Her Only Saviour

1. Nrityadhee

“Dhin dhin dhaage tirakita… tu na ka ta… dhaage tirakita dhin na…”

A soft, melodic voice echoed through the sunlit hall of Nrityadhee. Each syllable landed with rhythmic precision, weaving into the air like silk.

Nandini Rai stood barefoot on the polished wooden floor, her anklets chiming in sync with her movements.

She wasn’t just dancing — she was painting emotions with her body, gliding like a feather in a gentle breeze.
There was something heartbreakingly beautiful in the way she moved. Her soul, wounded yet resilient, poured into every beat of Ektaal she uttered.

She spun gracefully, her light brown bun loosely secured, swaying with her steps.
Strands of hair framed her face, sticking slightly to her temple as she moved.
Her almond-shaped eyes shimmered like distant stars in a cold, moonless night — full of stories untold.
Her sharp nose and soft, tinted lips moved delicately as she taught the rhythm, the same lips that rarely revealed the storm beneath her calm.

To her students, she was ethereal. Gentle, graceful, and kind — a soul dipped in poetry. When she smiled, the room glowed with warmth.
Her laughter — light and musical — felt like hope in human form.

But no one truly saw the pain hidden behind that enchanting smile.

No one knew that Nandini Rai’s strength was a mask she wore too well.

A voice broke through the trance.
“Shrey! Where’s your focus? Match the beats!”

Her tone was firm but never harsh. The students respected her — not just for her skill, but for the way she made everyone feel seen.
She was their anchor.
Their favourite dance teacher.
Their Nandu Di.

And this — Nrityadhee — was her safe space. Her second life. Her sanctuary.

She had built this academy from scratch, brick by emotional brick, when the world had tried to break her.

Tomorrow, on 4th October, they would celebrate its anniversary — a milestone that meant more to her than anyone could ever understand.

As she corrected Shrey’s posture, the studio doors flung open with urgency.
Aashi — her assistant, partner-in-chaos, and best friend — came rushing in, breathless, clutching her phone.

“Nandu… Nandu!”

Nandini turned around, concern immediately clouding her features.
“Aashi? Hey, slow down. Breathe first—”

But Aashi interrupted, panting, panic in her voice.
“Nandu… it’s from home… I just got a call… your bhai… I think he met with an accid—”

She didn’t get to finish. The color drained from Nandini’s face. In a heartbeat, she sprinted forward, snatching the car keys from Aashi’s hand without a word.