their doors and give a sneak peek into their lives.
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The sound of the ambulance siren pierced the calm of the morning. A red light flashed urgently, signaling the seriousness of the situation. Vikram leaned against the door frame, chewing gum, his strong jaw clenching and relaxing with every bite. The house was filled with the activity of police officials and paramedics.
"This is huge news. Our channel will top the charts," his colleague Anisha beamed.
Vikram gazed at her, dressed in a black top, white pants, and beige lipstick with tiny pearl studs, her attire perfectly suited the occasion. He nodded but stood still, the camera dangling carelessly from his hand. His eyes wandered away from the house as he shifted from one foot to another.
"Vikram, come inside. Where are you lost? I need your A game today," said Anisha, her eyebrows raised and forehead furrowed.
"Give me a minute. I'll be there," he answered, his tone gruff.
Anisha shot him a stern look before heading into the house. Vikram closed his eyes and took a long, deep breath, finding momentary calm. He entered the house and looked around. The interior opulence failed to conceal the gloomy vibes. Warm light poured in through the windows, illuminating a huge chandelier hanging from the ceiling while lamps of different sizes decorated the living room. Yet a strange darkness persisted, refusing to leave. One wall was adorned with trophies and plaques, and on the center table sat a wine glass with lipstick marks. A faint scent of lavender lingered in the air. His hands faltered for a bit, but he steadied himself and began taking pictures of the living room, the wine glass, and every other detail - some for the news article, others to be preserved in the depths of his heart.
"Come quickly, Vikram. Click her pictures before they pack her up," Anisha urged.
"She is dead, Anisha. Show some respect for God's sake," he said, his eyes brimming with unshed tears.
Anisha huffed and threw her hands in the air as she turned to speak with one of the police officers. Vikram walked to the far end of the living room. There, she was lying alone and lifeless on the bare floor, a white cloth covering her body. He knelt, leaning closer to her. Anaaya. His Anaaya. The dark lines under her once-animated eyes had deepened, spreading like roots. Her desolate face lacked her signature smile. Her rugged skin hosted an array of wrinkles. Her once lustrous hair had become frizzy and brittle like the autumn leaves. Her skin had turned blue.
He sat beside her, hoping her chest would rise and fall and her resting heart would beat again. The clock ticked, the fan whirred, and the leaves rustled outside the window. Life continued, but she lay motionless on the floor, indifferent to it all. Tears resting on his eyelids froze like icicles hanging from a roof. He zoomed in with his camera and clicked a photograph. Instinctively, he touched her hand, feeling her cold skin turn his blood to ice.
"What are you doing? Don't touch the dead body," a police officer yelled.
"Dead body". The words stuck in his mind like stubborn grime. Anaaya, the star, had transformed into another piece of news. Everyone wanted a piece of her story. Her queen-sized life had been reduced to rubble. Anger bubbled within him, and pain formed a frothy layer on his heart.
"I will make it to the top, Vikram. I know that. Failures cannot deter me." He recalled Anaaya's words, hope overpowering her eyes laced with apprehension.
"How did it come to this, Anaaya? You could have contacted me. I was just a phone call away, even though you discarded me like I was worthless," he whispered, feeling her presence one last time.
He stood up and walked toward her room. A stone-studded mirror stood tall, reflecting the grandeur of the space. He imagined Anaaya standing before it, admiring her slender figure. She would sway and turn, expecting him to compliment her. When he didn't, she would pout in mock annoyance. A fleeting smile crossed his lips as memories of the best days of his life flitted through his mind. A framed photograph on the bedside table caught his attention. He picked it up and ran his fingers over it, feeling her eyelids flutter and her delicate lips curve into a smile.
"Anaaya," he muttered, trying to reach and wrap his arms around her.
One of the sharp corners of the frame dug into his skin, causing him to wince. The sharp pain was nothing compared to the torment of reality that enveloped him. He looked at the photograph again and remembered capturing that moment.
A few years ago, they had gone on a road trip when Anaaya spotted a flower.
"Get a picture of us," she said, tucking the flower into her hair.
