"To my vanity van," she said. "I have a script. It’s about a woman who burns down a museum full of paintings that only ever showed her as a muse, never as the artist."
That evening, she slipped away from her own success party. The bass of the music thumped through the walls of the Mumbai mansion as she walked barefoot to the pool house. There, she found her co-star, Dev, nursing a whiskey.
Dev laughed. "That's not a rom-com."
"Three million likes in an hour," Riya whispered, awe in her voice. "The 'hot Bollywood actress' tag is trending. Again."
For the first time all day, Zara smiled. Not the practiced, 100-watt smile for the paparazzi. A real one. Small. Dangerous. hot bollywood actress
"Shouldn't you be in there, setting the temperature to 'scorching'?" he asked, not looking up.
Zara felt a crack in her chest. No one ever mentioned that scene. They only remembered the song where she danced in the rain. "To my vanity van," she said
Dev turned to her. In the dim light, she wasn't the airbrushed goddess. She was a woman with a slight frown, a tiny scar on her chin from a childhood fall, and tired eyes.
