Chapter 4 : Dil Mera Churaya Kyun?

It started in the cafeteria, of all places. Maira had barely finished opening her fruit tiffin when the lunchroom erupted with stifled giggles. Heads turned to the far end of the room.

There was Maan, marching through the tables with exaggerated discipline, two bananas held like conductor batons. His voice boomed in imitation of their strict choreographer Sameer.

“Posture, people! If you can’t hold your spine, you can’t hold an audience!”

Maira nearly chocked out her on her fruits. She doubled over, her laughter helpless and loud as Maan struck a dramatic pose at their table.

“You’re going to get banned from rehearsals one day,” she gasped, wiping tears from the corner of her eye.

“And miss that laugh?” he replied, tossing her one of the bananas. “Never.”

She caught it with ease and mock-curtsied, still grinning. It was silly. Stupid, even. But it felt good — easy, light. Like the way things used to feel, before the world got complicated.

*

One evening, after hours of rehearsal, Maira sat on the edge of the studio floor, rubbing her ankle with a frown. The joint ached — a small sprain from a misstep during a turn. She didn’t complain. She rarely did.

Maan appeared quietly beside her. He didn’t ask. He just knelt, gently lifting her foot onto his knee.

“I told you, it’s fine,” she mumbled, watching as he retrieved a compression bandage from his bag.

“You also told Sameer that you were ‘born ready’ to do that triple spin,” he shot back. “One of those things was clearly a lie.”

Her mouth opened, ready with a sarcastic retort, but it never came. His hands worked with unexpected gentleness as he wrapped her ankle — secure, precise, protective.

“You’re bossy,” she muttered finally.

“You’re stubborn,” he replied. “We’re a balanced pair.”

She met his eyes. For a second, the noise around them faded. It was just his warmth, her skin beneath his fingers, and the feeling that something was steadily shifting between them.

*

The next day, the two stand near a bluetooth speaker, prepping for a fusion performance that includes lip-syncing to a playback track.Maira stood in front of Maan, demonstrating how to lip-sync with conviction.

“It’s not just moving your mouth. You sell the illusion with your whole face,” she explained, singing softly along to the playback.

Maan watched her carefully — or at least he tried to.

“Your turn,” she said, cueing the track again.

He tried. He failed. He looked like a stuttering robot stuck on buffering.

“Wait. No. Stop,” Maira said, laughing. “You look like you’re trying to communicate with aliens.”

She stepped closer, so close he could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. With two fingers, she tilted his chin.

“Relax your lips,” she murmured. “Like this...”

Her voice had lowered, gentler now. Her lips moved slowly, precisely. He stared — not at her demonstration, but at her. The curve of her mouth.

“I’m not sure I’m learning anything right now,” he whispered.

She froze — just for a beat — then stepped back, cheeks warming. “Then we’ll keep practicing,” she said briskly. “Until you do.”

But her voice was softer now. A little breathless.

*

One evening, the skies opened without warning. Thunder cracked across the city, and rain hammered down on the academy roof.

The group was trapped inside the studio, electricity flickering. Some dancers joked around. Others stretched or called home.

Maan and Maira sat near the window, huddled together with a single towel draped across their damp shoulders.

“You know,” Maira said, tugging the fabric closer, “we could’ve just waited in the lounge like normal people.”

“Normal people don’t write rain-dance puns,” Maan replied, eyes sparkling.

“Oh God,” she groaned. “No.”

“What did the rain say to the choreography?” he grinned. “I’ll pour my heart into it.”

She groaned louder. “That should be a punishable offense.”

“But you’re smiling.”

“No, I’m grimacing. Out of pain.”

He bumped her shoulder playfully. She didn’t move away.

Outside, the rain kept falling. Inside, their shoulders brushed — easy, comfortable, inevitable.

The showcase night. Lights swirl. Music pulses. The academy is filled with excited murmurs. Onstage, Maan and Maira are at the center — ready.

The music cues. They move like liquid — each beat more connected, each glance filled with fire. Chemistry electrifies their choreography — a blend of classical strength and modern flow.

As they hit the final move — a dramatic lift — Maira rises gracefully, resting her head just above Maan’s chest.

