Meera had often thought about how unnatural the very construct of playback singing was. She couldn’t fathom how one could stay behind a curtain, lend a voice and instill emotion for a person on screen, and yet the audience would look past this fabrication and choose to believe the story. Over the years, she became used to the concept, but she could never truly like the fact that her voice was used for the screen. She always felt like she was cheating her audience, and would much rather have preferred being in front of them with all her talents and vulnerabilities. At least, she thought, she was connecting with them in a real way. That night, however, she wanted to be behind a curtain. She performed the mukhda of her first song with her eyes closed, in a desperate attempt to shut out the world. Soon enough, being the thorough professional that she was, her anger towards Sahil dissipated and the song took over. She was able to lose herself and focus on the words and emotions that had been written by someone else, yet felt like her own. When she finally opened her eyes, the sight of a rapt audience teleported her to a different time – to that enchanted night many years ago at the Orient Club. She remembered how she spotted Abhimanyu in the crowd, and how the sight of his face had calmed her nerves; how she was able to perform just by singing to him, and nobody else seemed to matter.

Inside the auditorium of the Metro, there was no Abhimanyu to lock eyes with, and in that moment, she recognized the truth – the pain in her heart ever since she had left his hospital room in New York. Had Abhimanyu been in the audience, he would have seen the metamorphosis of the girl he had fallen in the love with. She was no longer a diminutive nervous wreck. Gone was the cheap sharara, its place taken up by exquisite garments and glittering jewelry. It wasn’t the attire that accentuated her presence, though, those trysts in the years since had given her an imperceptible aura that was impossible to miss even from afar. But deep down, nothing much had changed. Had Abhimanyu been in the hall that day, he would have noticed the low thump of longing heartbeats through her slender neck, now adorned with diamonds. She missed him.

Vo jo yaad karte the, aaj ajnabi ho gaye. Yeh shahar, yeh raste, ye gali chhod gaye.
Kyun na du duaein unko, woh meri ‘hasti ka saamaan’ jo ho gaye.