Kethaki
"Look at me claiming you, Princess."
His words rang in my ear, and the ring on my finger burned. No matter how many times I tried to drown his words from yesterday at the engagement party, they still came back to haunt me. The engagement ceremony went without a hitch. Everything was picture perfect. Our acting was top-notch. Our smiles were wide. Eyes twinkled. We did everything to keep up the pretence. And they fell for it. They fell for it so well that even he believed what he was looking at.
And now, with the ring, the phone in my hand started to burn too.
I saw the email first thing in the morning. But I didn't dare open it. At least, in that moment, I couldn't. My entire body had turned cold, and the heat of the phone, from being on charge all night, seared into my skin. I turned it off and went on with my day, which was to prepare for the Sangeet.
I didn't want to dance with him. Nor did he. So, we were left alone. I didn't even have to throw a tantrum. So, the day our wedding was decided, the choreographer was booked, and the rehearsals had started. When they had told us, all it took was, "With all due respect, I'd rather not prepare for a dance I have no heart for." And they agreed. Maybe it had something to do with my Mom being a classical dancer and understanding how important a dance partner was for a dancer. And knowing my love for dancing, something we shared as mother and daughter, she knew it would be extremely insulting and heartbreaking for me.
As I sat with Aryan on my side, waiting for the performances to start, my eyes wandered around looking for my Assistant. It's frustrating that I had to ask her to come here, rather than be at the Firm, especially when we were in the middle of such a big merger. But I needed her expertise. And her presence by my side, at all times, now.
But Dia was nowhere to be seen.
Aryan and I hadn't even bothered with the pleasantries this evening. When we arrived at the venue, we looked at each other and sat in our seats quietly. Or at least, I was quiet. He was busy discussing fuck knows what with Veer. I did hear Murthy Group a few times, so it was probably about his deal.
He was working.
I wish I could work right now. I wish that were why I was looking for my assistant. But the reality was far serious and darker. I saw Dia making her way to me, her rose gold iPad in her hand. I got up instantly and grabbed the iPad before she could even pass it to me.
"Anything?" I asked her. She shook her head. I turned the iPad on and was about to play the footage when suddenly, the lights went off, and a spotlight was directed right over a man standing on the platform. The platform was placed in the middle of the ballroom, and the gathering surrounded the stage from all sides.
"Ladies and gentlemen, honoured guests, and beloved family—good evening and welcome to a night where the heart dances, the soul sings, and love writes its story in rhythm and rhyme," said the anchor.
Shit! The show had begun, and the only lights in the room were the spotlight on the anchor, the chandeliers sparkling and the light from my iPad.
"Seems like you've abandoned all grace to become a rude host." Aryan's murmur carried over the silence in the room, as everyone waited for the show to commence.
"Excuse me?" I hissed, taken aback.
"Turn off the iPad and sit down. It's extremely disrespectful." His admonishment did stab at my pride, and my hands curled into a fist, but I did sit down. As I sat, Aryan snatched the device and handed it to Veer.
"You can collect your possessions from my assistant, Ms Chauhan," Aryan told Dia, then turned to me, "It would be wise to conduct your business after the performances, Princess."
I wanted to smack that look of reproach from his face.
"Dia, continue the plan as directed," I said quietly.
"Tonight, we gather not as guests, but as storytellers—each one of us carrying a verse in the epic that is about to unfold." The anchor's voice echoed in the background as Veer and Dia both moved away from our side and went about their duties. Not before Dia snatched her iPad from Veer's hands, with a glare.
"You can spare work for a few hours, don't you think?" Aryan asked.
"In a world often too busy to pause, tonight we pause to revel. To honour not just a wedding, but the laughter that leads up to it. The joy. The rhythm. The riot of emotions." The happy voice of the anchor carried over.
"Stop talking and pay attention, Peasant," I said. "You're being ungraceful and disrespectful to our families."
"How adorable, a peasant playing king."
That had been my reply to him when I slipped my ring onto his finger. But his words had registered and had been engraved quite deeply in my soul. We were halfway into being a real married couple, and within two days, we would be.
We would be married.
Fuck.
"Now, I must share one small surprise—the bride and groom, in a rare act of restraint, have chosen to keep their dancing shoes tucked away tonight." There was a round of boos from around the room, mostly from our friends, back from school. I laughed it off.
