His love, His possession

5

The sky over Mumbai was painted in hues of orange and pink as the sun dipped toward the horizon. The narrow lanes of Ishita’s colony buzzed with life children running barefoot, old women gossiping from balconies, the smell of fresh pakoras wafting from street stalls.

Meera adjusted Aanya’s dupatta over her small shoulders, her swollen feet aching as she made her way toward Ishita’s house. It had been a long day at the shoot, and all she wanted was to lie down.

But just as she turned the corner she froze.

Samar stood there, leaning casually against his bike, lighting a cigarette.

For a second, they both just stared at each other.

Meera’s heart stopped. Him? Here?

Samar exhaled a slow stream of smoke, his dark eyes narrowing slightly.

Ishita, completely unaware of the tension, beamed at Samar. “Arre, Samar! You know Meera?”

Samar didn’t say anything, his expression unreadable.

Ishita, as usual, wasn’t bothered.

“Oh, that’s great!” she clapped her hands together. “Listen, I have to rush for a quick audition. I’ll be back in an hour.” She turned to Samar, winking. “Take care of her till then, okay?”

Meera opened her mouth to protest, but before she could speak, Ishita had already disappeared into the crowd.

An awkward silence settled between them.

Meera clutched Aanya’s hand tighter. “I ”

“You’re safe now,” Samar interrupted, his voice calm but firm.

Meera’s fingers tightened around Aanya’s. Safe? She had forgotten what that felt like.

She swallowed. “Why did you why did you lie to the police?”

Samar threw his cigarette onto the ground, crushing it under his boot. He looked at her for a long moment before speaking.

“Because Raghav Rathore doesn’t deserve to know you’re alive.”

Meera felt a shiver run down her spine at the mention of his name.

Samar shoved his hands into his pockets and gestured toward a small tea stall nearby. “Come. Sit. You look like you’ll pass out any second.”

Meera hesitated but followed. They sat on a wooden bench, the warmth of the evening settling over them.

Samar ordered two cutting chais and a plate of vada pav. “You live here now?” he asked casually.

Meera nodded. “Ishita gave me a place to stay. And work.”

Samar smirked. “Films?”

Meera looked down at her lap. “Just side roles.”

He chuckled. “You sure picked an interesting escape plan.”

Meera exhaled. “It wasn’t a plan. It was survival.”

Samar leaned back. “You don’t have to be scared anymore.”

Meera looked up, her eyes meeting his. Was that true? Could she really believe it?

But Samar’s confidence was unsettling. Like he knew something she didn’t.

Meera narrowed her eyes. “Why are you helping me?”

Samar’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked away.

“Because I know what it’s like to run.”

Something in his tone made Meera stop. He wasn’t lying.

Before she could ask more, Ishita’s voice rang through the street.

“Meeraaaa! Samar! Did you two become best friends already?”

Meera sighed. This girl.

Samar just smirked, watching as Ishita skipped toward them, her bright energy completely opposite to everything Meera had been through.

But as Samar met Meera’s gaze one last time, his expression softened.

“You’re not alone anymore,” he said quietly.

And for the first time in a long time, Meera almost believed it.

Next day -

The sun had barely risen over Mumbai when Ishita barged into Meera’s tiny room, dramatically throwing open the curtains.

“Rise and shine, mother India!” she sang, plopping onto the bed beside Meera, who groaned and covered her face with a pillow.

“Ishita, for God’s sake ”

“No, no, no! No excuses today. You’re coming for the shoot. And guess what?” Ishita grinned, shaking her by the shoulders. “The director himself is gonna be there! The legend! The man who made stars out of nobodies! You have to come. It’s your chance.”

Meera sighed, rubbing her very pregnant belly. “Ishita, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m carrying a whole human inside me. I can’t even sit properly, let alone act.”

Ishita clapped her hands. “Exactly! We’ll use that! Real emotions! Real struggle! You’re gonna kill it!”

Before Meera could protest further, Ishita had already pulled her up and was stuffing a dupatta in her hand.

“Get ready, heroine. Your debut awaits.”

