Volume 5 Chapter 2: – Shadows of a City Dream

 The clock above Kamini’s cubicle glowed 11:47 PM.

The office lights were cold and sterile, casting pa
le reflections on the rows of computer monitors. Outside the tall glass windows, Mumbai was a restless constellation — neon signs flickering, traffic humming like an endless river of steel and light.

Kamini adjusted her headset, forcing her voice into polite warmth.
“Good evening, this is customer support. How may I assist you?”

The caller was irate, demanding impossible solutions. She listened without flinching, her pen twirling between her fingers. In another life, maybe she would have hung up. But here, survival meant swallowing pride and weaving patience into every syllable. By the end of the call, the man on the other end thanked her.

She exhaled.
One more battle won in a war that wasn’t hers.

From a few desks away, Priya leaned in with a grin, whispering loud enough to slice through the hum of ringing phones.
“Guess who’s shooting at Film City tonight? Him. The same one you ran into last week. My friend from the set sent me a photo.”

Kamini’s pulse tightened. She didn’t need to see the picture. She could still recall the warmth in his eyes, the way his smile seemed to both know her and want to know more.
“I’m not interested,” she said lightly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. But Priya was already scrolling through her phone, oblivious to the storm she’d stirred.

The manager’s voice cut through the chatter.
“Kamini. My office. Now.”

Inside, the air was colder.
“You’ve been distracted,” he said bluntly. “Your numbers are dipping. You want to keep this job, stay focused. Bollywood daydreams won’t pay the rent.”

She walked out with her jaw set. She needed this job, but she also needed… more.

By the time her shift ended, the rain had turned the streets into silver rivers. She stepped out into the night without an umbrella, letting the cool drops soak through her thin kurta. The air smelled of wet asphalt and distant fried snacks from a roadside stall.

That’s when the black SUV glided to a halt beside her.
The tinted window rolled down.

He was there.
Hair damp, shirt collar open, eyes locked on hers.
“You’re drenched. Get in. We need to talk.”

Before her mind could form a reason to refuse, she was inside — the leather seat cool against her skin, the faint scent of his cologne wrapping around her.

They drove in silence for a minute. She glanced at the streets rushing past, her building nowhere in sight.

She turned to him.
“You’re not taking me home.”

He looked ahead, his voice low and steady.
“No. I’m taking you somewhere you need to see.”

Outside, Mumbai blurred into streaks of light and shadow.
Inside, her heartbeat was louder than the rain.

To be continued…