Her eyes narrowed.“What are you saying?”
“I don’t dance,” I repeated louder, but before I could protest further, she pulled me up. My eyes widened in shock.
Queen Trisha, Princess Aishwarya, and the other women were dancing freely in the open hall. Fire torches and lanterns bathed their faces in a soft glow. A cool breeze brushed against my skin, and despite myself, I laughed.
Dancing had always made me self-conscious. I never knew why, but I felt watched, like people were judging me. I felt so aware of my movements, my steps, my body, my posture.
Nandani tugged me into the circle. Even though only women were present, my nervousness refused to fade.
She held one of my hands; suddenly, Princess Aishwarya clasped the other.
“Come on, Suman,” Princess Aishwarya laughed.“Show us those moves.”
They swayed their waists effortlessly.
My cheeks burned as I tried to follow them. I must’ve looked ridiculous.
Everyone paused, staring briefly, then burst into laughter before resuming their dance. I giggled too, finally letting go.
I tried to move my waist and spun around to the beat. I knew how to dance once. Young Suman had known. This version of me had forgotten, but perhaps surrounded by the love of the family and Kunwar Agastya’s presence, I was rediscovering her.
I laughed, lifted my hands, spun with the rhythm, when suddenly, a flower struck my cheek.
A sunflower.
I froze, frowning, scanning the crowd.
Who did this?
I searched behind pillars and in corners, but found nothing.
Could it be him? Oh no, maybe the wind.
I returned to dancing, just then another flower hit me.
This time, goosebumps rippled across my skin. I was frightened to my core.
Someone’s doing this.
I gulped, searching again, but no men were present. There was no way it could’ve been him.
Suddenly, my gaze lifted instinctively to a distant terrace. There was no source of light; only one torch burned there. I couldn’t see anything clearly.
But I knew someone was standing there.
I turned around, seeing that everyone below was engrossed in celebration, even Daadi-sa.
I inhaled deeply and excused myself. My bright yellow-and-green skirt swept the floor as I walked away. The heavy anklet bells echoed in the empty corridor.
My heart pounded as I made my way to the rooftop.
I was terrified, but my heart whispered it was Him.
I froze at the stairs, where soldiers were stationed. They glanced at me, exchanged looks, then silently stepped aside.
“Thank you,” I murmured, adjusting my dupatta as I climbed.
With each step I took, the celebration’s music faded into the distance.