"Come on, Kethaki and Aryan. You can't do this to us!" Someone from the group yelled out. Probably Navya, the then Cultural Secretary of the Prefectorial Board, with Aryan and I being the Head Boy Prefect and Head Girl Prefect, respectively.
"Yes! You two were the best dancers. We want to see!" That would be Zakir, Sports Head for boys.
We didn't bother replying and just smiled.
"Oh, worry not. They've passed the torch to their family, who, I assure you, are more than ready to take the spotlight and raise the roof in their honour." There was a round of applause, and the anchor continued. "And so, without further ado, let's begin our evening with grace, with elegance, and with a touch of sass. Presenting the first performance of the night: the radiant, resplendent, and undeniably fabulous ladies of the family!"
A smile automatically made its way to my face, despite the dread that had clung to me since that morning's email. As our grandmothers, mothers, Chachis, and Bua made their way to the stage, the applause had turned into whistles.
"Have you seen their performance before?" He asked me as he watched the women with amusement. A weird sense of anticipation grew in me at the excitement I could see on their faces.
"No," I said as I shook my head. "I don't even know about the song or who would be performing today. You?"
"Me neither." He relaxed in his chair. "In fact, they went out of their way to hide it from me, saying verbatim, 'since you aren't performing, we will keep the entire show a secret and it would be a surprise for you two.'" He chuckled.
"They look so excited," I said, warmth bubbling in my chest. "It's adorable!"
That's when the melody of the song started playing, and I audibly gasped. "Oh my god! They are performing on Desi Girls!" I said and turned to look at Aryan, whose eyes looked like they twinkled under the dim lights of the ballroom. A small smile graced his face, and he turned to look at me.
That's when the small smile turned into a full smile that crinkled his eyes and suited the twinkle that was already in there.
The song started playing, and the women started dancing. There were thumkas, twirls and kisses blown from the women. I hooted and Aryan whistled. Dadi ji doing thumkas was the most adorable thing in the world, and I couldn't stop myself from standing and clapping as the performance came to an end.
"Did you see when Dadiji blew a kiss to Dada Ji?" I asked Aryan. My voice was high and light with amusement.
"When my Dadi Ji shimmied in front of Dada Ji?" Aryan's smile was big. Bigger than I had ever seen.
"Well, if that didn't steal your heart, you might want to check your pulse! " The anchor said as he came back to the stage. "But now, it's time for the men to strike back—with swagger and style."
"Yeah!" I screamed and clapped.
"Give it up for the men of the family, dancing not just for the groom, but for their moment in the spotlight!" With that, the anchor stepped off the stage, and the men got on, rolling their sleeves and fixing their collars.
"Oh my god. I am about to watch the Dev Rathore dance," I said. Dev uncle was the man in the shadows. Who would mingle and converse, but I had never seen him on the dance floor. Ever.
"Dev Rathore?" Aryan grinned. "You're in for a show, he doesn't just dance, he owns the floor."
And oh, how right Aryan was! The anticipated silence in the room broke when the opening tune to Desi Boys started playing, and I couldn't contain the cheer that broke out of me.
I knew my Dad was an amazing dancer, and so were most men, but never had I seen, Dev uncle perform. My mouth hung low, and I couldn't stop looking. Not just at Uncle but also at every single man dancing. They all looked over at their respective partners while dancing, and I giggled throughout.
It was halfway that they dispersed and brought along their women, and started dancing with them. I gasped. I actually gasped while Aryan laughed, proudly. They were basically giving them all a lap dance, which completely suited their dance number, and I had tears in my eyes.
Aryan's laugh rang in my ears, even as the dance came to an end.
It was when the anchor came back on stage saying, "Uff, their Desi vibe has definitely set the stage on fire."
Dia came by my side.
Her presence was quiet, but urgent. Gone was the smile she'd worn all evening. She didn't even try to match the energy around us. The smile on my face dropped, and she leaned in to whisper in my ear. "We have a possible location," she started, and my blood turned cold. I looked at her, asking whether our initial suspicion was the reality. "He's not here," she continued, her expression grave. "Every email, we traced them all. They were sent from somewhere near Karnataka."
The sound around me blurred. Laughter became distant. My brows knit together as my mind raced. My brows furrowed, and I murmured, "What?" More to myself than to her.
I was already rising, instincts taking over. I needed to get to the van—the one we'd outfitted as a surveillance unit, hidden in plain sight just outside the palace grounds, masquerading as a pastel-colored ice cream truck. We'd built our makeshift control centre there. It wasn't much, but it was usefull.
