Adil completed all five scripts before their final day in France. After putting the finishing touches on the last page, he invited Madhuri, Monica, and Aishwarya to his room. Curious about what he wanted to show them, the three women arrived together. As they stepped inside, they immediately noticed five neatly stacked manuscripts arranged across the desk. Each screenplay had been completed the previous night and was carefully labeled: 'Awarapan', 'Barfi', 'Sanam Re', 'Devdas', and '18 Again'.
The women knew he'd been writing during their vacation, but they hadn't seen any of the work yet. They'd assumed it would take much longer. Adil himself hadn't told them about the stories.
"I finally finished them," Adil said with a satisfied smile. "There are five in total."
The three women looked at one another in disbelief before walking closer to the desk.
"You actually wrote five complete scripts during this vacation?" Monica asked, her voice tinged with amazement.
Adil nodded. "Every last page."
He picked up the first screenplay. "Awarapan."
Walking over to Aishwarya, he handed her the first copy. "You're my first choice for the main female lead."
Then he handed another copy to Monica. "And there's another significant character written in it, Isabella. She's the main character's first love. That role I wrote for you."
Monica's eyes widened in surprise. She hadn't started her acting career yet, though she'd desperately wanted to. When Adil had asked her not to be intimate with anyone on screen, she'd taken it seriously. She'd received an offer for the drama 'Vita coi figli', which included a kiss scene, she rejected it. Then came 'La Riffa', rejected for the same reasons. So she'd waited, without a suitable role, her dream deferred.
When Adil had first told her to leave her debut and film choices to him, she'd thought he was joking. After all, he'd only just shot his first movie in 1990 and wasn't yet famous when they met. She'd been ready to sacrifice her acting dream entirely. But gradually, as Adil's fame rose, she'd started to believe him. She'd waited patiently because of his promise. She'd even started learning Hindi, now she was quite good at it, though she still had some accent issues. Still, she was much better than Katrina Kaif had been when she debuted.
Now that moment had finally arrived.
When Adil handed her the script, both she and Aishwarya smiled as they accepted their copies. Monica leaned forward and kissed him softly. "Thank you," she whispered.
Madhuri and Aishwarya didn't mind. They understood what this meant to her.
Next came 'Barfi'. Adil handed it to Aishwarya as well. "The primary female role belongs to you."
Then he placed the second copy back onto the desk. "There's another character in the movie that's very suitable for the young actress Divya Bharti. I don't know her personally, but I'm going to send her an official invitation through the company. I honestly can't imagine anyone else playing that character."
Madhuri nodded thoughtfully. "She would certainly bring a unique charm to it."
Adil picked up 'Sanam Re'. He handed the script to Monica. "You'll be playing the female lead, the foreign woman whose love transforms the hero's life. It's a deeply emotional role and one of the most important characters in the film."
Then he turned to Madhuri. "There's also a role for the main character's first love in this story. You'll play it."
Madhuri and Monica smiled warmly and nodded. "I'd love to read that," Madhuri said.
The fourth screenplay was 'Devdas'.
Adil handed one copy to Aishwarya. "You'll play Paro."
Another copy went to Madhuri. "And you'll play Chandramukhi. Neither woman overshadows the other. The story needs both of you equally, and both characters carry enormous emotional weight."
Madhuri looked at the title and smiled, then joked, "Let me see if it suits me. If it does, I'll play it. Otherwise, forget it."
Everyone laughed.
Only one screenplay remained.
Monica glanced at it. "So who's in this one?"
Adil rested his hand on the cover. "18 Again."
"This story revolves around a husband and wife whose relationship changes over two decades. The heroine must be a beautiful mature woman in her thirties or forties. That's why I'm planning to approach either Hema Malini,Rekha or Sudevi for the role. Whoever accepts first will play the female lead."
They nodded in understanding.
"What about the rest of the cast?" Madhuri asked.
Aishwarya added, "Yes, the supporting roles?"
Adil smiled. "I haven't finalized them yet. They'll all be discussed later during pre-production meetings."
The three actresses nodded in agreement. As they looked around the room, they realized they weren't simply holding five scripts, they were holding the foundation of the production company's next phase. Five stories that Adil hoped would each leave a lasting mark on Indian cinema.
