“You’ve always liked taking in strays,” Dimple commented absentmindedly. Julie glared at her, but she didn’t refute the point.
“I wasn’t in the position to accept more clients, but I figured I could help her in other ways. Help both of you.”
“That’s—” Dimple couldn’t suppress the flash of indignation in response to that. “You overstepped. That’s not your job. You’re my manager, not my mother.”
“Do you wish I hadn’t done it?” Julie demanded. Dimple faltered, closing her mouth. “That’s what I thought. And don’t give me that, Dimple. Look at where we are now. I’ve always been more than just your manager and you know that. I care about you, and I want you to succeed. I didn’t want to drop you, so I did what I thought was best.”
Dimple had nothing to say to that. Priyal was dead. If she’d never worked for Dimple, that wouldn’t be the case.
No, the worst part was, if Dimple could go back and do it all over again, she wasn’t sure she’d do anything different. Would she have landed a lead role had it not been for Irene’s death? Would she have gone to her first film festival or continued to book the roles of her dreams? Would Julie have kept her as a client?
Would she have met Saffi?
“The thing about life is that you never know how long someone is going to be a part of yours,” Julie said. “When you get to my age, you start realizing that when you meet someone you genuinely care about, you have to seize every moment you get with them and make them count. Priyal is gone, but you’ll always have the good memories to look back on. She shaped you as a person. That piece of her that lives on inside you will never die.”
This was too much. Dimple could still see Priyal’s limp bodybleeding out right under her fingertips. That was the only version of her that she could seem to remember.
“But my point is, you and Priyal were better off for having met each other. And I think you’ll be just fine not hiring another assistant,” Julie said, eyes twinkling. “You know me, I won’t ask any questions, but there’s someone who’s been waiting in the hospital for the entire time you’ve been unconscious.”
Saffi.Ignoring the pounding in her skull, Dimple rose slowly to her elbows.
Julie’s arms hovered nearby, as though afraid Dimple would fall. “Lean back, you need to rest.”
Something cold pressed into her hand.
Dimple’s confusion must’ve shown because Julie explained, “It might be a little watered down now, but you must be thirsty.”
Tentatively, Dimple took a sip. Cold and bitter with a hint of sweetness.
Iced coffee.
Dimple heaved, suddenly unable to inhale enough breath to fill up her lungs. She hiccuped. It was almost a relief when she began sobbing.
“Oh shit, what now?” Julie muttered. “Don’t tell me you’re vegan and I forgot to make it oat milk or whatever the fuck?”
Dimple found herself laughing through the sobs. She wiped at her tears, but they just kept falling. Her chest seized and it felt like her heart was ripping in two and she couldn’t articulate why, not even to her own mind.
Matcha had been growing on her.
Chapter Forty-Two
September 13, 2026
Dimple hadn’t beenable to bring herself to see Saffi while she’d been bedridden. It reminded her too much of their first meeting, opponents of a war that had felt as important as their entire lives. This new era they were ushering in demanded a fresh start. But she’d heard from Julie that Saffi had never once left the hospital. And so as soon as Dimple was cleared to leave her bed—albeit in a wheelchair—she’d arranged for them to meet in the place she felt was most fitting.
Now their arms pressed together on the roof, a warmth hotter than the sun. Their reunion hadn’t been the one Dimple had been expecting, though, not with the nurse running over Saffi’s foot with Dimple’s wheelchair.
“You should need a license to operate those things,” Saffi had muttered. But then she’d laughed, proving it had all been worth the wait.
They were alone now, though. A cool breeze ruffled Dimple’s hair, sending it flying back.
Production for her film had been put on hiatus, so she didn’t have to worry about that just yet, but there was a chance that Dimple would be left with a memento. A visible scar on her thigh, her first one. Much more pressing, however, was Olsen’s trial, which was still set for tomorrow. Even with all the damning evidence, it would likely last a while.
“What are we supposed to do now?” Saffi said.
Dimple gave her a look. “Anything. You know that.”
“You have your films,” Saffi said. “One day, you’ll be at the Oscars. But what about me? Nobody will ever hire me again after that article—thanks to you, by the way.”