But before I could leave, a firm grip caught my wrist.
Aryan.
I turned, startled, and met his gaze. It wasn't angry or suspicious. It was searching.
"Where are you going?" he asked. His soft voice did not disguise the rage that stormed his eyes, while he guided me back into my seat. "Have you forgotten?" he said, voice low. "Our families have spent hours putting this together. This night... It's for us."
I glanced at Dia, who caught my eye and nodded subtly before slipping away. I looked back at Aryan, whose calm expression hid the look of extreme disappointment.
The anchor continued, "... a special tribute for the bride, by the women who raised her, guided her, and poured love into every step of her journey—her mother, chachi, and grandmother."
I stilled. The breath in my lungs caught, and guilt set in. Guilt at my attempts to flee, when my mother was there, expressing how much she loved me.
A lump formed in my throat as the lights dimmed and the first few notes of Chanda Meri Chanda filled the room. Soft, melodic, achingly familiar.
Tears threatened, burning the corners of my eyes. I blinked furiously, but the lump in my throat grew heavier.
Then, Chachi walked down from the stage and reached for my hand.
I stood, almost on instinct. She led me up, where Maa and Dadi were waiting. The music swelled. And then they danced around me, forming a protective circle of motion and memory, as if weaving a prayer in movement.
I stood still in the centre of it all—overwhelmed, humbled, loved.
I thought the song would end there. But to everyone's surprise, the male part began. The rhythm shifted, picked up energy, and from the wings came Parth and Shivansh, leaping onto the stage like excited schoolboys who couldn't wait their turn.
The entire hall broke into cheers.
They danced with pure, unfiltered joy, jumping around us, performing outrageous moves that had even Dadi laughing.
I found myself laughing too—something unguarded and full, the kind that comes from deep within, the kind I hadn't felt in months.
My heart felt full.
As the song drew to a close, Parth and Shivansh swept up Maa and Chachi, spinning them playfully in the air. Maa shrieked in mock horror, Chachi tried to scold them mid-spin, and the hall roared with laughter again as they landed on their feet, only to have their ears tugged affectionately in return.
I stepped down from the stage, still smiling. But that smile faded slightly when I saw Aryan watching me.
His gaze was unreadable. Were they soft, or had I imagined it? Were they looking at me with deep longing?
I didn't meet it for long. I turned away and quietly took my seat.
The performances continued, and I watched them with as much enthusiasm. It was time for the couples to come and perform. Every couple danced, and they were filled with as much romance and love as was in their lives.
They danced like they were made for each other. And they were.
And for a moment, I let myself be swept away in their stories. But then, slowly, quietly, the ache returned.
There was a time when I had believed in love like that. Dreamed of a marriage built on it. But life had a way of teaching you that while everyone might deserve love, not everyone finds it. And sitting there, beside Aryan—the man I was meant to marry in just two days, I realised something painful.
I was one of those people who never would.
The night pressed on. The final performance, a riotous, colourful number from Aryan's cousins, ended with laughter and a flurry of confetti. And for the first time that evening, I let myself forget.
Forget the emails.
Forget Phantom.
Forget the shadows.
For just a little while longer, I wanted to stay in this illusion, this celebration crafted so carefully by people who still believed in joy.
Just as the anchor stepped forward, mic in hand, and began his closing remarks, the atmosphere in the hall softened. The lights dimmed slightly, a soft instrumental track began to play in the background, and people leaned into their seats, expecting the night to gently wind down.
He smiled warmly at the crowd. "And with that beautiful performance, we bring this magical evening to a close—"
But he didn't get to finish.
Parth burst onto the stage.
Bounding up the steps with the reckless energy only Parth could carry, he reached the anchor in three long strides and—without so much as a warning—plucked the microphone right out of his hand.
The audience gasped and laughed all at once. Parth turned to them with a boyish grin, spreading his arms wide like he was addressing an army.
"Well now," he said, his voice booming through the speakers, "we can't possibly let the night end without one last performance, can we?"
Murmurs of surprise rippled across the room. I straightened in my seat, a tight suspicion forming in my chest.
Parth looked straight at me, then glanced at Aryan, the mischief in his eyes as clear as day. He gestured to the group of our friends gathered just behind our chairs.
"We all know that the bride and groom"—he paused dramatically—"have most cruelly denied us the pleasure of seeing them dance tonight."
A collective aww erupted from the audience.
