Chapter 11 : The Last Duet

They stayed wrapped in each other for a few minutes longer, until the sun had fully risen and the city had begun to stir with movement.

Eventually, reality returned.

“We should go,” she said softly, though she didn’t move.

“Yeah,” he agreed, but his arms tightened for one last second before letting her sit upright.

The drive toward the NMACC Dance Academy Competition was quieter. Not awkward—just aware. The kind of quiet that comes before stepping into two separate roles.

As they neared the venue, the distant barricades and early media vans became visible.

Maan slowed the car.

“I’ll stop here,” he said, eyes scanning ahead. “Paps are already hovering near the main entrance.”

He halted a little away from the crowd, right where her team’s car was parked, waiting. Her teammates spotted her immediately and stepped out to take small mini suitcase from the dickey—the only thing she carried. Just her essentials. The production team had arranged a featured designer outfit for her to change into backstage before the event began.

Inside the car, their fingers were still interlaced when he halted.

He looked at her.

She glanced around discreetly, making sure no one except her team could see them. Satisfied, she turned back to him.

“See you inside, babe.”

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead softly.

She pushed the door open slightly and about to come out, then paused.

“Maan,” she whispered.

He looked at her.

He understood immediately.

Because he wanted it too.

He reached for her at the same time she leaned in.

Their lips met—quick at first, then softer, deeper, memorizing. Not reckless. Not careless. Just intentional. This was the last moment they could be this close before stepping into a hall where they would have to stand apart—coach and contestant, nothing more.

When they pulled apart, he brushed his thumb lightly against her jaw.

“Text me after you’ve had the production breakfast,” he said. “Don’t skip it in nervousness.”

She rolled her eyes playfully. “Yes, coach.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.” She softened. “I’ll text you.”

“Good,” he said. “And behave like a chief guest. Not like my girlfriend.”He winked at her. He said so indicating to her about she had said earlier at the sunrise point, about making her jealous".

She smirked. “We’ll see.”

She stepped out of the car, shutting the door carefully. She didn’t look back immediately. She walked toward her team first, adjusting her bag strap, slipping into competitor mode.

Only when she reached her car did she allow herself one glance over her shoulder.

Maan was still there.

Watching.

Then his expression shifted—professional, composed.

Both cars rolled forward toward the entrance, arriving separately as he gave took 5 mins gap of a distance before arriving at the entrance, so that their cars won't be spotted together entering.

Just as Ishaan’s car rolled to a smooth halt outside the venue, he stepped out first and walked around to her side.

Maira opened the door, adjusting the strap of her duffle bag before stepping down carefully. The early buzz of the competition hummed around them—assistants running with headsets, dancers stretching in corners, production staff checking lists.

Ishaan opened the trunk and pulled out her suitcase and costume bag without a word.

“You don’t have to carry it till the vanity,” she said softly. “You’ll get late for your shift.”

“It’s fine,” he replied automatically, already walking a few steps beside her.

She stopped him gently. “Ishaan. Really. I can manage from here.”

He looked at her for a second, measuring whether to argue. Then he exhaled. “Fine.”

He set the bags down beside her and adjusted the handle.

“All the best,” he said, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “Go win, Mrs. Khanna.”

She smiled at that—small, warm, familiar.

“Thank you,” she replied.

From a short distance away, having just stepped out of his own car, Maan witnessed the exchange.

His eyes lingered on the forehead kiss.

On the ease between them.

On the way she smiled.

Under his breath, almost inaudible, he muttered, “Sab dikhawa hai,” and scoffed lightly, jaw tightening before he looked away.

Near the vanity corridor, Maysha had already arrived and was coordinating with the production team about her chief guest appearance. But the moment she spotted Maira and Ishaan near the entrance, waving each other goodbye, her face lit up.

She rushed toward them just as Ishaan was getting back into his car.

“Bye, Jeeju!” she called out loudly, waving enthusiastically. “Baad mein aana zaroor haan!”

Ishaan chuckled through the rolled-down window and nodded. “I’ll try,” he said, lifting his hand in a small wave toward both sisters.

Maira waved back.

The car pulled away smoothly.

Maysha slipped her arm around Maira’s shoulder. “You look nervous.”

“I’m not,” Maira replied automatically.

“You are.”

Maira exhaled faintly, but didn’t deny it this time.

From across the entrance area, Maan watched the sisters walk in together—

one glowing in quiet domestic certainty, the other unaware of the storm quietly unfolding between all of them.

It was time.

The vanity door opened slowly.

Maysha stepped out draped in a breathtaking pink saree that blended softness with power. The fabric hugged her frame gracefully, the fall of it structured yet fluid, the blouse tailored to perfection. Her hair was styled in loose waves swept over one shoulder, statement earrings catching the light with every step.

Her manager walked slightly ahead, clearing the path, while her spot girl carefully held the edge of her pallu so it wouldn’t brush the ground.

Outside buzzed.

And then—

The gates were opened to the media line.

