WICKETS AND WIDGETS

Broken Bonds

"Hey, chill, Raghav! I'm not planning to go all John Wick on him," I reassured him. "And I'm also not about to turn into a Twitter troll either. I just want to have a chat with him, sort out a few things."

"Why are you so hung up on him?" Raghav asked, his eyebrow doing a 'The Rock' impression.

"Well, let's just say he's become my Inception - he's the dream within a dream that's taken over my mind," I admitted.

Raghav's confusion seemed to escalate.

"I've given you all the information I can. Don't expect more," I declared, my hands deftly maneuvering the steering wheel for a turn.

"Understood," he responded, a note of respect in his voice.

"We've arrived. Time to get out," I announced as I guided the car into a parking spot.

He exited the vehicle, smoothing out his attire before striding towards the set. I, on the other hand, lingered by the car, taking a moment to draw in a deep breath of fresh air, reluctant to follow him inside.

"I can't stay hidden forever," I sighed, contemplating the inevitable confrontation with Sana. With that thought, I exited the vehicle, taking measured, hesitant steps towards the building.

As I stepped inside, the first sight that met my eyes was an irate Mr. Das. His brows were furrowed in fury, his face a vivid shade of red, and his voice echoed sharply across the set.

"What on earth do you think you're doing, Sana?" he bellowed, "I expect superior acting from you."

Sana, on the other hand, appeared to be in turmoil. Her eyes, once sparkling with self-assuredness and confidence, now seemed dull and fearful. Her demeanor was a stark contrast to her usual self. As her gaze met mine, she quickly averted her eyes.

"Take it easy, Das," Raghav interjected, his smile a soothing balm, "We always have the option to reshoot the scene, you know."

The director exhaled a dramatic sigh, massaging his temples, "I'm aware of that. But this is a simple sequence. I was hoping to wrap it up quickly, but Sana's performance is off today. She's usually flawless."

"Exactly, she's always perfect," Raghav responded, "So, let's allow her to make mistakes. They're what make us human, after all. Otherwise, she might as well be an android."

"Alright, Sana, take a breather and then we'll continue," he instructed her, simultaneously signaling the crew to ready themselves for another take.

Sana gave a quick nod of acknowledgement before darting off to her vanity van, the door slamming shut behind her with a resounding thud.

I found myself rooted to the spot amidst the ensuing chaos, unsure of my next move. Should I follow Sana, or should I be mentally preparing for the director's metaphorical funeral? The dilemma was real.

Eventually, I opted for the former. I hurried towards her van and knocked on the door. Met with silence, I muttered to myself, "Well, here goes nothing," before pushing the door open and stepping inside.

The sight of Sana was heart-wrenching. Her hair clung to her damp forehead, her eyes were bloodshot from relentless tears, and her sobs came in broken, jagged hitches.

Without a second thought, I rushed to her side, wrapping her in a comforting embrace as she buried her face in my chest, her sobs muffled against my t-shirt. "It's okay, Sana," I soothed her.

"I'm a rapist. I'm a terrible actress. I'm a lousy friend. I'm an awful sister," she confessed in a fragmented whisper, "I don't deserve to live."

Pulling her closer, I murmured, "Sana, you can't give in to weakness now. There are thousands of people who look up to you for your strength and level-headedness. It wouldn't be fair to them."