Chapter 3 : A chaos , that I didn't see coming

The aroma of toasted multigrain bread and scrambled eggs filled the kitchen. The faint sizzle of the pan echoed softly across the open-plan apartment. Ishaan stood by the stove, sleeves rolled up, stirring with an absent mind but a full heart. He'd even cut fresh fruits and placed her coffee just the way she liked it—almond milk, no sugar.

She walked in slowly, dressed in a peach-colored kurta, hair slightly damp, skin glowing faintly from her post-shower warmth.

“You made all this?” Maira smiled, genuinely touched.

“I figured you’d need something warm,” he said softly, handing her a heat waterbag, “here is your waterbag for the cramps... it's your 2nd day right?.”

Maira blinked once. And then smiled nodding.

That smile stung later.

The breakfast table had his laughter and her polite.She barely took the last bite when she stood up to rinse her plate, but Ishaan reached across the table and caught her wrist gently, but firmly.

“Sit,” he said quietly.

She paused, then obeyed, settling back into her chair.

He looked into her eyes—not cold, but wounded. “Why did you lie to me?”

Her throat tightened. “Ishaan...”

“You could have just told me if you didn’t want to try right now. I would’ve understood. I do understand. You know I’d never ask you to give up your career for a baby. I’ve never even brought that up.”

She swallowed, still unable to meet his eyes.

“I’ve supported you through everything—when your singing career didn’t pan out, when you wanted to try dance again. I’ve given our marriage space. Time. I never pressured you, even we moved away from my parents so you wouldn’t feel any pressure. So what is it?” His voice cracked now, pleading. “What’s bothering you so much that you felt the need to lie to me?”

He exhaled shakily. “Why pushing the idea of a baby so intolerable that you had to fake a period?”

“Because I don’t want to conceive... Ishaan. Not today, not tomorrow. Not ever.”

The silence that followed was almost deafening. Ishaan blinked, trying to process her words.

His face twitched. “Ever?”

She nodded, voice small but firm. “I don’t want to bring a child into this world… not this world. Have you seen how it’s turning out? Every day it’s getting worse. And I know how much you love me—Ishaan, believe me, I know. No one has loved me this way. You’ve given me nothing but wings. And I am married to a man who respects me, adores me, lifts me up... But... this—”

She paused.

“—this is where we’re different.”

“You knew this would make me happy. You know my parents are waiting. So is yours. And you still—”

“Ishaan, I know. And maybe I should’ve said this during our courtship. Maybe I should’ve voiced my ideology, my beliefs then. But I didn’t. I kept assuming… hoping maybe you’d also change your mind after a few years.”

She looked at him with tearful honesty. “But you didn’t. And now I’ve hurt you. And that’s on me.”

He stood up, walked a few steps away, fists clenched. Then turned back.

“You think I’d ever force you the way your birth father tricked your mom into conceiving you? You think I’d ever become him?” his voice cracked.

Maira looked away, her heart pounding against her ribcage.

He exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. “You know... ever since heard from your mouth itself what forced parenthood can do to a woman. Your birth mother—Shaira—she didn’t want to conceive you. She wanted a career, a life free from responsibilities. But your birth father... he tricked her into it. And when she finally got the fame she chased, she came back after six long years, expecting to rewrite history. You’ve lived that abandonment. I thought to myself that I be the better version of a man you want to have in your life and vowed that I’ve never, ever wanted to become that man in your life who would cut your wings for the sake of his family. But I am not him, Maira. I would never push you. I just wanted to feel that joy with you… a child who’d call us Mom and Dad. Who’d have your eyes and my—””

She shook her head slowly.

“And if that child turns against you someday? If this child grows up and mistreats us? Why go through birth pains for someone we may never be able to safeguard? I don’t want to be tethered by that fear, Ishaan. Not when I’ve just started breathing again.”

He ran a hand through his hair, overwhelmed.

“I won’t speak for Maysha, or Shayaan’s future wife, or even Palki. They may all want to become mothers and love the journey. I’ll celebrate them when that happens. I’ll be the most present maasi or bua they could have.”

A long pause stretched between them.

Maira wiped her cheek. “Tell me one thing. For a marriage to last, does it always have to have a child? And if I say I can’t do this... will that mean divorce?”

Ishaan’s voice rose unintentionally, hoarse and trembling. “Why are you talking about divorce, Maira? I’m trying to work this out. My parents... your family... everyone’s looking forward to seeing our family grow. Why do you want to end it all?”

She stood, holding her tears, her voice shaking. “Because I’m not happy, Ishaan. And if I can’t give you or them the happiness they’re looking for, what’s the point of keeping this marriage intact? It’s better we part ways now than drag this until it becomes ugly.”

He looked at her, stunned. His voice lowered into something more guttural. “Five whole years, Maira. You kept me—and our families—under the illusion that someday our family will grow. That someday I’d hold our child in my arms. And now you’re saying never?