On Set –

The film set was alive with chaos bright lights, rolling cameras, assistants running around like headless chickens. The director, an old man with salt-and-pepper hair and a paan-stained voice, sat on his wooden chair, yelling instructions like a war general.

Meera adjusted the dupatta over her swollen belly and took a deep breath. This was it. Her first official shoot.

Ishita squeezed her arm. “You ready?”

Meera swallowed hard. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” Ishita grinned. “Now go kill it! Or at least, don’t get killed by the director.”

Meera gave a weak smile before stepping onto the set. The scene was a simple one she had to walk past the main heroine and drop a tray of tea. Easy. Except her body felt heavier than usual, and a strange ache had settled in her lower back.

“Roll camera!”

“Action!”

Meera took a deep breath and walked onto the set, balancing the tray carefully. One step. Two steps. Three

A sharp pain shot through her stomach.

Meera gasped, almost dropping the tray before steadying herself. Not now. Not here.

She clenched her jaw and moved forward. One more step.

Another wave of pain.

This time, the tray did fall, clattering loudly onto the floor. The actress in front of her gasped dramatically, thinking it was part of the act.

“CUTTTT!”

The director’s furious voice boomed through the studio. “Meera, what the hell was that? Where’s your focus?”

Meera opened her mouth to apologize, but then it hit her.

A pain so sharp, so unbearable, she clutched her belly and let out a strangled cry.

Ishita, who had been watching from the sidelines, bolted forward. “MEERA!”

The set exploded into action. Spot dadas rushed toward her, the heroine forgot about her ruined lehenga, and the junior artists whispered in panic.

“She’s in labour!” someone screamed.

The director, who had been chewing his paan furiously, spat it out in shock. “Arre! If the child will born here ?”

“Call the ambulance!” an assistant yelled.

“No time!” another one shouted back.

Meera could barely process what was happening. The world spun around her as women from the set rushed forward, forming a protective circle around her. Saris, dupattas, and curtains were pulled down from the props, draping around her like a makeshift delivery room.

Meera squeezed Ishita’s hand. “Ishita… I can’t…”

“Yes, you can!” Ishita said fiercely, brushing Meera’s sweat-soaked hair away from her face. “You have to! You’re a mother, Meera! You fought for this baby! Now bring her into the world!”

Meera screamed as another contraction ripped through her.

A spot dada, clearly the father of six, took charge like an experienced midwife. “Push, my child just a little bit more ! !”

Meera gritted her teeth, tears rolling down her face. Everything hurt, everything burned. But she wasn’t going to give up now.

One final push.

And then

A loud, piercing cry.

The women gasped, the spot dadas cheered like India had won the World Cup. The heroine dabbed at her eyes, muttering something about how emotional this was. Even the director stood up, staring in awe.

A baby. Born right in the middle of a film set.

The silence lasted all of three seconds before the place erupted like a freaking Diwali celebration.

“The baby is here I!” someone screamed.

A spot dada actually whistled. The makeup artist cried louder than the baby. The junior actors, who had been waiting for their turn, started clapping like they had just witnessed the climax of a Bollywood blockbuster.

And in the middle of all this madness there was Meera.

Flat on her back, soaked in sweat, half in disbelief, half in pain, and completely in love.

Ishita, her hands trembling, reached out and took the tiny, wrinkled baby in her arms. Tears poured down her face.

Ishita, holding the baby, looked like she was about to faint from excitement. “Meera, she’s oh my god, she’s here. She’s real. And she’s so, so beautiful.”

“She’s beautiful,” Ishita whispered. “Meera, look. You did it.”

Meera, exhausted and breathless, opened her eyes. The world blurred.

All the running, all the fear, all the pain it had all led to this.

And then she saw her.

A tiny, perfect baby.

Her baby.

Her whole body shook as she reached out, her fingers brushing against the baby’s soft cheek.

But just as she was about to reach out and take her daughter, a voice boomed across the set.

"STOP EVERYTHING!"

The entire studio froze.

People turned, gasping, whispering. The crowd parted like the Red Sea.

And then he walked in.

Kabir Sinha.

The legend. The godfather of Indian cinema. The man who could turn a street vendor into a superstar overnight. And he was standing right there, staring at Meera and her newborn baby.

Someone actually dropped a boom mic.