Her hair flowed in the breeze, a few strands caressing her face. The blue sky, dotted with drifting clouds, the dusty street, and the lush trees enhanced her beauty, creating a picture-perfect moment. He clicked the photo, smiling wider than ever, the lens concealing his joy. He wished they could be photographed together, but Anaaya preferred to pose solo. He enjoyed watching her from behind the lens, feeling every bit of her come alive.
'She kept the photograph,' he thought, unsure of what it meant.
Did she harbor feelings for him when she was alive? Had she loved him, even for a minute? Was she emotionally attached to the photograph as a memory of their times together, or was it just another object that showcased her charm? He sat on the bed, and the past flooded back to him. Memories from their time together overwhelmed his thoughts. He wished he could brush them away like specks of dust, but instead, he remained still, letting the wave of recollections engulf him.
The moon bathed the earth in its soothing light, while stars shimmered, enhancing the glow of the night sky. Soft light embedded in the rooftop ceiling created a warm ambiance. A gentle breeze glided in, carrying with it the secrets of the night. He was speaking to one of his colleagues, sipping a cocktail when he noticed her.
Her scintillating eyes seemed to dim the lighting, and her smile - neither too wide nor too subtle - was just right, enough to make hearts race. He observed that her intense gaze searched for someone familiar, her curvy, pink-hued lips curling up into a rehearsed smile. The sequin gown she wore hugged her figure perfectly. She walked cautiously, her gait both confident and gracious, with her stilettos working in symphony with her waist, creating a perfect rhythm.
He got off the bar stool and captured the evening with his camera. The world viewed through the lens appeared different. He enjoyed zooming in and out, focusing on the little details. The lens painted a rosy picture, contrasting with the grey reality surrounding him.
Then he found her again. She stood out, her elegance challenging his photography skills. He angled the camera, tilted his head, and clicked once, twice, and continued until he garnered her attention.
"Hello, what are you up to?" she asked.
He paused, his usual charm fading under a veil of embarrassment.
"I'm a photographer working for the print media. I have been assigned to cover today's event," he replied, his irregular breathing giving him away.
"Today's event involves more than just me," she said, her lips crinkling into a smile.
"But we have eyes only for you," he said, pointing at his camera.
Her cheeks turned a shade pink, and a triumphant smile flashed on his face for a split second. As she fidgeted with her hair, she inadvertently tangled the stray locks.
"Can I get you a drink?" he asked.
She hesitated for a moment but eventually agreed. They talked for a long time until the party came to an end. He waited for her ride to arrive.
"Drop me a message once you get home," he said.
She smiled. That smile had his heart wrapped. He knew that she was the one.
A month went by without hearing from her.
"She's an aspiring star akin to a celestial beauty. I'm just a photographer - a mere mortal. She's the sky, and I'm just a passing cloud. There is no reason she would even remember me,' he thought, disappointment washing over him.
Anaaya's name was etched in his mind like words carved in stone. But to her, was he just a name written in sand?
Then one evening, his phone displayed her name. His heart thumped, every beat louder than the previous.
"Hello, Vikram," she said, her voice similar to a melodious tune.
For the first time, his name sounded just right. There was a zing to it.
"Hello," she repeated, bringing him out of his reverie.
"Heyy.. Annaaa..ya.. how are you?" he said, his words incoherent.
"I'm doing great, Vikram," she answered.
Her tone contradicted her words. There was a hint of dejection in her voice, and Vikram felt anxious.
"Are you okay? You can talk to me if you want," he said.
Silence lingered between them, making him wonder if he had overstepped.
"Yeah, things aren't good on my end. I'm struggling to find a job. I've visited almost every production house, but all my efforts have gone down the drain. It makes me think I should consider something else. Maybe another job… I'm not cut out for the glam world," she spoke continuously.
Vikram heard her sniffle. How he wished he were beside her, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, comforting her and easing her worries.
"Don't talk like that, Anaaya. Have you ever looked at your eyes? They are wide, beautiful, expressive, and simply perfect. Don't give up. Try harder, and let me know if there’s anything I can do," he said, hoping his words would reach her heart.