Maira turned her face, biting her lip to contain the sob that threatened to burst. She finally said, “Once we start with the divorce procedures... let’s at least stay a happy couple in front of Rudra. Just until he and Palki get married. We can inform our parents, but Rudra… he doesn’t need to bear this right now. He’s dreaming of his wedding. Let him have that joy.”

Ishaan got up slowly, his eyes red, his voice cracking again as he tried to stop her. “You don’t have to do this, Maira. Don’t put Rudra in that spot. Don’t break this... don’t break us.”

She turned to him one last time, a tear slipping down her cheek. “This... is for everyone’s best interest, Ishaan. And during Rudra’s wedding preps... which will start in a few months, by then... maybe you can start searching for a new prospect.at least you’ll find someone who dreams of the same things. And you deserve that.””

His eyes were glassy now. “Then you should’ve told me. On the very first day. Or the second. When we were still figuring each other out. You should’ve told me.”

That line, that one honest truth, hit her like a brick.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

And in that silence, two hearts cracked—not for the lack of love, but for the weight of choices, regrets, and truths that came too late.

Maira then says softly to Ishaan... you are the kind of man my birth mom should have been in love with.

He blinked, startled.

"You have all the qualities I used to wish my birth dad had—before he thought of bringing me into this world so soon. You’re steady, kind, patient. You don’t manipulate love to get your way. You don’t disappear when things get hard.

She inhaled deeply, holding back the weight in her chest.

Maira then says "But I’m not like my mom. And you’re not like my dad. My reasons... they’re different. My ideologies aren’t a reaction to abandonment or pain alone. This decision isn’t rooted in fear—it’s rooted in clarity".

A sad smile tugged at her lips.

"And I’m definitely not like my adoptive mom either—Diya mama". She laughs faintly through her tears. "God, when Diya mama finds out that I might get divorced just because I don’t want to have kids, she’ll probably disown me".

Ishaan says while still being pained, "She won’t".

"She might. She’s always upheld those classic ideas—what a wife should be, what a marriage should endure. “Sacrifice makes a woman whole,” she says. I’ve heard it a thousand times". She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand, "And she did sacrifice. Her art, her freedom, her voice—until she found it all again. But Ishaan, I’ve had to claw my way into becoming me. I can’t give that up now. Not even for a love as beautiful as yours".

"And what about our love? Wasn’t it worth a future? A compromise?"

Maira says, "It was worth everything."pauses " Until I realized we were building different futures—on silent assumptions. And that’s on both of us".

*

The soft jingle of the mangalsutra echoed faintly as Maira unhooked it from behind her neck, her fingers trembling ever so slightly. She placed it gently in the small velvet pouch inside her dance bag, right next to the sindoor box that now sat untouched. Her reflection in the mirror looked foreign — her face still held the remnants of bridal warmth, but her eyes were tired, reflective, burdened.

She changed into her black cropped rehearsal tee and wide-legged joggers, tying her hair into a tight ponytail. Ishaan had already left. The warmth of the heating bag he’d given her still lingered on her lower back — a gesture that made her heart ache. He had always been kind. But kindness didn’t mean compatibility.

The ride to the dance academy was unusually quiet. Maira sat in the backseat, her head leaned against the window, watching the city blur into gray motion. Her mind wasn’t in the car. It was spiraling.

How did it come to this?
Five years. Five whole years of shared dreams, carefully constructed milestones, both families brought together… only for it all to fall apart because she wasn’t ready to become a mother.

Her hand instinctively brushed against her now bare neck. The skin still felt the phantom weight of the mangalsutra. That symbol had once meant pride, commitment, joy. She remembered how she used to love introducing herself as Mrs. Maira Khanna. It had felt real. Full of promise.

Now, in just a few months, those very symbols would mean nothing. A part of her would become invisible again.

When she entered The Nrittarang Dance Academy, the sound of music pulsed through the floor. Sameer sir’s booming voice echoed through the hallway, followed by his trademark clap and laugh. “Warm up, people! Let’s bleed through this floor today!”

Maira didn’t respond. She just walked in and took her place in the front-left of the studio, where she always did.

Maan was already inside, stretching. His gaze flickered toward her briefly. She felt it, but didn’t respond. Not yet.

“Track five,” Sameer called out. “Let’s go from the chorus—Maan, Maira, center.”

As the music began, Maira let her body speak. Her limbs moved with controlled grace, every movement layered with pain she had no words for. She was no longer faltering under Maan’s gaze or proximity. In fact, something had shifted — his nearness didn’t shake her. It fueled her.

Her spins were tighter, her landings sharper. Their lifts synced perfectly. When Maan pulled her toward him in a sweeping lift, her gaze met his — calm, unwavering.

