24. Talk to Her
TALK TO HER
DEEPIKA
“Deepika,” Ananya Mehta said, standing up to shake my hand, her grip firm. “I’ve been watching you.”
Her office was minimalist, with white walls, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking downtown LA, and a single orchid on her desk. She sat behind the desk in all black, silver hair cut in a sharp bob and dark eyes that missed nothing.
My heart hammered in my ears. “Thank you, th-that’s—”
“Not a compliment yet. Please sit.”
I sat.
She pulled up a scene from my last film on her laptop where I had improvised the entire emotional breakdown because the script hadn’t felt authentic and watched it with me in silence.
When it ended, she closed the laptop.
“You’re wasted in supporting roles.”
I opened my mouth and closed it. What was I going to say? Agree with her and sound egoistic?
“This film I’m making…” she leaned forward. “It’s about a woman rebuilding herself after her life falls apart. It’s going to be messy and raw, so I need someone who understands that depth isn’t always pretty.”
“I understand that.”
My hands were sweaty, but I kept them firmly on my lap, too scared to even move an inch. This is my chance.
“I know you do. That’s why you’re here,” she smiled, and my hope bloomed with it. “The role’s yours if you want it. We start shooting in four months.”
Four months? That’s it? Ohmygod.
I tried not to jump up from the chair.
“Who’s the male lead?” I asked, my wide grin making my cheeks hurt.
She waved a hand. “We’re still casting. But does it matter? You have chemistry with everyone. I’ve seen your work.”
It didn’t matter. Not really. This was Ananya Mehta. The director who launched careers, won Oscars, and made films that actually meant something.
“I want it,” I said sincerely, my hands itching to read the entire script and start preparing to embody the character.
“I’m glad to hear it, Deepika. My assistant will send the contract.”
The meeting with Ananya Mehta went better than I had dared to hope, and I told Liam everything in the car on the way home, my words tumbling out faster than I could organize them.
“And she said I’m wasted in supporting roles, can you believe that? And the script is incredible, Liam, it’s exactly the kind of work I’ve been dying to do, and she wants me. Not as second choice or backup, but me specifically, and we start shooting in four months which is perfect timing because—”
I stopped, hand flying to my mouth.
I had been talking for fifteen minutes straight without pausing for breath.
“Sorry,” I blurted. “I’m boring you.”
He frowned, pulling into our driveway. “What do you mean, boring?”
His blond hair looked damp from his practice. He had come to pick me up in the terrible LA traffic and kept nodding, asking me questions and sharing his opinions on the meeting while I yapped non-stop.
Heat crept up my neck as I said, “I’ve been talking nonstop. Yash used to hate when I…”
I trailed off, watching Liam’s expression go dark.
“When you what?” he asked, his voice low and deep.
“Nothing. It’s not important.”
I was about to get out of the car when he grabbed my wrist.
“Deepika.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. He won’t let it go, so I said, “When I got excited about work. He said I talked too much, even though it was about… our work. He always said that I made everything about me and that I should—” I waved my hands around in the air. “You know… be less.”
“He’s a fucking idiot,” he said bitterly, and the vehemence in his voice startled me.
“I enjoy listening to you talk,” he continued, his thumb rubbing soft circles on my wrist. “You light up when you’re excited and it’s…” He cleared his throat, averting his gaze. “It’s nice.”
My heart felt warm, and I smiled when he opened the passenger door for me.
We went inside, and I was about to head upstairs when he asked.
“Have you talked to your sister?”
I scoffed. “I’d rather live with you for a year than face her.”
I meant it as a joke, but the words came out bitter.
Because deep down, I was hurt. I’d never in a million years think Diya would betray me like that.
Growing up together, we shared beds, clothes, makeup, and secrets. We fought over stupid things like borrowed sweaters and who got the last gulab jamun, but never anything serious like relationships.
Until Yash.
“Maybe you should give her a chance,” Liam said gently. “Talk to her.”
I pulled my hand back. “How can we ever make up after this?”
He gave me a soft smile. “Ethan, Kiara, and I had a huge friendship breakup once, where we didn’t speak to each other for years. There were misunderstandings and…” He scratched his neck. “I was a stupid dick because I sort of slept with Ethan’s girlfriend.”
I stared at him. “You what?”
I thought he was loyal and would never do that to his friends—
“I kissed Arianna. His girlfriend at the time and made sure he caught us.”