"Thank you, Vikram. I’ve been meaning to ask you something. I need to send my photos for a modeling assignment. Can you take a few shots? Only if you’re available," she said, her heavy breathing quickening his heartbeat.
"I would love to help," he replied.
"Oh, that’s great! Is tomorrow okay?" she asked.
"Meet me at 8 AM. The garden by Hussain Sagar Lake is an ideal spot," he suggested and waited.
"I'll be there. Thank you," she responded.
He imagined her lips curling into a tiny smile and her eyes brightening, feeling a rush of warmth at the thought.
The next morning, he stood in the walkway, holding a tray with two to-go coffee cups. He watched as the world sprang to life. Walkers passed by, school buses zoomed past, and the commuters trudged through the morning traffic. Thirty minutes later, he noticed a silhouette approaching. Her scarf rippled through the air. She waved at him, and he looked up, their eyes meeting. She looked effortlessly beautiful, her hair tied up in a messy bun. A thin streak of kohl lined her eyes, and she wore a lighter shade of lipstick. A pair of hoop earrings dangled from her ears.
"Sorry, I'm late," she said, as she hugged him.
Her lips drooped like a wilting flower. He felt a strong urge to touch and breathe life back into them. Instead, he handed her a cup and said, "I hope you like lattes."
"I do, but I prefer Americano—the bitter version. It helps me keep my calories in check," she replied, slurping the cream from her coffee.
"Duly noted for next time," he said, the desire to kiss her growing stronger with each passing moment.
He looked around and found a spot for her photoshoot. The lighting was perfect, and the golden shower tree provided ample shade. The yellow flowers scattered across the ground created a colorful tapestry.
"Let's go there," he said, pointing at the tree.
She stood, striking a profile pose, then leaned against the tree, transitioning into a classic pose. He captured a few candid shots, planning to reveal them later as a surprise gift. After the photoshoot, he suggested they grab breakfast at a local café.
"Don't you need to be somewhere?" she asked, curling a strand of hair around her finger.
"No, I took the day off," he answered, unable to look away from her.
"Oh, you’ve gone the extra mile for me," she said, her eyes dimming.
"Oh, it's no trouble at all, Anaaya. This was a much-needed break," he replied, hoping she could sense his unspoken feelings.
It was a break he couldn't afford. He knew his boss might not be pleased with his absence. But that was a concern for another day; today was dedicated to Anaaya.
At lunch, they ate quietly, the crunch of the sautéed vegetables breaking the silence.
"So, what are your plans?" Vikram asked.
"For tomorrow or for life?" she replied, taking a bite of multigrain bread.
Vikram glanced at her plate, finding eating half-cooked vegetables and bland bread tedious. He wondered if he could ever subject himself to such meals, and the answer was a resounding no. They certainly differed in many ways. She was a fitness enthusiast, carefully monitoring every bite she took, while he believed in a balanced lifestyle—eating nutritious food, exercising, and indulging in calorie-laden treats occasionally. She was conscious of her appearance, often checking her reflection, while he was comfortable in his rugged looks. Yet, they shared one similarity: both were passionate about their jobs and willing to give it their all. Moreover, they embodied the idea that opposites attract; according to that popular adage, they would make an adorable couple.
"You didn't answer me," she said, snapping her fingers to get his attention.
Vikram swallowed his water and replied, "You can start with tomorrow, and then we can discuss our plans."
'Our plans'—the phrase felt ludicrous to him, and it wouldn’t have surprised him if she had walked away. He waited anxiously while she continued to eat in silence, a subtle blush spreading across her cheeks. He sighed in relief, balancing his anticipation with unease.
Once they finished eating, the conversation turned serious.
"I'll be going job hunting tomorrow. As for life plans, my goal is to find my footing and make it to the top in the glam industry," she said, her gaze fixed on him.
"What about you?" she asked.
"My only plan is to build a life together with you," he wished he could say. Instead, he replied, "I'll be going to work, as usual."
"We must do this again," he added, his fingers crossed under the table.
