‘Let’s go over the sequence once more.’ Aman Khan, Bollywood’s biggest superstar, was onto his fifth cigarette of the day.
‘Sure, sir.’ The director pointed at the ruined carcass of the plane, ‘You’ll be on the top, Sir. Ma’am will come running from that direction.’
‘Cool yaar!’ Aman stubbed his cigarette. ‘Where’s Shriya?’
‘Ma’am is inside the plane, Sir.’
‘Ask her to hurry up.’
‘Sorry, Sir. I’m ready.’ Shriya, the heroine, rushed towards Aman.
‘What’s this sweetheart?’ Aman droned. ‘You delayed me. Time’s money.’
Post take, Aman draped his hand over Shriya’s shoulder, ‘That was a great take, sweetheart.’
‘Thank you, Sir.’
‘Tomorrow’s my 54th birthday. Why don’t you come over to my room tonight? Let’s celebrate – just the two of us. What say?’ He winked.
Shriya looked over to her chair. The burnt remains of a baby’s shoe she had recovered from the plane smiled forlornly at her. She wished the likes of Aman were on that plane instead.
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