The Classy Thirteen

Dilbar Dilbar

Rajveer's POV

I was standing at the entrance of the Mikado Room, inside the grand Savoy Hotel. The music was thumping, lights dimmed, laughter echoed around the space but all I could hear was the pounding of my own heartbeat.

Why was I here?

Let me take you a few hours back...

I had just wrapped up an intense business meeting, miles away from home, and I was resting in my car, finally letting my shoulders drop. The air outside was quiet, and I thought I'd scroll through Instagram just to kill time. That's when it happened. Ayra's story popped up. A boomerang. Cake, lights, friends, and her.

Sara.

It was her birthday today.

And she looked breathtaking. Wearing something so simple yet so graceful, something about her just... pulled me in. There was elegance in her smile, confidence in her pose, and a certain sparkle in her eyes that made me pause.

God, I wish we were school friends. At least then I'd have an excuse to talk to her, joke with her, maybe even share a few harmless secrets over lunch breaks. But we were just the children of two friendly families, nothing more. Every time we crossed paths, it was the same old Sat Shri Akal with an awkward smile, and then we'd return to our corners like strangers dressed in tradition.

My mind began racing. Could I just go? Show up at her birthday? Take a gift, wish her well, maybe get a moment with her? But then again, it was a 4-hour drive. And we didn't even talk. What would she think? Would it be weird? Creepy? Over the top?

I was drowning in those thoughts when my phone rang.

Mom.

And like magic, she said, "Rajveer, if you're free, pick out a sweet gift and go to Sara's hotel. Wish her on our behalf."

That was all I needed. It felt like the universe nodded at me. I said "Okay," hung up, bought a classy gift set, and drove.

All the way here.

Back to now-

And then I saw her.

In that navy blue bodycon dress. She stood out like the moon on a cloudless night. So graceful, so composed, so out of reach.

She was on the dance floor. "Dilbar Dilbar" blaring through the speakers, and there she was, moving to the beat like the song was made just for her. Her hips swayed with elegance, arms flowing smoothly like silk in the wind. Every turn, every step, every little gesture-it was mesmerizing. I couldn't blink. My legs refused to move. My breath hitched.

She twirled, smiled, then bit her lip slightly as the beat dropped-and God, I swear time slowed down. I wasn't watching a dance. I was watching art come alive.

There was a guy dancing with her, probably a friend. He mimicked her moves, exaggerated them playfully, his hands moving the same way hers did, feminine and cheeky. The people around laughed, some cheered, others joined in. It was fun, light, carefree.

But me?

I was frozen.

I hated that guy. Okay, no maybe not hate, but I envied how easily he could be near her, laugh with her, touch her shoulder, touch her hand during the steps. I envied how natural it was for him to be part of her world while I stood at the edge of it, completely invisible.

But you know what?

Even that jealousy didn't last long.

Because her grace? It swallowed it whole.