"I would like that," she answered, standing up. He pulled the chair, and she slid out of the narrow space. Before they parted for the evening, she hugged him again.
Two months went by. Occasionally, they talked on the phone for a few minutes and exchanged messages, but that was about it. Vikram felt it was for the best. Maybe they weren't meant to be together.
It was a Saturday night. Vikram was sprawled on the couch, guzzling beer and noisily munching on chips, his hair feeling sticky. He hadn’t bothered to shower all day. Weekends were meant for laziness. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, and he walked over to see who it might be. He didn’t receive many visitors; only a couple of friends from work occasionally dropped by, and they never came without prior notice. Peering through the peephole, he saw Anaaya standing there, checking her watch with an anxious look. He quickly twisted the doorknob but then rushed to his room. He slipped into a clean pair of clothes, doused himself in perfume, smoothed his hair with a bit of gel, and felt ready. Though not strikingly handsome, he looked presentable.
When he opened the door, Anaaya nearly toppled into him, engulfing him in a tight embrace. “I did it, Vikram,” she exclaimed, her words sparkling. She kissed him on the cheeks, not once but three times. Still reeling from the surprise, he felt her reach for his hand.
“Thank you for everything. It wouldn’t have been possible without you,” she said, kissing him again. Then, she opened a bottle of champagne, and the bubbly liquid dribbled down her sylph-like waist. Pulling him closer, she twirled her fingers in his hair, and her lips met his. The kiss began slowly, her petal-soft lips reaching for his, tugging them closer. Waves of electricity surged through him, and he felt lightheaded. He grasped her neck and kissed her harder, their shared passion trickling down as beads of sweat.
What was happening? Wasn’t this too abrupt? They had never discussed how they felt about each other, and now, all of a sudden, they were kissing as if they had been doing it for a long time.
“Are you okay with this?” he asked, pulling away slightly.
“Of course,” she smiled, her face gleaming with sweat.
“We never spoke about us... I mean...” he stopped mid-sentence, hoping to find the right words.
“Oh, come on, don’t act innocent. The way you looked at me, your affectionate words, and little gestures like taking breaks from work for me were huge telltale signs,” she said, taking a step back.
“Am I mistaken?” she asked, her eyebrows knitted in confusion.
“No, I like you. I love you. But I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way about me,” he confessed, cupping her face in his hands.
She exhaled softly and replied, “I like you too. I waited until I found a job. It’s a small one—an endorsement for a face cream—but to me, it’s huge.”
“My girl is going to be famous,” he exclaimed, lifting her in his arms and twirling her around.
They kissed again, this time more passionately and without inhibition. After that evening, they spent every possible hour together. She gradually climbed the rungs of showbiz, gaining fame with each assignment and celebrating her progress with him. He attended fashion events alongside her, secretly photographing her to showcase her in a better light. With the help of those pictures, she landed more assignments, and his photography became an invisible ladder helping her reach greater heights.
A year passed, and Anaaya had become a well-known face in the industry. More work came her way, and she had less time for Vikram. He supported her in silence, longing for her presence. Her messages became short and curt, feeling more like office minutes. He sensed the growing distance but waited patiently, hoping he was mistaken.
It was her birthday when he decided to surprise her. He bought an intricately designed gold ring, featuring a gemstone nestled in the yellow metal. The stone shimmered under the warm light, and he imagined the ring hugging Anaaya’s slender, manicured finger. He also brought a bottle of red wine, two customized glasses engraved with “Mr. and Mrs. Vikram,” a bouquet of lilies and roses, and a box of sugar-free chocolates packed snugly in a decorative basket.
As he entered the house, Vikram noticed the living room teeming with notable figures from the entertainment industry. He straightened his shirt and took a deep breath. Loud music played in the background while guests danced, oblivious to their surroundings. Yet, Vikram had eyes only for Anaaya. Her blue silk gown cascaded to the floor, complementing her slender physique. Sapphire earrings adorned her ears, and a bracelet fit snugly around her wrist as she left her neck bare. She looked like a goddess walking under the shimmering lights. Her ethereal beauty captivated him, drawing him toward her like a magnet.
