The sunlight streaming through the huge living room balcony and the distant noises of the city slowly pulled me out of sleep.
For a few seconds I lay still, half awake, unsure where I was.
Then the stiffness in my back reminded me.
The sofa.
I had fallen asleep there.
I shifted slightly and groaned under my breath. My neck felt stiff, my shoulders sore, and one of my legs had gone slightly numb from being curled up in the same position for too long.
I stretched lazily, letting out a long yawn, and stared at the ceiling for a while. The apartment felt bright and calm in the morning light. Outside the balcony, the city was already fully awake. I could hear the distant hum of traffic, the occasional honk of a horn, and somewhere far away the faint call of a street vendor.
For a while I simply lay there, enjoying the quiet.
Eventually I pushed myself up slowly and sat on the sofa, rubbing the back of my neck.
My purse still lay beside me on the floor where it had slipped the previous night. The phone was lying on the table nearby.
For a brief second I remembered the missed WhatsApp call from the unknown number.
A faint uneasiness passed through me.
Then I shrugged it away.
If it had been important, whoever it was would call again.
With that comforting thought, I stood up and headed toward the bathroom.
About half an hour later I was sitting at the breakfast table.
The cook moved about quietly in the kitchen, the familiar smell of frying eggs drifting into the dining area.
I was sipping my usual glass of aloe vera juice slowly, the cool bitterness of the drink sliding down my throat, still feeling a little drowsy.
I glanced absent-mindedly around the dining room.
Sunlight filled the apartment now, pouring through the tall windows and reflecting softly off the marble floor.
In a few minutes the cook would bring my omelette.
Just another ordinary morning.
Just then my mobile phone rang.
The sudden sound broke the calm silence of the room.
I reached for the phone and glanced at the screen.
The caller ID showed a familiar name.
Aarav.
A small smile appeared on my face automatically as I picked up the call.
"Hello?"
But the smile faded almost immediately when I heard his voice.
He sounded different.
Flustered.
Tired.
And worried.
"Sam," he said.
His voice was strained.
My heart tightened instantly.
Aarav rarely sounded like this.
"There is some bad news."
There was a brief pause on the line, as though he was deciding how to say what he had to say.
Then he continued.
"Sameera's surgery… it was a failure."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"What?"
Aarav exhaled slowly.
"Her face… it went completely wrong," he said quietly. "The surgery didn't work the way the surgeon expected. When the bandages were removed this morning… it looked very bad."
He paused again.
"She couldn't take it, Sam."
Another pause.
Then he said the words that seemed to echo inside my head.
"She… committed suicide."
For a moment I simply sat there staring at the table.
The words didn't seem real.
Sameera.
Suicide.
Dead?
The two words refused to fit together. Sameera and I had not been very close once we had grown up and gone our different ways. But hearing suddenly that she was dead shocked me completely.
A heavy sadness settled over me.
I suddenly felt as if the room had grown quieter.
"Sam?" Aarav's voice came again through the phone.
"Are you alright?"
I swallowed before answering.
"Y… yes," I said slowly. "When… when did this happen?"
"This morning," Aarav replied.
His voice sounded distant now, tired.
"They removed the bandages today. The surgeon had warned that the swelling might still be there, but… the result looked worse than expected."
He took a slow breath.
"The nose… the lips… the chin...everything looked wrong."
I imagined Sameera standing before a mirror, seeing her own face after surgery.
Aarav continued softly.
"She saw herself in the mirror and screamed. Completely lost control. The doctors tried to calm her down. They told her they could do corrective surgery later… but she was hysterical."
He paused again.
"She kept crying… sobbing… completely beside herself."
As he spoke, a memory flashed suddenly in my mind.
The missed WhatsApp call.
The unknown number.
My heart skipped a beat.
I spoke quickly.
"Aarav… I had a WhatsApp call yesterday night from an unknown number. It got cut before I could pick it up. Could it have been Sameera?"
There was a short silence on the other end.
"I don't know," Aarav said slowly. "Maybe."
Then he asked,
"You didn't call back?"
A wave of guilt rose inside me.
"No," I said quietly. "I thought it might be Bhai… or one of his men."
My voice trembled slightly.
"If only I had…"
"It's okay," Aarav said gently. "You couldn't have known."
His calm tone made me feel even worse.
I hesitated before asking the question that had been forming in my mind.
"How… how did she…"
I couldn't finish the sentence.
Aarav understood.
"Two hours ago she left the hospital," he said.
"The nurse told me she had gone missing from her room. I started searching for her."
His voice grew heavier.
