The Enigmatic Actor
818 Words
Bimbo’s POV
The smell of disinfectant, baby powder, and warm tea filled the air as Bimbo stepped into her clinic early the next morning. She had barely gotten any sleep, thanks to another round of those strange, heart-wrenching dreams. A man, a fire, a loss that felt unbearably real. She shook her head, trying to push the thoughts away.
“Morning, sunshine,” Amna called from the reception desk, sipping her coffee with a knowing smirk. “Did you actually go home last night, or did you just curl up in your office and pretend?”
Bimbo rolled her eyes as she walked past. “I went home.”
“Uh-huh.” Amna followed her into the break room. “And you totally got a full eight hours of sleep, right?”
Bimbo sighed. “I tried.”
“Bimbo.”
“I know, I know,” she muttered, setting her bag down. “I should sleep more. I should take a break. I should—”
“Go out and have a life?” Amna finished, raising an eyebrow.
Bimbo huffed and poured herself a cup of tea. “I have a life.”
“Girl, working 24/7 and playing therapist for everyone but yourself is not a life.”
Bimbo ignored her. She had long ago accepted that keeping busy was easier than facing her own demons.
“Well, whether you like it or not,” Amna continued, “you’re going to that charity gala tomorrow night.”
Bimbo nearly choked on her tea. “What?”
“I signed us both up as volunteer medical staff.” Amna grinned. “It’s a fancy event, high-profile guests, and we get to look pretty while pretending we belong there.”
Bimbo groaned. Crowds. Socializing. Fancy dresses. Every part of it sounded like her personal nightmare.
“I’ll pass,” she said quickly.
“Oh no, you won’t.” Amna crossed her arms. “I already confirmed our attendance. Besides, it’s for mental health awareness. Isn’t that, like, your whole thing?”
Bimbo opened her mouth to argue, but Amna held up a hand. “No excuses. You’re going.”
Bimbo slumped into a chair, defeated.
Great. Just great.
Asnad’s POV
The morning sun streamed through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of Asnad’s penthouse, casting golden light across the sleek furniture. He sat at the dining table, flipping through the latest script for his upcoming movie, but his mind wasn’t on the lines.
It was on her.
The woman from his dreams.
Every night, it was the same—glimpses of someone he had never met but felt intrinsically connected to. And every morning, he woke up feeling like he was missing something vital.
His phone buzzed.
Manager: The museum gala is tomorrow night. You’re still attending, right?
Asnad exhaled slowly. He hated these events. The flashing cameras, the fake smiles, the meaningless small talk.
But this one was different.
A mental health awareness gala. A topic close to his heart. Not that anyone knew—his struggles, his past, the weight of a secret life no one could see.
He replied with a simple: I’ll be there.
Then, standing, he ran a hand through his hair and made his way to the gym. If he was going to be thrown into a crowd of strangers tomorrow night, he needed something to clear his mind.
The Night of the Gala
Bimbo stared at her reflection in the mirror, resisting the urge to rip off the dress and hide under her blankets forever.
The gown was stunning—deep blue, off-the-shoulder, flowing like liquid silk. Too fancy. Too much.
“Relax,” Amna said, stepping behind her. “You look gorgeous.”
“I feel ridiculous.”
“You’ll survive.” Amna grabbed her purse. “Now let’s go before I have to drag you out.”
The drive to the museum was a blur. By the time they arrived, a sea of luxury cars, flashing cameras, and elegantly dressed guests surrounded them.
Bimbo swallowed hard.
She was so out of place.
As she and Amna walked inside, the grand hall was breathtaking—chandeliers, golden decor, soft classical music playing in the background. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm.
She could do this.
She just had to get through the night without drawing attention to herself.
Little did she know, someone had already noticed her.
Asnad watched from across the room.
His tuxedo was sharp, perfectly tailored, but he hardly noticed the weight of the fabric.
His gaze was locked onto a woman in a flowing blue dress, standing awkwardly near the entrance. She looked uncomfortable, like she didn’t belong, but there was something about her—something that pulled at him.
The dreams.
It was her.
For the first time in years, Asnad felt intrigued. Curious. Drawn in.
And he had no idea why.
- Writer