“Why would you… how did Ethan ever forgive you?”
They were inseparable now, more brothers than friends, and even Kiara said they were more bonded than actual siblings.
“He liked Kiara since he was a kid, and their feelings were mutual. Everyone around them could see it except them.” Liam shrugged. “So me being a stupid teenager, decided to kiss his current girlfriend and get caught, and forced him to confront what he actually wanted.”
I nodded slowly. “That’s so dumb.”
“It was, but it worked out. Though Kiara almost murdered me for it.”
I giggled despite myself, imagining my tiny cousin going after six-foot-three Liam.
“Don’t laugh. I was genuinely scared for my life,” he grumbled but smiled. “But months later… years later, Ethan finally listened to me and told me I was stupid and an asshole, and that it was in the past.”
I pursed my lips and looked at the shiny marble flooring. Our feet covered in house slippers, which I had bought for us because the thought of outside shoes at home made me want to Lysol every surface.
I gave him a sad smile. “It worked out for them because they were meant to be together. But Yash and Diya?”
I shook my head. “He’s not a good person and I’m worried—”
I stopped, the words catching in my throat.
I was about to say that I was worried about her. For Diya. Despite everything, she was still my sister.
Liam squeezed my hand. “Talk to her when you feel like it. But don’t be too late.”
I nodded, my jaw clenching.
Liam
The award show was exactly the kind of event I usually hated. It was overcrowded, over-hyped, and full of people pretending to be friends while secretly hoping everyone else would fail.
But watching Deepika on the red carpet made it all worth it.
She glowed under the lights in a silver dress that caught every flash, hair swept up to show her neck, that ring on her finger.
I had asked her and our publicists if I should get her a diamond ring, but Deepika had rejected that idea even though I didn’t mind splurging on her. I wanted to spoil her, but the most expensive thing she had asked of me was the truth, whether I had eaten her Lucky Charms or not.
I had eaten them.
I was guilty and banned from touching or kissing her for an hour. It was a torturous hour, and I counted each second until I pounced on her like a hungry wolf and had my fill for a couple more hours later.
Although it was a grave mistake which I shall never repeat.
Okay, that was a lie. I ate it this morning, but only a couple of bites. They were addictive, unfortunately.
Deepika was gracious with every interviewer. Funny when they asked boring questions and stunning in a way that had nothing to do with the dress and everything to do with how she carried herself.
She was in her element, and I was glad that I was her date and not the annoyingly handsome Hollywood’s golden boy, Marcus Reynolds.
The ceremony dragged with speeches, musical numbers and more speeches until they announced Best Supporting Actress.
Deepika’s hand found mine, squeezing tight.
My heart pounded in my ears, wishing and hoping they would say her name.
“And the award goes to…”
Not Deepika.
Her face fell for a microsecond as disappointment flickered across her features before she pasted on a smile and clapped for the winner.
But I noticed it as I squeezed her hand back and kissed her temple. She pursed her lips and reached for her wine glass and took a long drink.
Then another.
And another.
Uh-oh.
In the limo home, she tried to act unbothered.
“It’s fine,” she said, staring out the window. “I mean, I-I didn’t expect to win anyway. The other performances were really strong. It’s an honor… j-just to be nominated, right?”
Her voice cracked on the last word.
“Deepika, you were—”
“I worked so hard on that film,” she said, her voice small as the words tumbled out of her. “I improvised half my scenes because the script was terrible, and I made that character real. But I’m still just ‘the best friend.’ I’m always the best friend and never the lead.”
Tears streamed down her face, mascara running, and she didn’t even seem to notice.
I pulled her into my arms, kissing her hair.
“You were the best thing in that film,” I said into her hair. “You were robbed. They’re idiots.”
She looked up at me, her eyes red and watery. “You watched it?”
“Four times.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to understand your world,” I said, wiping a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “And because watching you act is… something special.” I’ve cried watching your movie, especially the emotional scenes, but I’m too much of a coward to confess to that.
She believed me, and I could see it in her eyes as they softened and dropped to my lips.
She kissed me. Softly and gently I tasted her wine and salt from tears. She hummed into the kiss, pressing against me in the back of a limo while LA lights blurred past the windows.
I cradled her face, promising filthy and sweet words in her ears as I demanded the driver to put gas on the pedal.
We had long lost the list of our rules, so it didn’t matter if we kept fulfilling our desires… and maybe even more than that.