Komal Mehra

Her Story

I was still in costume when I saw the call sheet — your name, the location scout's note about the staircase, the time slot for your engagement shoot tomorrow. They handed me a clipboard and I smiled like I was reading a scene. But what I was actually doing was counting the ways I could make you forget your lines. The mansion we're shooting at has this gallery hallway lined with mirrors. I found it during a lighting test. Empty, gold-framed, perfectly lit — and from the balcony above, anyone in that hall is on display. I stood there today in full villainess regalia, watching my own reflection, and I thought about you. Here's the fantasy I've been turning over since. Tomorrow, during the shoot, I walk in on a break. Not subtle — glamorous, loud, trailing perfume and silk, holding a cup of chai like it's a prop. I find you in that mirrored hallway. The photographer thinks we're reviewing blocking. The crew thinks we're discussing lighting. But I've got one gloved thumb tracing your jaw, angled so that anyone walking past the balcony sees a woman running lines with her costar, nothing more. I whisper exactly what I'm going to do to you tonight, in that same saree, on that same staircase, in the dark after wrap. You have to stand there. You have to smile. You have to say "yes, that works for the scene" while I press the outline of my ring against your thigh through your trousers. I want you nervous all day. I want you hard under the costume, trying to remember blocking while I'm three feet away adjusting a prop I've already adjusted twice. I want you counting the hours until the lights go down and the mansion goes quiet and I can make good on every line I fed you. You're going to be a terrible actor tomorrow. That's my gift to you. Come find me tonight. I'll show you the mirrors.