By the time the routine ended, the room went quiet for a second. Sameer was stunned.

“Damn,” he muttered. “You’re back, Maira.”

Maan turned to her, slightly out of breath. “I haven’t seen you dance like that in years,” he said with a small, proud smile. “You didn’t falter even once. Not even when I held you.”

She offered a tight nod, wiping sweat from her neck.

“Does this mean…” he began, cautiously, “…you’ve forgiven me?”

Maira froze. Her lips parted but no words came out. Instead, her jaw clenched, and she turned away, walking swiftly toward the exit.

She needed air.

The terrace was quiet — always her go-to escape when rehearsals got too loud. She leaned against the railing, the breeze brushing against her flushed cheeks, heart racing not from the dance, but from what Maan had just asked.

Forgive him?
How could she?

The memories came rushing like a punch to the chest.

FIVE YEARS AGO

NITTRANG DANCE ACADEMY

The large studio doors of Nittrang Dance Academy opened with a slight creak, the smell of resin-polished floors mixing with sweat, ambition, and echoes of beats pulsing off mirrored walls. Maira Sharma stood at the threshold, clutching her registration file in one hand and her brand new jazz shoes in the other.

Back then, she wasn’t the elegant, poised Maira Khanna known for her sharp twirls and impossible lifts. She was simply Maira Sharma — a 27-year-old singer clinging to a crumbling dream. Her training in classical music — ghazals, thumris, khayal — no longer echoed through concert halls. The world wanted auto-tuned beats, viral hooks, and TikTok-friendly choruses. And Maira? She had faded into the quiet.

Her biological mother, Shaira, ruled the pop charts and is glittering indie-pop sensation with the stage presence of being a desi Taylor Swift , while her birth father, Mayank, spun turntables as a top-tier DJ. Even her adoptive mother, Diya, had found her footing as a playback singer in Bollywood.Shaira, Maira inspite of being the daugter of such famous singers and a DJ still chosed to follow her grandmother Asha's legacy of singing classical songs but during her theatre events of her classical singing she happened to learn some mild mudras where she sang live for Bharatanatyam pieces… that was a different universe.And dance? This was a whole different league for her .

Her eyes roamed the rehearsal floor.

There was a buzz in the air. A group of twenty or so dancers — some in college sweatshirts, others clad in sleek athleisure — were stretching, chatting, or clicking selfies in front of the mirror. In one corner, a cluster of girls was pretending to warm up while giggling amongst themselves. Their eyes weren’t on the mirror.

They were on him.

Tall, poised, the defined muscle contours of his arms flexing effortlessly as he adjusted his laces — Maan Singh Khurana stood out without trying to. There was a silent command in his posture, a dancer’s body that spoke the language of rhythm without even moving.

Maira found herself staring too. Not just at his physique — though he was, objectively speaking, sculpted like a Greek statue dipped in hip-hop swag — but at the way he seemed still in a room full of energy, like he was absorbing every vibration.

Before she could snap herself out of her accidental ogling, a loud cough cut through the murmur.

"Ahem!" boomed a voice from near the mirrored wall. The voice belonged to Sameer — an agile dancer in his early 30s with an authoritative air that made everyone shut up. "Now that you’ve all had your fill of introductions through your eyes… let’s actually get to the introductions."

A few chuckles followed, but the energy settled.

"I’m Sameer Deshmukh. Lead dancer and choreographer from Team Reverb. You are Team Ignite — the newbies, the fresh blood.Welcome aboard, and since you are new let me englight to you all what our academy stands for "Feel the echo, be the impact", a motto that I want everyone of you to be that impact through this dance academy, where your dance speaks for you."

He glanced at each of them, his sharp gaze scanning for hesitation. "I don’t care if you’ve danced in your college annual day or if you’ve gone viral on Reels. Here, none of that matterse train like we’ve never danced before."

He paused, then gestured toward Maan. “Now, speaking of recognition—this man here doesn’t need an intro, but let’s do it anyway. Maan Singh Khurana the son of hotel mogul Raj Singh Khurana. Reality show winner, stage show heartthrob, and someone most of you probably follow on Insta.”

Some of the girls squealed softly. Maan gave them a half-smile, obviously used to the attention but clearly awkward about it.

“But here's the thing,” Sameer continued, now serious, “Maan is here not as a star, but as a student. That’s what impressed me. He didn’t come here to flaunt. He came to grow. He’s pushing himself beyond what the industry demands. And if someone like him is willing to start from scratch with you, then none of you have any excuse to slack.”

There was a respectful pause — even the giggling girls were now wide-eyed.

Maan finally stepped forward, nodding toward the group. “Hey, everyone. Look, I know some of you probably expect me to dish out secrets or teach shortcuts to fame, but the truth is — I’m still learning. Always will be. If you think being a dancer ends the moment you get recognition, you’ve already lost. I’m here to train, to sweat, to fail… and maybe get back up a bit better each day. Hope we can all do that together.”