Cameras flashed instantly.

“Maysha! This side!”

“Over here!”

“One more solo pose please!”

She paused perfectly at the mark.

Turned slightly.

Gave them her look reveal.

The saree shimmered under the lights as she adjusted the pallu delicately over her arm. She offered a composed smile first—then, in her signature playful style, blew a few flying kisses toward the cameras.

A final wave.

And she walked inside.

Inside the grand auditorium, the contestants’ seating section was already filled with coaches and lead dancers. Their respective teams waited backstage in the green room, warming up, stretching, rehearsing counts under their breath.

Among the participants seated on the sofa were Maan and Maira.

Maira sat upright, hands folded in her lap, composed but inwardly steadying her breath.

Beside her, Maan leaned back slightly, outwardly relaxed, inwardly alert.

On stage, the three judges took their seats:

— A renowned Bollywood choreographer known for blockbuster dance numbers.

— A respected guru trained in classical and folk traditions.

— And a viral street dance icon famous for sensational, high-energy moves that dominated social media.

The host walked to center stage, voice bright and commanding.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the NMACC Dance Academy Championship!”

Applause thundered.

He introduced the judges one by one, acknowledged the sponsors, greeted the live audience, and then turned toward the main camera.

“And now, we invite on stage our chief guest for tonight — someone who needs no introduction. Content Creator, Actress, and Youth Icon… please welcome… Maysha Wadhwa!”

The spotlight shifted.

Maysha walked onto the stage with measured grace, folding her hands in a respectful namaste before waving warmly to the audience.

The applause swelled again.

Maan couldn't take his eyes off Maysha as she was looking like a siren to him.The confidence in her walk.Her saree perfecting her curves.Her hair.. he murmured under his breathe—

“She is gorgeous… kaash mujhe pehle mili hoti.”

The host complimented her, “You look absolutely ravishing this evening".

and it did something irrational to Maan. A flicker of possessiveness sparked in his chest.

Beside him, Maira kept her gaze fixed on the stage, unaware of the storm quietly brewing inches away.

Cameras panned across the coaches’ row.

Maan straightened immediately, smoothing his expression into polite professionalism. No twitch. No reaction. Just a respectful nod as the applause settled.As cameras were around he had to be caution.

“Thank you so much,” she replied gracefully. “It feels special to be here, especially among such incredible talent.”she added

The host gestured toward the contestants’ section. “Any favorites already?”

She laughed lightly. “I’m here to support everyone equally.”

Her eyes travelled to find her sister and Maan, paused and then mmediately shifted to others

Maysha took her cheif guest seat.

The host smiled as the applause settled and gestured toward the stage screen behind him.

“Now that we have our chief guest with us,” he began energetically, “let me take a moment to explain how tonight is going to unfold.”

The large LED screen lit up with the competition logo.

“There will be a total of four rounds.”

A ripple of excitement moved through the audience.

“Round One will be a Group Act. Each academy will present a full-team performance that reflects their style, strength, and signature choreography.”

Cameras briefly cut to the green rooms where the groups sat ready.

“Round Two will be a Solo Spotlight Round. After watching all the group performances, our judges will decide which performer stood out the most from each academy's group act, those selected artists will then perform solo for the second round.

The judges nodded

“Round Three,” he continued with a playful glance toward Maysha, “is something special.”

The audience cheered.

“This will be the Reels Round. On the projector, we will showcase the dance reels our chief guest, Maysha Wadhwa, created with each academy’s lead dancer. And in the case of Nrittrang Dance Academy…”

The camera panned toward Maan.

“…their coach himself.”

A subtle shift passed across Maan’s face, but he maintained composure.

“In this round, our judges will evaluate which academy’s lead dancer shares the best chemistry with our chief guest — in terms of coordination, expressions, energy, and overall impact. Marks will be awarded accordingly to the academies.”

The audience whistled at the idea.

“And finally,” he said, voice lowering with emphasis, “Round Four — the Duet Round.”

A dramatic pause.

“This round will be judged solely by our chief guest.”

The camera zoomed in on Maysha. She smiled politely, adjusting her mic.

“Her scores will then be tallied with the cumulative scores from the judges across the first three rounds. And the academy with the highest total will be crowned the winner of tonight’s NMACC Dance Academy Championship.”

The hall erupted in applause.

The host’s voice echoed through the auditorium.

“And now, let’s begin Round One — the Group Dance Battle! First up… Team Ignite representing Nrittrang Dance Academy!”

Cheers erupted from the green room as Team Ignite took the stage.

The music hit.

Maan stood at center formation, Maira to his right, Aanya to his left . Behind and around them, the entire Team Ignite crew moved as one unit.

Morni Baga Ma Bole Aadhi Raat Ma

Morni Baga Ma Bole Aadhi Raat Ma

Ghanan Ghan Goliyan Ghanan Ghan Goliyan

Hai Chal Gayi Dekh Raat Ma

Goliyan Hai Chal Gayi Raat Ma

Morni Baga Ma Bole Aadhi Raat Ma

Morni Baga Ma Bole Aadhi Raat Ma

The choreography was sharp yet fluid — synchronized footwork rippling across all members, powerful transitions executed in perfect symmetry, expressions landing on every beat. Formations expanded and collapsed like waves, each dancer locking into position with precision.

