Ruh ki Thirkan

Chapter 1: The Invitation

Ishika stood at the edge of the ballroom, her fingers tightly gripping the flyer she had found a week ago. The event was bigger than she had imagined. It wasn’t just a workshop—it felt like an audition. Cameras flashed, people dressed in their finest dance gear, and the air buzzed with nervous energy. The room was filled with aspiring dancers from all over, hoping to catch the attention of one person: Arav Malhotra.

Her eyes flickered across the room, taking in the intricate wood paneling, the marble floors that reflected the chandeliers above. The ballroom felt like a different world—one she had only dreamed of stepping into. She shifted uncomfortably, feeling out of place in her simple leggings and t-shirt, surrounded by dancers wearing sleek leotards and designer brands.

*Maybe I shouldn’t be here,* she thought. The doubts crept in, uninvited and unwelcome. Ishika wasn’t like the others. She hadn’t been professionally trained. Her dance, her passion, had been confined to the four walls of her room, hidden from the world, hidden from her family’s disapproving gaze.

But tonight, that would change.

The music in the ballroom shifted, signaling the start of the workshop. Conversations faded, and an expectant hush fell over the crowd. Everyone’s attention snapped to the platform in the center of the room. Ishika’s heart raced as her gaze followed theirs.

There he was.

Arav Malhotra. The man whose choreography had revolutionized dance across the globe. The man whose precision and passion had elevated dance to an art form. He was everything the rumors said he would be—tall, with an aura that demanded attention. His sharp eyes scanned the room, piercing through the crowd, his presence alone commanding respect. Even from across the ballroom, Ishika could feel the intensity that radiated from him.

Arav’s reputation preceded him: a perfectionist, a man who tolerated no excuses, no errors. His temper was as famous as his choreography, but beneath that was a genius who had turned dancers into legends.

“Good evening,” Arav’s voice boomed through the speakers, crisp and commanding. “You’re here because you want to be the best. But I’m only looking for the best. If you can’t keep up, the door is right there.”

Ishika’s breath caught in her throat. This was real. The challenge was set, and she wasn’t ready to back down. For years, she had danced in the shadows, her talent unseen, her passion stifled. But here, in this room, she had a chance—her only chance—to prove herself, not just to Arav, but to herself.

The music began.

The routine was deceptively simple—sharp movements, precise footwork, nothing too complicated. But it wasn’t the complexity of the steps that made it difficult; it was the perfection Arav demanded. Every beat had to be hit, every move executed with flawless timing. Arav watched the dancers with a cold, critical eye, his gaze missing nothing. One mistake, one moment of hesitation, and you were out.

Ishika pushed herself, her muscles burning as she moved. Her heart pounded in time with the beat, her feet following the rhythm as if they had a mind of their own. Sweat began to drip down her back, but she ignored it. All that mattered was the dance. The room, the other dancers, even Arav’s scrutinizing gaze—it all faded away. For those few minutes, it was just her and the music.

But then it happened.

A split-second of hesitation. A missed beat. Her foot slipped slightly, not enough to throw her off completely, but enough that she felt the tremor of doubt ripple through her.

Arav’s eyes snapped to her.

Her heart sank as she saw the disappointment flash across his face. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. His expression said it all: she wasn’t good enough.

But something inside her refused to give up. She wasn’t just dancing for a place in the workshop. She was dancing for a life she had never been allowed to live. For every time her mother had told her to focus on the family business, for every time her father had looked at her dancing with disapproval in his eyes. She was dancing for herself.

So, she kept going.

Even as her body screamed at her to stop, even as her muscles began to shake, she kept dancing. Because if she stopped now, she would be admitting defeat. And that was something Ishika wasn’t ready to do.

The music ended abruptly, leaving the room in silence. Arav stepped off the platform, his face unreadable as he moved between the dancers. Ishika held her breath as he passed by her, her chest tight with anxiety. His footsteps echoed in the silence, the tension in the room thick enough to cut.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even glance at her.

Relief flooded Ishika’s body, but it was quickly replaced by a sense of dread. Was she dismissed? Did he even notice her beyond that one mistake? She couldn’t tell, and that uncertainty gnawed at her.

“Again,” Arav’s voice cut through the room, his tone as sharp as ever. The music started over, louder this time. More intense.

This time, Ishika was determined not to falter.

As the second round began, she found herself hyper-aware of Arav’s presence, of every shift in his gaze, every tiny frown that appeared on his face. He didn’t say much, but his silence was louder than any critique. He was watching. Always watching.

For Ishika, every step felt like a test. Every breath, every heartbeat, every move was a chance to redeem herself or to fail. But beneath the pressure, she found something else—a quiet, unshakable resolve. She belonged here. She wasn’t just some amateur. She was a dancer. She had always been a dancer, even if no one had ever acknowledged it before.

As she moved, her confidence grew. Her body, despite the fatigue, responded to the music as it always had—fluid, graceful, powerful. This was who she was. And no one, not even Arav Malhotra, could take that away from her.
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