The afternoon dissolved into evening as the three women settled into different corners of the room, each absorbed in the worlds Adil had created. Madhuri curled up on the sofa with 'Devdas', occasionally glancing up with glistening eyes. Monica sat cross-legged on the floor, completely immersed in 'Sanam Re', her fingers tracing the dialogue as she whispered lines to herself in Hindi. Aishwarya moved between scripts, reading passages from 'Awarapan' and 'Barfi', her expression shifting from joy to heartbreak and back again.
Adil watched them from his chair by the window, a glass of wine in his hand, feeling a profound sense of satisfaction. This was what he'd worked for, not just the stories themselves, but this moment. Seeing the women he cared for so deeply connecting with characters he'd written specifically for them.
"Adil," Aishwarya said softly, looking up from 'Awarapan', "this character... she's broken but so strong. How did you know?"
He smiled. "Because I know you."
Monica wiped her eyes, laughing at herself. "I'm crying already and I haven't even performed it yet."
"That's how you know it's real," Madhuri said, not looking up from her script. Then she paused, her voice catching. "Chandramukhi... she loves him knowing she can never have him. But she loves him anyway." She finally looked up at Adil. "This is beautiful. And heartbreaking."
"The best stories usually are," he replied.
Hours passed. The light outside shifted from golden afternoon to dusky purple. Finally, one by one, they set down their scripts, each woman looking emotionally spent but radiant.
"I don't know what to say," Aishwarya whispered.
"Say you'll do them justice," Adil answered.
"We will," all three said in unison, then laughed at the synchronicity.
Adil stood and walked to the balcony doors, pulling them open. The evening air rushed in, carrying the scent of lavender and roses from the garden below. "Come," he said. "Let's celebrate properly."
The three women followed him onto the balcony. The French countryside stretched before them, bathed in the amber glow of sunset. The sky was painted in layers, deep orange near the horizon, fading to pink, then lavender, then the first hints of twilight blue. In the distance, vineyards rolled across gentle hills, and a church bell tolled softly, marking the hour.
Adil had already prepared. A small table held a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket, four crystal flutes, and a platter of strawberries and chocolate. Soft music drifted from inside the room, a French jazz melody, intimate and unhurried.
He poured the champagne, the bubbles catching the fading light like tiny stars. He handed a glass to each woman, then raised his own.
"To stories that matter," he said. "To characters that live beyond the page. And to the three most extraordinary women I know, who will bring them to life."
"To us," Madhuri added with a knowing smile. "All of us."
They clinked glasses, the crystal singing in the evening air.
Monica leaned against the balcony railing, looking out at the sunset. "I still can't believe this is real. A few hours ago, I was just... waiting. Now I have two roles. Two chances to prove myself."
Adil moved beside her, his hand finding the small of her back. "You were never 'just waiting.' You were preparing. Learning. Becoming ready for this moment."
She turned to him, her eyes bright with emotion. "You kept your promise."
"I always will."
Aishwarya joined them at the railing, champagne in hand. "Three films," she said, shaking her head in wonder. "Three completely different women. I'm terrified and thrilled at the same time."
"That's exactly how you should feel," Madhuri said, coming to stand on Adil's other side. She rested her head briefly on his shoulder. "Fear means it matters. Thrill means you're alive."
The four of them stood there in a line, looking out at the French evening, connected by something deeper than words. The sunset painted them all in gold, four silhouettes against the dying light, bound by art and affection, ambition and intimacy.
Adil felt Madhuri's hand slip into his left hand, Monica's into his right. Aishwarya stood close, her shoulder touching his. The warmth of their presence surrounded him, and he realized this was the moment he'd been working toward, not just the scripts, but this. This perfect convergence of creative passion and human connection.
"You know what I love most about these stories?" Aishwarya said softly. "They're all about love in different forms. Obsessive love. Innocent love. Transformative love. Impossible love. Enduring love."
"Love is the only story worth telling," Adil replied. "Everything else is just decoration."
Monica turned to face him fully, her back now to the sunset. "And what kind of love is this?" she asked, gesturing to the four of them. "What story are we?"
Adil smiled. "The kind that doesn't fit into neat categories. The kind that breaks rules and defies expectations. The kind that's real."
