Dancing Jodi

Chapter 1: Perfect Timing

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The Desi Kingdom Lounge was bustling with noise, occasional cheers, knives and forks scraping on flowered China plates, and a hip-hop remix of the popular 1994 song, Tip Tip Barsa Pani, but all Noori could hear in her tuned-out, daydream state was her mind chanting the same mantra that went through her head whenever she was roped in to play backup dancer: don't slip and crack your head on the stage; don't elbow the girl next to you in the ribs — she'll definitely think you did it on purpose; and do NOT think about all the Law homework you've got piled up and due soon.

The DIY, makeshift waterfall cascading from the pushed-back sunroof on the balcony top of Naan Butter Dhan Hummus, the hilariously named but highly affluent restaurant, acted as the perfect backdrop for the lit-up stage. In the late spring and until the end of summer, most of the high-end Friday to Sunday performances were done on the rooftop balcony. It was a strict VIP-only area that could seat up to nearly eighty guests and felt very similar to sangeet nights at desi weddings.

Dressed — and thoroughly drenched — in a marigold yellow sari, Noori moved through the choreo with ease. Having practiced that particular dance number along with the two others she had performed earlier numerous times until she had it memorized and could most definitely bust out the moves in her sleep, Noori didn't need to focus much on the steps or the rhythm; she could turn her mind off and expect her body to be able to match each hip thrust and position change.

"Whoo, Noori!"

The voice cutting through a short break in the music for the beat drop was both familiar and endearing enough for Noori to snap out of her inner trance and spin around to face the voice. There was already a grin taking up the length of her face before her eyes even landed on the far left table adjacent to the stage where her closest friend, Sajan Mehta, sat with his hands cupped around his mouth, creating a mini megaphone. Sajan had always been her number one fan and biggest supporter; he came to as many of the big performances as he could and always sat in the front row to cheer her on. Even on slow nights when the guests were more interested in the food than the live entertainment, he could get the crowd up on their feet and dancing along.

Noori was happy to see his table was full. Sajan had brought along his younger brother, Amir, and what looked like two new friends. The one sitting on Amir's right side, mouth full of the free naan served in baskets and present on every table, was a pale-skinned and seemingly American boy. It was always an interesting sight to see non-Asians visiting Naan Butter Dhan Hummus; most of the time they were accompanying their desi friends and on rare occasions, they were tourists attracted to the amazing Asian cuisine that was freshly made on a daily basis. Next to him, though, there was a second figure that even from a distance looked strangely familiar to Noori.

Cold water sloshed down onto her face and neck, obscuring her vision at the same time as a niggling thought crept into Noori's mind. A simple suggestion, a name that was too outrageous to even think twice about, but...what if it was who she initially thought it was?

Noori swept her dark wet locks from her forehead and blinked a few times to make sure she was seeing right. She felt a body bang into her, and before she could even glare at the girl, she was shooting Noori an apologetic look and quickly backing up. Noori realized with a jolt she had stopped performing and was now staring at Sajan's table, staring at the face she was now fully convinced belonged to Meezaan Zahir. He raised a hand halfway up and gave her a little nod, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. A mouth she was once very well acquainted with.

Besides the high-paying clientele who paid for bottle service and extra for their food just so they could watch their waitresses shake a leg, only the bartenders, non-dancing servers, and friends and family of restaurant workers, who received a decent discount, were allowed to be in the Lounge during performance hours. So, it made sense when Noori turned and made eye contact with a face she hadn't seen in three years, her first thought was: I'm dreaming. And her second thought was: No, I've slipped and fallen, and now I'm in a state of unconsciousness where I get to be tortured with the face I was once completely enamored with. Yep, this is some kind of weirdo dream, and I'm going to wake up any second now.