Time Period: 1980s – Mumbai
Lie : Betrayal and false promises.
The Starry Mirage
Mumbai’s air was thick with the smell of sea salt and ambition. The train screeched into Churchgate station, and Rohini stepped out into a crowd that moved like a single, unrelenting wave. She clutched her suitcase, the strap of her imitation leather handbag digging into her shoulder.
“This is it,” she whispered to herself, looking up at the imposing skyline. “My beginning.”
She had spent years rehearsing in front of a mirror, perfecting her smile, her expressions, her graceful movements. Every Sunday, she watched Hindi films at her town’s single-screen theater, mouthing the lines of her idols. Mumbai wasn’t just a city to her—it was a stage waiting to discover her.
The Promise of Stardom
It was at a casting party, two weeks later, that she met Amit Desai. The room was a haze of cigarette smoke and laughter, a dizzying whirl of beautiful faces and clinking glasses. Rohini had been standing awkwardly by the bar when Amit appeared, his presence immediately disarming.
“You’re not from here, are you?” he asked, a knowing smile playing on his lips.
“No,” she admitted, her voice small. “I just moved here.”
“Well, Mumbai can be tough,” he said, leaning closer. “But you—you have something special. Something real. What’s your name?”
“Rohini,” she said, her cheeks flushing.
“Rohini,” he repeated, like it was a song. “I’m Amit. I’m producing a film, and I think you’d be perfect for the lead role.”
Her heart leapt. “Really?”
“Really,” he said, his hand brushing hers. “Why don’t we meet tomorrow? Let’s talk about your future.”
Falling for the Dream
Over the next few weeks, Amit became her guide, her mentor, and, slowly, her lover. He took her to film sets, introduced her to directors, and taught her how to navigate the ruthless industry.
“You’re going to be a star, Rohini,” he said one evening, his arm draped over her shoulder as they stood on Marine Drive, the waves crashing against the promenade. “The world will know your name.”
She believed him. His confidence felt like a shield against the city’s endless rejections.
But cracks began to appear. He cancelled meetings last minute, replaced promised roles with vague excuses. “The director changed his mind,” he would say, or, “This isn’t the right time for your debut.”
Still, she stayed. She stayed because of the way he looked at her when they were alone, as if she were the only one who mattered.
The Betrayal
One night, unable to sleep, Rohini found herself at Amit’s office. She knew the door’s lock was always faulty, and on a whim, she pushed it open.
Inside, she found scripts piled high, photographs of actresses—including her—littering the desk. Each photograph had notes scribbled on the back: “Potential investor bait,” “Small role for favors,” “Too demanding—drop.”
Her photograph was among them. On the back, Amit had written: “Young. Trusting. Will keep her around.”
Her knees buckled as she sank into the chair.
When Amit arrived, he stopped in the doorway, his smile fading. “Rohini. What are you doing here?”
She turned the photograph toward him, her hand trembling. “Is this what I am to you? Bait? A joke?”
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Rohini, you’re being dramatic.”
“Was any of it real?” she demanded, tears streaming down her face.
For a moment, he hesitated. Then, with infuriating calm, he said, “This is how the industry works. You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last. Grow up.”
The words hit her like a slap. She wanted to scream, to throw something, but all she could do was stand there, shaking.
“I trusted you,” she whispered.
“And that was your mistake,” he said, stepping past her to pour himself a drink.
The Photograph’s Legacy
Rohini left that night. She didn’t have the courage to confront the city anymore. But before she left, she took one last photograph of herself, standing under a flickering streetlight outside Amit’s office.
She mailed the photograph to a small gallery in Delhi, unsigned and without a return address.
Years later, the photograph hung in an exhibit titled Dreams of the City. People admired the haunting beauty in her face, the sadness behind her eyes.
No one knew her name. And maybe, she thought, that was for the best.