When the Script Fails

CHAPTER 15: The Scene Too Close to Ignore

Farhana's POV

By the time I returned to the set, my heartbeat had leveled out...
or at least it tried to.

But the second I saw Baseer again — standing with the script rolled in his hand, his jaw tense, eyes flicking toward the corner where we'd just been — the whole world tilted.

He was pretending nothing was different.
Pretending that five minutes ago, he hadn't looked at me like the rest of the world faded into static.

But I wasn't stupid.

Nothing between us was the same anymore.

"Alright," the director called, clapping his hands, "we're running Scene 42. Farhana, you'll be in this one too — we're adjusting blocking. Meera enters from left, Baseer from right, and Farhana crosses between them."

My stomach dropped.

Between them.

Between Meera and Baseer.

Fantastic.

I took my place, trying to stay professional, but my hands were tense, my shoulders stiff. Baseer noticed — he always did.

He stepped closer to me, keeping his voice low so the mic wouldn't pick it up.

"You okay?"

I stared straight ahead. "We should focus on the scene."

His eyes softened — I could feel it, even without looking.

"Farhana..."

"No." My voice quivered. "If we talk more, I won't be able to act."

He inhaled sharply, and the air between us shifted — warmer, heavier, more charged.

The director called for action.

Meera entered, composed as ever. "Rohit, we need to talk about the last—"

She stopped when she saw Baseer's character.

Then I entered, crossing slowly between them.

Except... something went wrong.

Meera misjudged her step. Or maybe I moved too fast. Or maybe the universe was playing games again.

Either way — my foot tangled with hers, my balance shifted—

And I stumbled.

Before I could hit the ground, a hand grabbed my waist.
Firm.
Warm.
Certain.

Baseer.

He pulled me against him, steadying me in one effortless movement.
For a second — too short and too long — my hands pressed against his chest, his fingers curled around my waist, our breaths tangled.

Everything froze.

Meera stared.
Rohit blinked.
The director paused, mid-sentence.

But Baseer didn't let go.
Not immediately.
His grip tightened for a heartbeat — protective, instinctive, a little desperate.

"Got you," he murmured, voice so low I barely heard.

My chest tightened painfully.

"Cut!" the director called. "Let's reset."

But Baseer still didn't step back.

His hand lingered at my waist, thumb brushing unconsciously against the soft fabric of my dress — a barely-there touch that sent heat along my skin.

"Baseer..." I whispered.

He blinked, finally snapping out of whatever spell we'd fallen into. His hand dropped, and the loss felt sharper than it should have.