Maira blinked.

The room clapped. Maan gave a quick nod, chuckling under his breath.

“Don’t look at me like I’m some kind of celebrity,” he said. “We’re all learners here. I’m just trying to get better. If you think fame means perfection, you’re in the wrong place.”

Something in that speech — the honesty, the humility — tugged at her. This wasn’t just a pretty face with viral views. There was depth. Dedication. Passion. And for the first time in months, a strange excitement fluttered in her chest.

Sameer then gave a glance to his clipboard and grabbed everyone's attention began to do a roll call.

“Aarti…” He scanned the room. No response. “Late on Day One. Impressive,” he muttered.

He then continued to call other names and then his eyes read the name and he called out "Maan Singh Khurana"

“Maan Singh Khurana?”

“Here.”Maan replied upon his name

“Maira Sharma?”

“Yes,” she said, just as Maan looked up, catching her eye. Their gazes held. Brief. Curious. Electric.

Sameer then began to called out the remaining names and then Sameer explained the opening week choreography was meant to observe everyone's strengths, build coordination, and assess who could lead, adapt, or follow in team routines.

"Since you all are newbies and to be part of a dance group, a member must know the strenghts and weakness of their teammates and our very first dance excercise will be a ice breaker set up.Where each one of you, will get paired up, and then englight your strengths and weakness to your dance partner and try to form a choreography and over these days try to perfect them before we can form formations of group dance acts where each one of you get to rehearse with other team mates and try to form a choreography, yes under my supervision that could present Team Ignite as a group dance team and as indivisuals and pairs.So over the course of this year, you all will be trained and will be part of events that will set stage to your talent to what you have shaped from here representing NDA".

Sameer then again scanned through the clipboard and started to pair members alphabetically and then it was

“Maan and Maira—you’ll be partners.”

Before she could even register the moment, the studio doors flung open.

A breathless figure rushed in, ponytail flailing, holding her dance bag like it was life support.

“Sorry! I’m so sorry. My car broke down—took a rickshaw and ran the last stretch,” she gasped.

Sameer gave her a hard look. “You’re lucky it’s your first day, and you had a decent excuse. Come in.”

He scanned his list. “Only one left unpaired—Yogesh. You’re with him.”

Aarti joined the group, still panting. But as she settled in, her eyes wandered.

First to the pairs. Then—to Maan.

Recognition lit her face. Maan Singh Khurana, her co-contestant from the reality show. Her heart fluttered. They hadn’t interacted much—she hadn’t made it past the semi-finals—but she had rooted for him. And now… here he was again.

But her joy soured when she saw Maira standing next to him, already paired.

"Lucky girl" she thought. "Why does she get to be with him?"

The group began warming up.

As Maira struggled with basic hip-hop steps, Maan instinctively adjusted her posture with gentle hands. “Try loosening your spine. You’re holding tension like a singer, not a dancer.”

She blinked, surprised. “I… am a singer.”

“Thought so,” he smiled. “But you’ve got rhythm. That’s half the battle.”

Behind them, Aarti watched, jaw tight. Already, she sensed something she didn’t like—chemistry.

Something that should’ve been hers.

*

TWO WEEKS LATER

The mirrored studio echoed with the soft thuds of feet gliding, pivoting, sliding across the polished wooden floor. Sunlight filtered through the high glass panels, slashing warm gold across the room. Sameer clapped twice, his voice carrying commandingly.

“Alright! Team Ignite, five-minute break. Maan, Maira — you two, stay.”

Maira wiped her brow with the edge of her black tank top, her cheeks flushed more from nerves than exertion. She caught a glimpse of Aarti on the other side of the room, eyes narrowed, pretending not to watch.

Sameer turned to Maan and Maira, arms crossed. “Your lifts are off-beat. Timing isn’t syncing. That trust — it needs work. Again.”

Maira opened her mouth to protest, but Maan raised his hand gently. “It’s okay. We’ll get it.”

They went back to their positions. Maira adjusted the strap of her dance shoe, and as she looked up, Maan was already waiting — hand extended, gaze steady, offering calm through his soft smile.

She took his hand.

Sameer played the track again. The music rose — a soft, contemporary number with swelling violins and a pulsing rhythm. As the beat dropped, Maan spun her around, caught her waist and dipped her — smooth, effortless. This time, their movements weren’t mechanical.

This time, they moved like they were breathing in unison.

As the track faded out, they stayed still, Maan’s hands steady on her waist, her eyes fixed on his. There was a pause — a breathless second — before Sameer clapped again.

“Better. Not perfect, but getting there,” he said, already walking away.

Maira stepped back quickly, flustered. “Uh… thanks for the save. That dip…”

“You let go,” he said softly, smiling. “Finally.”