Ishita’s jaw hit the floor. “Kabir… Sinha?”

Meera, still trying to process the insane turn her life had taken in the last fifteen minutes, just blinked up at him.

Kabir Sinha stepped forward, his long director’s coat billowing behind him like some kind of cinematic emperor. He peered down at the baby, his piercing eyes softening for a brief moment.

And then he smiled.

The Kabir Sinha was smiling.

He looked around at the stunned crowd, then back at Meera. And then, in his deep, gravelly voice, he declared

“Her name shall be Vaanya.”

Collective gasps filled the air. Someone actually clutched their chest like they were about to have a heart attack.

Meera stared at him, confused, exhausted, and completely unable to comprehend what the hell was happening. “Vaanya…?”

Kabir Sinha nodded. Like he had just delivered a prophecy. “Yes. Vaanya. It means ‘gracious gift of God.’” He glanced at the camera crew. “And that’s what this baby is. A miracle. A sign. The world needs to remember this moment. And her name her name shall be remembered forever.”

For a second, no one moved.

And then absolute pandemonium.

People actually started chanting the baby’s name like she had already won a Filmfare Award.

"VAANYA! VAANYA!"

The director of the film, who had been reduced to a side character in his own set, just nodded furiously. “Yes, sir! Of course, sir! Vaanya is a perfect name, sir!”

Someone ran to get sweets. Another person called a pandit, because apparently, a naming ceremony had to happen on the spot.

Ishita, completely overwhelmed, just turned to Meera.

“This… this is insane,” she whispered, eyes wide. “Do you realize what just happened? The biggest director in the country just named your baby.”

Meera, still dazed, looked down at the tiny, sleeping miracle in her arms.

Vaanya.

She took a shaky breath and smiled.

Her daughter had a name now.

And somehow, she had a feeling this was only the beginning.

The hospital room was bathed in the golden glow of the afternoon sun, casting soft, warm light over everything. Meera lay on the hospital bed, looking exhausted but peaceful, her eyes never leaving little Vaanya.

Aanya sat beside her, legs dangling off the edge, her tiny fingers brushing against her baby sister’s blanket. She hadn’t stopped smiling since the birth.

And then there was Ishita.

Bubbly, overjoyed, and absolutely unstoppable.

“Oh my god, Meera!” She was practically bouncing, hands flying everywhere as she talked. “I mean, I knew this was going to be special, but did I know it would be this special? No! Not in my wildest dreams! A baby born on a film set! Named by Kabir Sinha! THIS IS A SCRIPT IN ITSELF! I SWEAR SOMEONE NEEDS TO MAKE A MOVIE ON THIS.”

Meera chuckled, shaking her head as she watched Ishita pace the room dramatically.

“But no, wait, wait listen! Picture this,” Ishita spun around, eyes shining, “A struggling actress takes in a mysterious woman with a tragic past. Then BAM! Fate intervenes, a legendary director names her newborn baby, and the whole world changes! OH! And obviously, there has to be a dashing hero! Some kind of tall, brooding savior ”

Before she could finish, the hospital door burst open.

Breathless. Sweaty. Holding what seemed like an entire store’s worth of flowers, balloons, and soft toys.

Samar.

Ishita froze mid-sentence, staring. “Well. Speak of the devil.”

Aanya’s eyes lit up.

“BABA!”

The word hit the air like a gunshot.

Meera stiffened, her entire body freezing.

She turned, eyes wide, watching as Aanya jumped off the bed and ran straight into Samar’s arms.

Baba.

Meera’s throat went dry.

Samar, still catching his breath, froze for a second. His eyes flickered toward Meera, like he was searching for something permission? An explanation?

But before either of them could react, Aanya was already clinging to him, burying her tiny face into his chest. “You came!” she giggled. “You really came! I knew you would!”

Meera wanted to say something. She really did.

But then she saw his hands.

The way they trembled slightly as he gently put the flowers and gifts down.

The way he carefully adjusted Aanya in his arms, as if she were something precious.

The way his eyes softened the moment they fell on the baby.

Vaanya.

For a moment, he just stood there, looking at her.

Then, with a tenderness Meera never expected, he reached out deliberate, hesitant.