His heart races beneath her cheek. Her eyes close for half a second, soaking in the moment.

Lights dim. Silence.

Then—thunderous applause erupts from the audience and their fellow students.

They lower into a final bow, fingers brushing as they rise.
Just a flicker of a shared smile.

And in that brief moment, the lines between stage and reality begin to blur.

*

The city shimmered in the distance as Maira stood near the floor-to-ceiling window of the Rehearsal studio, phone in hand. Maan was busy listening to the playlist she prepared and humming softly. She smiled faintly — he was playing her rehearsal playlist again.

But her fingers hovered over the screen.

“Everything okay?” Maan called out and he dropped his earphones down to his neck.

She turned, eyes thoughtful. “I… think I need to call my parents and let them know about us making a decision of moving in!.”

He paused, then nodded slowly. “Of course. Take your time.”

*

Maira sat cross-legged on the edge of her studio bench, clutching her phone as the video call connected. The moment Diya’s face appeared on screen, Maira’s nerves simmered just a little. Rahul leaned in from behind her, his salt-and-pepper curls slightly tousled, holding a familiar white mug that read “RaMaYa!”—a handmade gift from her teenage years.

Diya’s brows lifted with concern the moment she saw Maira’s hesitance.

“Wait—what happened?” Diya blurted. “You didn’t twist your ankle again, did you? Is it the same leg?”

Rahul frowned, setting his mug down with a soft thunk. “Do you want me to come pick you up from the studio?”

Maira blinked in surprise, then laughed nervously, waving them off.

“No, no! I’m fine. Nothing’s broken, I swear.”

Rahul exhaled, mock-dramatically clutching his chest. “Okay, don’t scare your old man like that.”

Maira’s smile softened, then faded into something more serious.

“There’s actually… something I wanted to talk to you both about.”

Rahul sipped his coffee and sat back. “You’re not switching dance styles again, are you?”

“No,” she said with a slight laugh. “It’s about Maan.”

That did it. The air shifted just a bit. Diya and Rahul exchanged a knowing glance.

“Go on,” Diya prompted gently.

Maira tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice lowered.

“I really like him. And I think… this is more than just a passing phase. We’ve been spending a lot of time together lately. He respects me, Ma. He pushes me to be better, but never makes me feel like I’m not enough. He’s… calm when I’m chaotic. And he makes me laugh. Not just the surface kind, but the kind that makes you feel lighter.”

Rahul, ever the gentle anchor, asked softly, “You trust him?”

Maira nodded slowly. “More than I expected to.”

“And that’s why,” she continued, drawing in a breath, “I wanted to ask you both before I take the next step.”

Diya tilted her head. “Which is?”

“To move in with him. As a couple. I’ve never done anything like this before. And I didn’t want to hide it from you. I want to do this… respectfully. With your blessings.”

There was a moment of silence. Diya leaned back , a flicker of memory lighting up her eyes.

“You know,” she began, her tone laced with both reflection and mischief, “I used to be the kind of woman who believed a couple should only live together after marriage. That was something I had held a rule back then.”

Rahul chuckled, elbowing her lightly from his side of the frame. “But even if she did believe so, your mother Diya were the biggest flirt in your college days. Ask her about Shantanu uncle...I bet you didn't hear their story.”

Maira gasped, grinning. “You? A flirt, Ma?”

“Oh hush,” Diya laughed, her cheeks pinkening slightly. “Yes, I was a little… dramatic when it came to Shantanu. With Mayank, you know how your dad was right? Quite the charmer...but in front of your mom, I couldn't stand a chance.”

She paused, her expression softening as her gaze shifted toward Rahul.

“But when your Papa came into my life… it was different. We had our own rules. He was staying at my place, just like I did with your dad , but Live-in sort of thing happened when only Shweta aunty came into picture, so I guess that period of our relationship does qualify as a live in....but it was perfect just the way it was”

Rahul raised his mug again, smirking. “No regrets.”

Diya smiled warmly and turned back to the screen. “So who am I to impose limits, when the world—and love—looks different today?”

She leaned forward, sincerity anchoring her voice. “Maira, if this feels right to you… if it feels like home with him… we trust your choice.”