I closed my eyes briefly. I already knew where this was going. And I hated it.
"But," Parth continued, turning his performance up a notch, "do you really think we're the kind of people who just... sit back and accept that?"
A loud chorus of "Nooo!" echoed back.
Parth smirked. "Exactly what I thought."
I glanced at Aryan. He met my gaze, totally unbothered, not a hint of panic in his face. Meanwhile, I was silently debating whether to strangle Parth now or wait until after the sangeet.
"So!" Parth raised the mic again, grinning from ear to ear. "Let's do what any self-respecting group of family and friends would do in this moment: chant until they cave in."
He took a deep breath and yelled, "Dance! Dance! Dance!"
And just like that, the entire hall picked up the chant. Dozens of voices became hundreds. People clapped along. Laughed. Whistled.
My heart sank. I began shaking my head, trying to wave them off with a smile that was quickly becoming more of a grimace.
"No, no, really—thank you! But—" I protested, but my words were drowned out by the roar.
And then came the reinforcements.
"Come on, beta!" shouted Brij Uncle from the front row, cupping his hands around his mouth. "One dance won't kill you!"
"Oh yes!" Mohini Chachi added, standing halfway up from her seat. "After marriage, you'll have to dance at every family event. Might as well start now!"
I could feel my ears turning red. I looked at Aryan, hoping he would finally speak up and help end this.
He didn't.
In fact, he didn't even look bothered. He sat still, legs crossed, arms resting on his knees, like this wasn't the moment of absolute public ambush it was.
And then, slowly, as if perfectly timed for dramatic effect, he raised his hand.
Palm open. Toward me.
The crowd exploded.
Cheers, claps, phones being raised to record—we were officially past the point of no return.
I looked at his hand.
And then at his face.
He didn't say anything. He didn't have to.
And I... I took it. Without hesitation. Without a second thought.
It didn't make sense—how automatic it was, how natural. But somehow, it always was with him. Even when it shouldn't be.
The cheers doubled in volume as Aryan stood and helped me to my feet. Someone wolf-whistled. Another person shouted, "Finally!"
He didn't let go of my hand as we made our way toward the stage.
And as we stepped under the spotlight, the music hadn't even started yet, but the moment had already taken on a life of its own.
The lights above us warmed. The crowd quieted just a bit, the excitement folding into anticipation.
Standing there, hand in hand with the man I was supposed to marry in two days, I realised something strange—beneath the chaos, the pressure, and the show... a part of me didn't mind. Just like I didn't mind it back then either. The last time we had danced.
And that scared me more than anything else.
The murmurs in the hall gave way to silence as the DJ received a nod from Parth. A mischievous grin crept onto his face as he pressed play.
And then—
The moment the opening notes of the song played, my breath caught.
No. No, it couldn't be.
But it was.
That song.
That damned song.
I felt Aryan stiffen beside me at the same time. I didn't have to look at him to know he'd recognised it too. Still, I did.
And when our eyes met... it was there. That flicker of something neither of us said out loud. Recognition. Memory. History.
His jaw didn't tighten. My fingers didn't curl in irritation. There was no sarcasm in our silence.
Just that name, that night, that song.
Of all the songs in the universe, they had chosen this one.
I should've walked off stage. I should've rolled my eyes, cracked a joke, and made them change the track.
But I didn't.
Because I couldn't move.
And then Aryan reached for my hand. Slowly. Almost cautiously. Like he was giving me a choice.
I took it.
And we stepped forward—into the light, into the music, and into a memory I hadn't allowed myself to think about in years.
The farewell party had ended, but none of us wanted to leave. The teachers had gone, the decorations had started to fall, and the lights buzzed low in the school auditorium.
It was just us—Prefectorial Board, the Head Boy and Head Girl, Aryan and I, plus our fellow prefects. The ones who had watched us bicker our way through every school event.
Someone suggested a final dare. A last hurrah.
"Dance! To a song of our choice." It was Zakir, our Sports Captain had suggested. "One last time before Kethaki leaves for London, and you two, never see each other again."
I laughed, already prepared to decline. But Aryan, of course, raised a brow.
"Scared, Princess?" He asked. "That you will trip and fall?"
"Please, Peasant!" I shot back. "The only person amongst us to trip and fall is you because, unlike you, I am a trained dancer."
"Then, let's see, shall we?" With that, he got up and made his way to the centre of the floor. I followed him.