As he approached her, he replayed the proposal he had planned in his mind. His heart raced with every step he took. She noticed him but then turned to face the opposite side. He stumbled, nearly dropping the basket he held.
"Happy Birthday, my love," he said and gave her the basket.
"Oh, Vikram, thank you," she smiled, kissing him on the cheek.
"So, you remember me," he smiled wryly.
"Of course," she said.
"I didn't know you were hosting a party. It looks grand," he said, his eyes widening as he looked at the arrangements.
"Oh, it's a small party. I invited some important people," she said, glancing away.
Tears welled up in his eyes. He swallowed a lump forming in his throat.
"Am I not important?" he wished to ask.
But his voice failed him. She had made it clear that it was over. He knew that in his mind, but convincing his heart wasn't easy. The heart was its own master. It wove dreams, built castles in the air, and lived in its little world. When that world came crumbling down, it shattered, abandoning him.
"Anaaya," he spoke, clearing his throat.
His voice was a bit gruff from all the emotions choking him. She turned to face him, but could tell her heart was elsewhere. Still, his heart wanted what it wanted. He slipped his hand into the pocket and reached for the velvet box. He opened it and the pink stone glittered like stars.
"I love you, Anaaya. Will you marry me?" he asked, leaning forward to kiss her.
She raised her hand. He retreated.
"Hide that ring, Vikram. Let's keep whatever we had between us under wraps. I don't want to be a fodder for the media," she said, her lips curving into a beguiling smile.
"Did you say 'had'?" he asked, the tears rolling down his cheeks.
Ignoring his words, she moved closer, her arm brushing against his.
"Hold my hand, Vikram. Don't be shy," she said, smiling brightly without looking at him.
Only then did he notice that they were being photographed. He didn't move. He didn't smile. His heart broke into a thousand pieces, each fragment splintering his soul.
"Vikram, how can you even imagine that I will marry you?" she asked, gritting her teeth, her smile still intact.
"We love each other," he said, his voice shaking.
"I don't love you. You helped me land a few projects. That doesn't mean you can control my life," she said, her kohl-lined eyes cold.
He felt dazed, the world around him spun and he was about to fall. It felt like he sat on the trough of a tide, the winds of betrayal stabbing him.
"We can meet sometimes, if you want. Secretly. But now you need to leave," she said and walked away.
He grabbed a glass from the nearby table and swallowed it. He had a second drink, a third, and a fourth before he saw Anaaya glaring at him. She was his priority. His life. He didn't want to be her secret. Her consolation prize. He left her house promising to never return. Initially, it was tough. Out of desperation he tried to contact her only to be ignored. He felt desolate, depressed and lonely. But time scarred his wounds, reducing the pain, if not healed them.
"Vikram, what are you doing here? Anaaya's boyfriend has agreed to give us an exclusive. Let's go," Anisha said, jostling him to the present.
"I'll be there," he said, trying to get a hold of himself.
He walked to the dresser and noticed an empty glass. A cabinet stacked with medicines stared at him.
"You are not allowed here." The officer's baritone voice startled him.
"I'm doing my job. The same way you are." He tried to sound normal.
"We will let you know if we find something substantial," remarked the officer.
"You can give me something to work on. Off the record," he persuaded.
"She killed herself. Though glamorous, it gets lonely at the top. It's safe to float midair," sighed the officer.
He nodded and left the room.
The men fit her lifeless form into a body bag. Life had culminated in this very moment. Her stardom was a facade. She slipped down the abyss, the darkness consuming her one day at a time. Everything else was history. Heavy tears fell on his cheeks. Anaaya was gone. Forever. He took a deep breath, the reality sinking in, a part of him destroyed.
"Where's our next stop, Anisha?" he asked.
"Rishi, Anaaya's boyfriend will meet us at the Coffee bar cafe," said Anisha, flipping the pages of her notepad.
He nodded and walked to the exit. A gust of wind brushed against his skin, and he felt Anaaya's presence one last time. The show was over - the curtains came down, but the show would go on.