Rahul added with a mock-stern expression, “And if he ever breaks your heart, I still have that hockey stick in the garage.”

Maira wiped away the tear that had slipped down her cheek, smiling through it.

“I love you both,” she whispered.

“Go on, sweetheart,” Diya said, her voice catching slightly. “Build your story. But just one rule—weekly video calls, and we get to meet him properly next month.”

“You’ve got it,” Maira promised. “He wants that too.”

“And Maira,” Rahul added, narrowing his eyes. “Please text us before serious heart-to-heart conversations. Your mom almost fainted thinking you were limping into an ambulance.”

Maira burst into laughter. “Next time, I’ll send an emoji warning.”

They all laughed together, the sound stretching across cities, through the phone, and straight into Maira’s heart—a reminder that home, no matter how far, was always just a call away.

Maira ended the call, tears still glistening in her eyes. Maan stepped closer to her brushing his fingers on hers

She nodded, accepting it. “They said yes.”

He looked relieved. “I want them to know I’m serious about you too.”

Maira says softly, “Let’s do this. But slowly. Together.”

And under the warm glow of city lights, two dancers began a new rhythm — one that moved beyond the studio, into something real.

*

After agreeing to give their relationship a chance, Maan and Maira quietly shifted into the guest house on the Khurana estate. It was private yet close enough to the main house—allowing them a peaceful space of their own while still being enveloped by family warmth.

What began as a logistical decision for convenience during intense rehearsals soon blossomed into something deeply personal. They learned the rhythm of each other’s lives—the early wake-ups for practice, the silent comfort of tea shared before sunrise, the quirks of laundry schedules and cooking mishaps. Maira brought color into Maan’s otherwise disciplined world; Maan brought her calm when old anxieties crept in.

Evenings were often spent rehearsing together in the garden courtyard or watching reruns of dance shows, curled up under the same throw. Their connection, once tentative, began to root itself in these simple moments—shared meals, silly jokes, and gentle care. It was in this space that Maira realized she wasn’t just living with a partner—she was slowly building a life with one.

The Khurana family never imposed but was always present. Simran Singh Khurana, graceful and warm, would send across home-cooked food or gently check in with Maira like a mother who already considered her a daughter. Raj Khurana, dignified and slightly reserved, quietly observed their companionship with approving eyes. Maan’s elder brother Siddharth, ever the mischief-maker, teased them constantly, often dragging his fiancée Roshni into his pranks. But Roshni grew close to Maira, offering sisterly comfort, fashion tips, and the occasional wardrobe raid.

Though there was no label yet—no engagement, no public announcement—Maan and Maira were already living like a married couple, in the truest sense of the word. There were shared responsibilities, unspoken understanding, and the comfort of knowing someone would always be there at the end of a tiring day.

They laughed more. Fought less. And in quiet moments, both began to understand—this was love, not just in words or promises, but in the way life was now gently unfolding between them.

*

Aarti had always been a crowd favourite. Ever since she joined the academy, her fierce grace, years of comtemporary training and being part of a reality dance show where she was a co-contestant with Maan, and air of perfectionism had made her a mentor’s dream. For a long time, she'd believed that she would be the one partnered with Maan Singh Khurana—the academy’s star performer and heir to the Khurana hotel chain. Their early rehearsals had been technical, cold, but clean. She thought that was enough.

Then came Maira Sharma—a fresh-faced with more emotion in her little finger than Aarti could manage in an entire solo. At first, Aarti had underestimated her. A failed singer turned dancer. A girl with a complicated past. Temporary.

But things shifted. Maira didn’t just match Maan—she completed him on stage.

The chemistry was undeniable, their bodies moving with a synchrony that no amount of rehearsals could create. Among the many dance events they have been as part of Team Ignite, judges began complimenting their duets. Audiences mimicked their lifts. And worst of all, Maan began smiling more.

Aarti, for the first time, felt irrelevant.

The final blow came during the showcase rehearsal when their mentor praised Maan and Maira’s piece as “soulful... the best this academy has seen in years.” She had clapped like the rest, her palms stinging with forced admiration, her smile aching from effort.

Inside, she burned.