"Oh my god! I thought that we would have had to convince them, but here they are!" Our Cultural Secretary, Navya, said. "Parth, just play before they change their mind!"
Parth hit play, and then, the opening notes of 'Kaate Nahi Kat Te' played, and it took everything in me not to turn and glare at the group of hooligans, as I exclaimed, "Oh, you've got to be kidding me!"
But Aryan looked unfazed. "Want to back out now?"
I smirked. "Try to keep up, Peasant."
Aryan didn't flinch. He stepped closer, his hand sliding to my waist—not tentative, not nervous. Confident. Firm.
His other hand caught mine and pulled me forward, into him.
The air shifted. My spine straightened, but my breath went shallow.
And then we danced. Every step we took followed the fast rhythm and beat of the song. Every move felt like friction. Every glance was a dare.
He spun me out with a flick of his wrist, and the pallu of my blue saree whipped around us like fire. I turned back into him and collided a little too hard, my hands landing flat on his chest.
His chest. God, when did he start looking like that?
I swallowed hard. His hands didn't leave my hips. In fact, they gripped tighter—like he was daring me to notice. To respond.
The music slowly turned from fast to slow, and we matched our moves accordingly. We moved together in a slow, prowling circle, like we were stalking each other. Like neither of us wanted to break eye contact first.
And then, the chorus played. The reason why this song was chosen. As the lyrics 'I love you' played, he spun me again, then pulled me back with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of me, but I didn't stumble. I landed flush against him, my back to his chest, his hand at my waist anchoring me like he owned the moment. And we started to sway, to the languishing melody of the chorus.
I felt the words in my bones.
I arched just slightly against him, responding to the rhythm, the tension, the heat. My pulse was out of control. His breath ghosted over the curve of my neck.
He wasn't acting anymore. Neither was I.
This wasn't a performance.
This was a collision.
He turned me around again, and this time, we were face to face, so close our noses nearly touched. Our hands still locked, but everything else?
Open. Exposed.
We moved in sync with a raw kind of grace, fluid, but charged. And as the song came to an end, we danced our way to a lonely chair, where he sat and pulled me to sit on his lap. The final chorus rang, and we looked deep into each other's eyes.
This was too much.
It was getting too much.
I was feeling too much.
And none of them was anxiety, panic or disgust.
More so, the look on his face was even worse. It was still that cold indifference, and yet, there was more.
And, I was scared.
So, when the song came to an end, I sat on his lap still. His hands were still on my waist, hot and unmoving. Mine had somehow found their way to his face, fingers brushing the stubble on his jaw like they belonged there.
And that was the problem.
Because it wasn't supposed to feel like anything. And I was one breath away from letting it.
So, I did what I always did when it got too real. I opened my mouth and cut us both down.
"God," I said, letting my voice curl into a smirk, "that look on your face is..."
I paused just long enough to watch his expression falter, to see the flicker of confusion in his eyes before I twisted the knife.
"Pathetic."
That was the kill shot.
His eyes turned cold. So fast, I could almost feel the temperature shift around us.
He didn't snap. He didn't yell.
No. That wasn't Aryan's style.
Instead, he stood. Slowly. Controlled. Calculated.
And as he rose, he shifted just enough to tip me forward, off balance and ungraceful, until I slid off his lap and landed on the floor with a soft thud and the rustle of silk.
He adjusted the cuff of his sleeve. Rolled his shoulders once. And walked away.
However, the ending to our story was a little different tonight. Tonight, there was no chair for him to sit on and pull me to his lap. The ending would not end with me falling and him walking away.
As the final notes of the song unfurled like the last breath of a secret, Aryan's gaze found mine. Then, with a tenderness that seemed to echo the soft strain of the final chorus, he stepped in close.
In one graceful, deliberate motion, he dipped me low in front of the hushed crowd. My body bent into the arc of his arms, my breath catching not from the move, but from the stillness of it—how present it felt. His right hand pressed steadily at the small of my back, his fingers directly on my skin, while the other cradled the nape of my neck. My arms found their way around his neck, fingers clutching at his shoulders—not for balance, but for something to hold onto in the quiet intensity of the moment.
Time seemed to pause, just for a heartbeat.
And then the silence broke—first with a ripple, then with a roar. Applause burst through the room, followed by cheers and whistles that filled the space where the music had just been. The sound was deafening, but all I could hear was the thud of my heartbeat and the whisper of his breath against my lips.
It was a different ending—unexpected, and undeniably real.
~*~
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