Once Again In Love

CHAPTER 3

Natasha's scream pierced the air, sharp and sudden, causing heads to turn in her direction. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she stared at the glowing screen of her laptop, the color draining from her face in an instant.

Beside her, Shanaya paused in her task of fixing her makeup, her hand hovering midair as she turned to look at Natasha with a quizzical expression. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Natasha took a shaky breath, her fingers trembling as they hovered over the keyboard. "Oh, s**t," she muttered under her breath.

Natasha eagerly leaned closer to Shanaya, her eyes alight with excitement as she pulled up the questionable movie scene on her laptop. "This fighting scene is so overwhelmingly intense. Look at this!" she exclaimed, gesturing at the screen with enthusiasm.

Shanaya's smile faltered as she gazed at the actor, her eyebrows furrowing in skepticism. With a forced grin, she replied, "It's... nice." But her uneasy smile betrayed her true feelings.

"What? Just 'nice'?" Natasha interrupted, her voice tinged with disbelief. "His fighting skills are impressive!"

"Calm down," Shanaya interjected, her tone laced with amusement. "He's not exactly Jackie Chan." With a shrug, she let her shoulders relax.

Despite being celebrities, Shanaya and Atharva managed to keep their divorce hidden from the public eye for an extended period. Despite widespread media coverage, some newcomers to the entertainment industry remained oblivious to the situation. Natasha, being a newcomer herself, was unaware of the gossip surrounding Shanaya and Atharva's divorce.

"What? Girl? Ok, nevermind. Oh, Shyam Sir is here and requests to see you," Natasha mumbled, her eyes still glued to the screen as if the movie held the secrets of the universe.

Shanaya raised an eyebrow, bemused by Natasha's distracted response. "Why so?" she inquired, trying to grasp the situation amidst Natasha's apparent disinterest.

"He proposed discussing something with you and Reyhan. Now, I'd appreciate it if you'd stop asking questions and allow me to enjoy my film," Natasha replied, finally tearing her gaze away from the screen for a moment to address Shanaya, her tone laced with a hint of annoyance.

Shanaya shook her head in disbelief at Natasha's nonchalant attitude, muttering something about "childish behavior" as she turned to leave, leaving Natasha to her cinematic reverie.

Whenever Shyam Aggarwal, the big-shot series producer, dropped by the set, it usually meant serious business was brewing. Shanaya always held her breath, hoping the topic of discussion wouldn't circle back to the dreaded award ceremony. She'd become a pro at dodging that subject ever since snagging the 'best actress' award last year, which catapulted her into the limelight.

To escape the tidal wave of attention crashing onto her shores, Shanaya took refuge in a simple yet effective tactic: she shut down comments on her i********:. It was like closing the blinds to keep out the glaring spotlight.

As she approached his cabin, Shanaya braced herself for whatever agenda he had in mind. Whether it was about sealing a lucrative deal or plotting the next plot twist, she was ready to face it head-on with her trademark blend of grace and savvy.

As she pushed open the creaky door to Shyam's cabin, a jolt of surprise ran through her. Reyhan was already there, his eyes locked on hers. Shyam, that calculating producer with a heart of stone, was beaming at her with a smile that sent a shiver down her spine. He only pulled out the charm when he wanted something, and she had a feeling she was about to find out what that was.

"Sanya, please take a seat here." With a grin on his face, he urgently signaled for her to sit.

"Shanaya, sir!" Reyhan's voice cut through the air, firm and commanding. He stood at attention, his eyes fixed on some point beyond her left shoulder. Shanaya, seated behind her desk, raised a hand in a placating gesture. "At ease, Reyhan," she said, her tone a counterpoint to his sharpness.

"Yeah, I am really sorry. That!" He gave them his best fake smile and received skeptical glares from them.

"Okay, so do we know why this special meeting was arranged?" he asks, his voice laced with a mix of expectation and annoyance. His gaze meets the apathetic stares of the two actors across from him. They exchange a confused glance, followed by a shared look of boredom etched on their faces. "Sir, we have actual work to get back to, so if we could please just wrap this up quickly," Reyhan speaks up, his tone dripping with boredom and a hint of frustration.

"Ohh, yeah. So, congratulations to Shanaya for winning the best actress award last year!" He extends his hands for a handshake.

"I'm touched. Truly, deeply touched, Sir, by your lightning-fast congratulations," Shanaya said, hand on heart. The producer just grunted, used to this kind of back-and-forth from his stars.

"Let's discuss your upcoming commitments. As you're aware, industry expectations dictate that actors and actresses who win consecutive Best Actress awards will have a heightened screen presence. With success comes increased responsibility. Sany....Shanaya, I'm not here to make demands, but rather to formally request your attendance at this event."

"Sir, I suggest you review my contract. I specifically included a clause stating I'm not obligated to attend public events unless I'm comfortable doing so. You can't..." Shyam interrupted her.

"And I'm not. I'm making a polite request, not forcing you. I've called you both here for this reason. I won't gain anything from this; it's purely for your benefit. I've seen your dedication, Shanaya – the passion in your eyes for your craft. You can't limit yourself to TV shows forever. You need to think bigger. You have the looks, style, popularity, and talent – any film producer would jump at the chance to work with you. And though it's too early to announce, we'll be concluding this show within the next two months." He gave them his most serious look.

Reyhan and Shanaya locked eyes, the air thick with unspoken questions. Shanaya wasn't one to be swayed by pressure or manipulation, her interests firmly rooted in her own desires. Yet, the producer's words hung in the air, a compelling argument that tugged at her resolve.

Her claim to fame rested in the daily soaps, the predictable rhythm of television a comforting certainty. If this leap into film proved a misstep, she could always return. The safety net was woven with familiar faces and storylines. But what of the itch that whispered, 'try'?

"I'll think about it, Sir," Shanaya said finally, her voice a cautious promise. A small smile played on Reyhan's lips, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"Yeah, but please let me know as soon as possible," the producer urged, his brow furrowed with concern. "We have to ask the designer for your clothes and make-up. You have to look your absolute best when you step onto that stage to accept your awards - the cameras will be merciless." He paused, scribbling a note on his clipboard. "Also, I am signing both of you up for a dance performance on the occasion of..." His voice trailed off as he awaited their response.

Shanaya's reaction was immediate. "Nope!!" she almost screamed, her eyes wide with alarm. She quickly regained her composure, forcing a stiff smile onto her face. "I am not going to be dancing," she stated firmly, her voice laced with determination. "I just don't feel comfortable." Her hands fidgeted anxiously in her lap, betraying her outward calm.

If the statement did hurt Reyhan, he didn't let it show, but the pain echoed silently in his heart. He decided to shrug it off.

Years had waltzed by since that fateful moment, yet the sting of betrayal still whispered its venomous secrets in the recesses of her mind. How could she forget the searing humiliation, the icy grip of shame that tightened around her heart? All it took was a simple dance, a harmless twirl with someone from the opposite gender, to ignite the tempest that would tear apart the fragile veneer of her marital bliss.

She had tried to bury the memory, to drown out the echoes of his scornful words beneath the clamor of life's distractions. But like an unrelenting specter, the memory persisted, its tendrils reaching out to grip her soul with unyielding tenacity.

Even now, as she traced the lines of the past with trembling fingers, she could feel the weight of his disdain bearing down upon her. The wounds he inflicted cut deeper than any blade, leaving scars that no passage of time could fully heal. For even in the silence of her solitude, the echoes of his cruelty reverberated, a haunting melody that played on the strings of her shattered heart.