Madhuri laughed softly. "Very diplomatic."
"I prefer 'honest,'" he countered.
The music from inside shifted to something slower, more sensual. Without discussion, they moved closer together, forming a small circle on the balcony. The champagne had warmed them from within, and the evening air cooled their skin, creating a perfect balance.
Aishwarya reached out and took Madhuri's free hand, completing the circle. "I want to remember this moment exactly as it is," she said. "Before the cameras start rolling. Before the pressure and the schedules and the reviews. Right now, it's just us and these beautiful stories and this beautiful place."
"And this beautiful feeling," Monica added, her accent making the words even more tender.
They stood in their circle, hands joined, as the sun finally slipped below the horizon. The sky deepened to purple, and the first stars appeared. Lights began to twinkle in the distant village.
Adil looked at each of them in turn. Madhuri with her knowing smile and artistic soul, Monica with her determination and newfound confidence, Aishwarya with her grace and emotional depth. Three extraordinary women who had chosen to trust him with their talent, their time, their hearts.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For believing in me. For believing in these stories. For being here."
"Where else would we be?" Madhuri asked, squeezing his hand.
The moment stretched, suspended in the gathering darkness. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, they moved closer, the circle tightening. Adil found himself at the center, surrounded by their warmth, their perfume, their presence.
Monica kissed his cheek. "For Sanam Re," she whispered.
Aishwarya kissed his other cheek. "For Barfi."
Madhuri smiled and kissed his forehead. "For Devdas."
Then they were all laughing, the solemnity breaking into joy. They broke apart and came together again in different configurations. Madhuri and Aishwarya embracing, Monica pulling Adil close, all four of them tangled together in affection and celebration.
"More champagne," Madhuri declared, reaching for the bottle.
They refilled their glasses and settled into the comfortable chairs Adil had arranged on the balcony. The conversation flowed easily now, about casting choices, about costume ideas, about which film they should shoot first. But underneath the practical talk was something else, something electric and unspoken.
As the night deepened, they moved closer together, drawn by warmth and wine and the intimacy of shared dreams. Monica sat on the arm of Adil's chair, her hand playing absently with his hair. Madhuri and Aishwarya shared the loveseat, their bodies angled toward the group, creating a sense of enclosure, of privacy even in the open air.
"I have a confession," Aishwarya said, her voice slightly husky from the champagne. "When you first said you were writing scripts for us, I thought it was just... pillow talk. Sweet words that wouldn't amount to anything."
"And now?" Adil asked.
She met his eyes directly. "Now I know you're serious about everything you say. Everything you promise. Everything you feel."
The weight of her words hung in the air.
Monica leaned down, her lips close to his ear. "We're very lucky women," she murmured. "To have someone who sees us so clearly. Who writes our souls onto paper."
"I'm the lucky one," Adil replied, his voice rough with emotion.
Madhuri stood and walked to the railing, looking up at the stars. "Do you know what I think?" she said without turning around. "I think we're living in a story right now. Years from now, people will talk about this moment, the night in France when everything changed. When five films were born and four people..." she trailed off, then turned to face them, her expression luminous in the starlight. "Four people chose each other."
The words settled over them like a blessing.
Adil rose and went to her, pulling her close. She melted into his embrace, her head tucked under his chin. Monica and Aishwarya joined them, and once again they were a tangle of arms and warmth and connection.
"Whatever happens next," Adil said softly, "whatever success or failure these films bring, I want you to know, this is the moment I'll remember. Not the box office numbers or the awards or the reviews. This. Us. Here."
"Then let's make it last," Aishwarya whispered.
And they did. They stayed on that balcony long into the night, talking and laughing and falling into comfortable silences. They finished the champagne and opened another bottle. They fed each other strawberries and chocolate. They danced slowly to the music drifting from inside, changing partners, all of them moving together in the small space.
As midnight approached, they finally moved back inside, reluctant to let the evening end. The room felt different now, charged with possibility, intimate in a way it hadn't been before. The scripts still sat on the desk, but they seemed almost sacred now, blessed by the evening's magic.
Monica was the first to yawn, covering her mouth with her hand. "I should go," she said, but she didn't move.