Chapter 1: The Spotlight After the Storm

When the biggest star in Bollywood leaned over to fix my headset, his lips brushed my hair—so softly, I wondered if I’d imagined it.

For a second, the world seemed to stop around us.

We were both caught off guard.

And all this, right in the middle of a celebrity divorce reality show.

We weren’t even supposed to be together—each of us belonged to different, broken couples.

1

After divorcing Arjun Mehra, everyone assumed I’d still be chasing after him.

He’d made our marriage public at the height of his stardom. I still remember the front-page photo in Bombay Times—his arm tight around me, both of us beaming, the country’s biggest stars flooding our socials with congratulations. Chachi called from Lucknow, neighbours in our Andheri building lined the stairwell with mithai and gossip. The air smelled of fresh jalebis and marigold.

After the wedding, his image soared, and every time he finally clinched an award, someone or the other would mention my name.

Why her? She’s so lucky, they’d whisper.

But I was the one who brought up divorce first.

Though honestly, I think he’d been waiting for it.

Priya Sinha, his latest co-star, wore his jacket, flashed his phone cover, played his wife on screen…

Meanwhile, I was at home, flipping through the calendar, waiting for him to call, getting cut off every time with some excuse about a late shoot.

Then, I ran into Priya Sinha in business class.

She greeted me like an old friend, her smile dazzling, makeup perfect, that diamond nose-pin sparkling, dupatta tossed just right. The air hostess grinned between us, eyes twinkling knowingly.

“You know,” Priya whispered into my ear, “I used his card for this flight.”

She meant for me to hear it.

She wanted me to end things.

So I did. I went home and packed in half an hour—stuffed my clothes into the battered blue suitcase, left his watch and our wedding photo behind. I took only Amma’s silver payal and my diaries. I left the house keys on the shoe rack.

My hands shook as I stepped out. The lift was slow as ever, and I stared at the scratched mirror, willing myself not to cry.

I didn’t want anything others had already claimed.

Thankfully, there were no children yet. Dadi-amma still lit a diya for us every Thursday, but fate hadn’t blessed us so far.

Arjun leaned against the door, watching.

He seemed untouched, only asking, “What else do you want?”

“Your phone,” I replied.

He blinked, surprised, but handed it over.

Back in the days when he loved me most, when I stood by him as he rose from nobody to superstar, my chat was always his only pinned WhatsApp.

Now, I’d been replaced.

Only ‘Do Not Disturb’ remained.

We had our divorce agreement.

He gave me everything he’d earned, only asking that I let him go quickly. He signed the papers as casually as he signed autographs, barely glancing at me.

He said he truly loved Priya.

We signed a confidentiality agreement. The day I left, I thought I’d never hear from him again.

Until he called.

“Let’s meet.”

It was just a month after the divorce.

“We can’t let the fans think you cheated. The show still needs to air.”

I arrived early.

Inside the lounge, Arjun’s manager was already working on him.

“After the divorce, you’re still a superstar. She’ll just be a joke, yaar—an ordinary woman waiting to be trolled.” The manager scrolled his phone, smirking.

“She definitely can’t let go.”

“Just trick her, say you want to go on a celebrity divorce show with her.”

“Let her think there’s still hope, so she’ll try to please you.”

“In the end, with some clever editing, the audience will think she’s clingy, and you’ll keep your romantic image.”

He nudged Arjun.

“Are you even listening?”

Arjun lounged with his legs up, tapping away at a game on his phone. “Hmm.”

“Bas, ek signal de, she’ll come running like a filmi heroine.”

I pressed my dupatta between my fingers, keeping my face calm while my heart hammered.

In the meeting room, Arjun toyed with his phone, barely looking at me.

He spoke only a few words.

I agreed.

“I’ll go on the show.”

He looked into my eyes, pausing. “Are you really… so stuck on me?”

He was too sure of himself, too easy to fool.

I lowered my lashes.

“Yes.”

“Arjun, is there still a chance for us?”

His gaze was icy, he turned away, and murmured,

“We’ll see how you do.”

“But,” he added, “the script for this show isn’t what you think.”

This divorce reality show.

Would air alongside his and Priya’s new film.

It was all for the hype around him and Priya.

The show’s concept was “Try a different way of living, see the problems between couples.”

Priya and he would share a room.

And I would share a room with Priya’s husband.

That Kabir Malhotra, who shot to fame at nineteen with one film, swept every major award, and then suddenly retired to get married.

Arjun was just walking in his shadow.

He’d become famous partly because his face resembled Kabir’s.

Rumour had it, after marriage, Priya and Kabir lived in separate cities.

She loved him but couldn’t have him.