So she decided to do what she did best—eliminate the obstacle, one crack at a time.

First came the groundwork. Aarti casually befriended a few juniors, asked innocent questions about Maira’s background, and pieced together a fragile thread—Maira’s younger sister, Maysha Wadhwa, was a rising social media influencer with a penchant for trying exotic cuisines. When she found out about an upcoming food collaboration shoot Maysha had booked at a trendy fusion café near the academy, Aarti knew it was her window.

One hushed call to the restaurant manager, a discreet tip slipped to the chef, and Maysha was served seafood laced with spoiled cream sauce. By evening, she was throwing up violently at home. Maira received the call mid-practice.

“I have to go,” she told Maan, her face pale with panic. “It’s Maysha. Food poisoning.”

He nodded instantly, concern flickering in his eyes. “Go. I’ll cover the solo work till tomorrow.”

That was all Aarti needed.

That night, she lingered in the studio far longer than usual. When Maan reached for his post-rehearsal protein shake—his routine never changed—he didn’t notice the slight difference in taste. But minutes later, his eyelids grew heavy. His movements sluggish.

“Maan?” Aarti asked, concerned. “You okay?”

He slurred something about dizziness, shaking his head. She helped him into the dimly lit rest lounge, guiding him to the couch. The sedative she’d used wasn’t strong enough to knock him out, just... cloud his judgment. Maan blinked slowly, disoriented.

“You should rest. Just for a bit,” she whispered.

She adjusted the CCTV camera herself, positioning it to catch only what she wanted—the door closing, her entering the room after him.

She didn’t do anything beyond that. No touch. No real violation. But truth didn’t matter—perception did.

The next morning, Aarti stepped out of the lounge early, hair messy, lips lightly smeared with gloss she’d applied minutes before, jacket hanging just off her shoulder. A couple of juniors spotted her in the corridor. She gave them a tired smile. Let them draw their own conclusions.

By mid-morning, the whispers had begun.

“She stayed the night?”

“In the guest lounge? With Maan?”

“Did they—?”

Aarti didn’t confirm anything. She didn’t have to.

Later that day, she feigned vulnerability in front of the academy’s admin, subtly requesting that the lounge cameras not be “leaked”—implying far more than she ever actually said.

And just like that, the academy’s golden couple—Maan and Maira—began to tarnish.

The confrontation at the academy had been suffocating.

Three chairs. Three dancers. A room full of silence thick with judgment.

Aarti sat with lowered lashes, wringing her fingers just enough to look distressed but never guilty. Maira sat bolt upright, her arms folded, refusing to even glance at Maan. And Maan—helpless, wounded—struggled to piece together a night blurred by something he hadn’t consented to, hadn't even felt properly.

The admin panel spoke in careful tones. No accusations, only implications. They asked if Maan recalled the night. He said he didn’t, not clearly. They asked Aarti if she was sure. She never said yes. She never said no. Just nodded like a victim too tired to relive it.

When Maira was asked if she had any comment, she rose.

“No,” she said. “I don’t need to.”

And she walked out.

Back at the Khurana guest house, the air between her and Maan cracked like ice underfoot. Maira stood by the kitchen counter, slicing a fruit she wasn’t going to eat. Maan entered quietly, setting his keys down louder than he intended.

“Maira,” he began.

She didn’t turn. “You really expect me to believe you?”

“Maira, it’s not—”

“Don’t.” Her voice broke. “I’ve seen enough. I don’t trust you anymore.”

That hurt more than any accusation. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She just stood there, shoulders rigid, as if she’d snapped something inside to hold herself upright.

Maan took a few steps forward. “You’ve known me for months. You know I’d never—”

“And I thought I knew you,” she interrupted. “But tell me, Maan—what part of her story are you denying? That you were together in that room? That she was seen leaving early morning? That juniors overheard you both laughing earlier that week?”

His face was blank. “We weren’t laughing. I was helping her with a routine.”

She laughed bitterly. “Of course you were. Always the mentor. Always the gentleman.”

“Don’t do this,” he said, voice low. “You know how much you matter to me.”

“Do I?” She finally looked at him, eyes rimmed with disbelief. “Because right now, I feel like a fool who danced her heart out for a man who let another woman script his downfall.”