And held her.

A pin-drop silence filled the room.

Even Ishita, who literally couldn’t shut up for five minutes straight, went quiet.

Samar cradled Vaanya like she was made of something delicate. Like she was something he had been waiting for his entire life.

And just like that Meera forgot everything.

Forgot the shock, forgot Aanya’s words, forgot the hundred unanswered questions swirling in her mind.

Because in that moment, all she could see was this man standing in front of her, holding her daughter like she was his own.

Ishita’s phone rang.

She sighed dramatically, flipping her hair. “Ugh, work calls! I swear, I’m not leaving because I want to, Meera. I would much rather stay here and obsess over little Vaanya’s cheeks! But duty calls!”

She leaned down, pressing a loud kiss on Meera’s forehead, then turned to Samar. “Take care of her, okay? And don’t be a brooding mysterious hero be a responsible one!”

Samar just gave a small nod. Ishita rolled her eyes but waved at Aanya before rushing out.

And then it was just them.

Silence stretched for a few seconds before Samar finally spoke. "I came as soon as Ishita called me." His voice was quieter than usual, softer. “I... I had to make sure you were okay.”

Meera looked at him, still overwhelmed by everything. “You didn’t have to...”

Samar’s gaze darkened slightly. “Of course, I had to.”

Before Meera could respond, the door creaked open, and a nurse stepped in.

“Mrs. Meera?”

Meera looked up. “It’s Miss.”

The nurse barely acknowledged the correction, flipping through a clipboard. “You forgot to fill out a section in the birth certificate form.”

Meera frowned. “Which section?”

The nurse handed her the form, tapping a blank space. "Father’s name."

A sudden silence.

Meera swallowed, gripping the paper a little tighter. Her heart pounded.

She had left it blank on purpose.

Because… what was she supposed to write?

Raghav? Never.

Nothing? That would only cause problems later.

Before she could figure out an answer, Samar stepped forward.

“Is it necessary?” His voice was sharper now, laced with irritation.

The nurse blinked at him. “Yes, sir. It’s required for official records. The baby’s father’s name is mandatory.”

Samar’s jaw tightened. “And what if the father isn’t around?”

The nurse sighed, clearly used to these conversations. "Then the child faces unnecessary legal complications later, sir." She crossed her arms. "It’s better if you just write a name.”

Meera exhaled shakily. Her fingers clenched around the pen.

This was a mess.

An absolute mess.

She couldn’t write Raghav’s name. She wouldn’t. But she also couldn’t just pick a random name. What was she supposed to

The pen was snatched from her fingers.

Meera gasped as Samar, without hesitation, bent over the form and wrote something down.

The nurse gave a satisfied nod. “Perfect. I’ll process this immediately.” She took the form and left the room.

Meera couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Because right there, in bold letters, was the name Samar Malhotra written under the ‘Father’s Name’ column.

Her head snapped up. “Samar!”

He didn’t look at her. Just crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall as if he hadn’t just rewritten her child’s entire future.

“Samar, what the hell was that?!”

He finally met her eyes, his expression calm but firm. “I did what needed to be done.”

Meera’s throat went dry. “That wasn’t your decision to make!”

Samar’s gaze darkened. “And what was your decision, Meera? To leave it blank? To let people question your child for the rest of her life? To let society tear her apart because she doesn’t have a father’s name on a damn form?”

Meera’s hands curled into fists. “But that doesn’t mean you ”

“Then whose name should be there?” His voice was suddenly razor-sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. “Tell me, Meera. Whose name should it be?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it.

Because she had no answer.

Samar exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not asking you for anything, Meera. I don’t expect anything. But that baby deserves a name. A father’s name. And if it takes my name to make things easier for her, then so be it.”

Meera didn’t know what to say.

Because the truth was he wasn’t wrong.

Her eyes flickered to Vaanya, sleeping peacefully in her little cot, blissfully unaware of the storm surrounding her.

Aanya, on the other hand, was watching everything with her big, knowing eyes.

Meera’s heart pounded.

This… this was too much. Too fast.

And yet somehow, in the middle of all the chaos, Samar had become the one person standing between her and complete ruin.