"There's a bridge near the hospital. Over the river."
My grip on the phone tightened again.
"I saw her walking there," he continued quietly. "I followed her. I called out to her to stop."
His voice faltered slightly.
"But she didn't listen."
A short silence followed.
"I saw her jump, Sam."
My heart sank.
"She climbed onto the railing… and jumped into the river."
The room suddenly felt cold.
"I shouted… I ran toward the bridge… but it was too late."
I closed my eyes.
"Did they… find her body?" I asked softly.
"Not yet," Aarav replied.
"It's a deep river. Apparently… a lot of people commit suicide there."
He sounded exhausted.
"The police are searching, but… I don't think she survived."
I felt numb.
There was too much to process at once.
The failed surgery.
Sameera's breakdown.
Her suicide.
And that missed phone call.
A heavy wave of guilt washed over me.
Why did you have to do this, Sami?
If only I had answered that call…
If only I had called back.
My thoughts were interrupted by Aarav's voice again.
"You do realise the situation now, don't you?"
I frowned slightly.
"Situation? What situation?"
He hesitated before answering.
"Sameera is dead."
I said nothing.
"And VK has signed her for two huge movies."
I felt a cold dread creeping into my stomach.
"And," Aarav continued carefully, "you have been impersonating her for the last three weeks."
Yes.
I had been.
I rubbed my forehead slowly.
"I suppose we will have to come clean with VK," I said quietly.
Aarav sighed.
"It's not that simple, Sam."
"There's a lot of money involved. VK has already invested heavily in the project."
"But the shooting hasn't started yet," I said quickly.
"On the new film, yes," Aarav replied.
"But Sameera had already shot some portions of the other film I'm directing."
My stomach tightened.
The feeling of dread engulfed me now.
What new mess had I fallen into?
"So… what do we do?" I asked weakly.
Aarav took a long breath.
"I think you should leave immediately."
The words hit me like a slap.
"What?"
"Leave the city," he said calmly. "Leave the country if possible."
I felt the colour drain from my face.
Running again?
I had barely managed to escape Bhai's trap.
And now this.
No.
I didn't want to run anymore.
"Maybe… we can get out of this situation another way," I said. "If VK really needs Sameera… I could continue playing her."
There was a short silence.
Then Aarav laughed dryly.
"That's easier said than done."
"You're a man, Sam. Wearing fake breasts. That's enough for public appearances or photos."
"But shooting an entire film?"
His tone turned serious.
"You would have to act closely with other actors. Wear revealing costumes. Dance sequences."
He paused.
"You won't be able to carry that off with fake breasts."
A shiver ran down my spine.
"And imagine the scandal if the press discovered that Sameera was actually a male actor," he added.
"The films wouldn't just flop. They would become a national joke."
I sighed helplessly.
"Aarav… I don't know what to do."
My voice sounded tired even to my own ears.
"My mind isn't working."
Aarav spoke again, his tone calm but firm.
"You need to disappear for now."
"Before VK learns the truth."
"I'll be flying back tomorrow," he continued. "I'll explain everything to him. Tell him the impersonation was my plan to buy time until Sameera recovered."
Then he added,
"Contact your friend… what's his name? Zahir. Ask him to help you leave quietly. Don't tell the servants anything. Just disappear."
I realised something then.
He was asking me to run.
But he was the one who would have to face VK alone.
"What about you?" I asked quietly.
Aarav chuckled softly.
"It's my mess, Sam. I'll deal with it."
Then he added lightly,
"If I survive this… we'll have another night at the casino."
The joke sounded strangely tragic under the circumstances.
"I need to go now," he said after a moment. "They're calling me to complete some formalities here."
Q
"We'll keep in touch… somehow."
"Bye, Sam."
The line went silent.
I slowly lowered the phone from my ear.
For a long time I simply sat there at the breakfast table.
The omelette arrived a few moments later.
It remained untouched on the plate.
All I had wanted was to clear my debts… escape the trouble I had fallen into with Bhai.
Playing Sameera for a few weeks had seemed like a strange but manageable solution.
And now…
I had almost cleared one mess.
Only to fall into a much bigger one.
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That's the end of Chapter 19. Do let me know your thoughts on the chapter. Comment freely. Drop a like if you enjoyed reading it.
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> © Moon Winters, 2026. All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
The medical procedures, treatments, and concepts depicted in this work are purely fictional and should not be considered accurate, realistic, or medically valid. They are presented solely for narrative purposes and should not be interpreted as medical advice or real-world possibility.
No part of this story may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used for review purposes.