He stood still, taking the weight of each word like a blow to the chest.

“I’ll sleep in the rehearsal studio tonight,” she said quietly, wiping her hands and walking away.

That night, Maan didn’t sleep.

Neither did Maira.

And Aarti? She slept the deepest sleep of her life.

*

As memories faded before her eyes, it came into Maira’s realization how she is caught up between her impending divorce and her past that was waiting for her forgiveness, and her brother’s future which was ahead of her.

Suddenly she heard someone’s footsteps and became alerted and quickly wiped off her tears.

Maan called out to her “Maira?”

While trying to cover up a bit of tear she said “ with a smile “Yes Maan?”

“You are in tears? Were you crying? If asking for my forgiveness is causing you to shed a tear and leave in you this juggle of emotions then am sorry I won’t ask for you again for forgiveness”

“Maan…it’s actually” before she could speak up , Aanya rushed towards the terrace and called out her name “Maira…Ishaan is here to pick you up”.

“Ishaan?” her eyes welled in happiness and she quickly rushed to the edge of the terrace to catch a glimpse of him and she hugged Aanya “See you tomorrow Aanya”.

She went down to grab her duffle bag and she took out her mangalsutra pouch and her sindhoor box and went to washroom and she applied her sindhoor and mangalsutra and walked towards the parking lot being emotionally content to see him and she kissed him , he kissed her back and placed a soft peck on her forehead .Maan watched the couple’s moments from the terrace and it pricked him again seeing their them together.

“Why am I feeling the sense of jealousy when I should be happy for her that she is happily married and content in her relationship…but what was she about to tell me before her husband could come?”

He had questions for which he didn’t have answer to

*

Inside the car as Ishaan drove past by, Maira's hands were trying to reach out to Ishaan thinking that may be Ishaan now understands her otherwise why would he have come to pick her up after the fight.But before she could reach to his hands which was his gear, he tried to quickly move his hand just enough secs for her to pull back her hand and for the first time Maira experienced cold behavior and she was taken aback

"Ishaan?"

"Hmm"

"Why did you come all the way to pick me up?"

"So now even me picking you up finds you irritable? Or is it just my touch for a baby? only?"

"Ishaan! where are you taking this topic? I just asked you because since the fight I thought maybe you wanted to talk to me about the fight? Is things better between us? we aren't heading for a divorce right?".

"Was I the one to bring up the topic of divorce earlier? "

"No but I thought you might have considered my opinion regarding our marriage?"

"And my opinion? You had the share to decide for 5 years what could make of our marriage, my opinion didn't matter to you so I should say the same to you when you tried to kiss me all of a sudden?".

Ishaan parked the car side so that they could to talk without their emotions overpowering while was still on the steering wheel.

"Ishaan! You are my husband dammit, I have every right to kiss you."

"My consent? Did it matter to you"

"Ishaan please don't try to put this upon me.I just wasn't expecting your this gesture after our fight?"

"For the record wasn't it you that asked me to put on this act that we are yet a couple? So I coming to pick you up till our marriage last counts as a sign of my part of the deal".

"Deal? When did our marriage become a deal to you Ishaan? We aren't business partners, we are life-partners for godsake!".

"Yes we are but not ever since you tried to step away and now wanting to put up an act".

"Act? Deal? Ishaan I didnt meant it that way, I just wanted to enjoy every tiny bit of our marriage while it last and not the way you have assumed that how have comprehended our future months to be like",

"In that case, you can't have the tiny bit of my raw feelings when you didn't consider my feelings or opinions at all, from my side it's just the show for the world now just how you have played it to be".

"Ishaan".

"I will drop you off home, while I go to the hospital.I don't want our act to be jeopardize by calling a driver for you after our second argument".

And just like for the first time between Maira and Ishaan there was long silence in the car until Ishaan dropped Maira home.For Maira, the silence was her killing her from within a slow poison that she poured into the food of love, she starts to overthink about her actions and reactions for ruining something so beautiful that they shared.For Ishaan, the silence was a death sentence that was given to him for the crime which he never committed.And silence slowly started to crack their marriage.