Aake Khada Ho Jo Apne Barabar
Har Bande Ki Auqaat Nahi Hai
Ab Koi Badhiya Sa Dushman Chahiye
Inke Bas Ki Baat Nahi Hai

Lambo Mein Baitha Main Naada Hai Lamka
Nike Ke Joote Lv Ka Gamchha
Yaar Hai Saare Koi Sa Na Chamcha
Masle Hain Bhaari Haath Hai Hlka

Aankh Mile To Na Aankh Jhapakti
Roti Baasi Pyaaz Ki Chatni
Din Ho Kisi Ka Bhi Raatein Hain Apni
Mehfil Teri Baat Hain Apni

Dab Mein Pade Hain Udan Khatole
Seedha Upar Ulta Jo Bole
Nikle Shareer Se Phur Phur
Karti Hui Fir Aatma

Lifts were seamless, levels changed dynamically, and every diagonal shift felt intentional.A collective force.Every crew member held their energy until the final beat, bodies freezing in a dramatic, perfectly aligned last pose — chests rising, eyes fierce, sweat glistening under the stage lights.

Morni Baga Ma Bole Aadhi Raat Ma

Morni Baga Ma Bole Aadhi Raat Ma

Ghanan Ghan Goliyan Ghanan Ghan Goliyan

Hai Chal Gayi Dekh Raat Ma

Goliyan Hai Chal Gayi Raat Ma

Morni Baga Ma Bole Aadhi Raat Ma

When the music cut, the applause was thunderous for their group act.

Back in her seat, Maysha clapped gracefully, eyes instinctively finding Maan for a second longer than necessary.

One by one, the other academies performed their group acts — hip-hop, contemporary, classical fusion — each bringing something distinct.

Then came the judges’ decision for the standout performers.

The Bollywood choreographer leaned toward his mic. “From Nrittrang Dance Academy… the performer who truly stood out in expression and timing…”

A pause.

“Aanya Singh.”

The spotlight fell on Aanya.

Maira’s smile froze for a millisecond.

Her heart had hoped.

But she clapped immediately, cheering loudly for Aanya. Everyone deserved their moment, she reminded herself. The spotlight was never meant to belong to just one person.

Maan too nodded in approval, pride flashing in his eyes for his team member.

The judges continued naming standout performers from the other academies.

Aanya’s solo was electrifying — controlled spins, expressive eyes, flawless musicality. The other selected dancers followed, each delivering their best.

san sanan sanan sanan ja re o pavan

dur desh leja sandesh jaha mere sajan

ja re o pavan

chhu ke charan kehna pavan

birha agan ab ho na sehen

tan hai yaha aur praan waha

meri puja yaha aur bhagwan waha

ye duri sahe kaise man ki mayuri

ye duri sahe kaise man ki mayuri

barste hai naino ke dhan o ho

san sanan sanan sanan ja re o pavan

din na kate dukh na ghate

tumse laga nahi dhyan hate

tufano me hai jalta diya

ab tum bin jina kathin hai piya

ya tum chale aao ya mujhko bulao

karo koi aisa jatan

san sanan sanan sanan ja re o pavan

dur desh leja sandesh jaha mere sajan

ja re o pavan

Soon other performers started to do their solos.

The host then announced it was time for Round 3 , Reels Round.

The projector flickered to life.

Clips began playing — Maysha dancing with different academy lead dancers, each reel shot with creativity and charisma.

Then came the one with Maan.

A soft murmur passed through the hall.On screen, their chemistry was undeniable — effortless lifts, teasing expressions, perfect rhythm.

Across the contestants’ row, Maira watched the screen.

At first, it was casual observation — professional curiosity. But as the reel progressed, as the chemistry between her sister and Maan unfolded so effortlessly before everyone, something tightened unexpectedly within her.

A faint flicker of jealousy.

Though when earlier Ishaan had shown her the reel, she didnt react much because she was caution around Ishaan to not let her feelings show that she does get jealous when she sees someone else with Maan and now when she again sees the reel sees the undeniable ease between them, the comfort in their movements, the intensity in their eye contact. It wasn’t exaggerated for the camera. It wasn’t forced.It was real.And for a fleeting second, it unsettled her.

Not because she wanted him back — she had made her peace with that chapter with her ending their relationship by labeling him as a cheater — but because seeing her own sister share that undeniable spark with someone who had once been hers felt strangely disorienting.She masked it quickly, schooling her expression into neutrality.But the flicker had been there.

As the reel played. In the contestants’ row, Maan felt the shift in atmosphere but barely registered it. His attention had already moved elsewhere.He looked at her.Across the stage, seated in her pink saree under the judge’s spotlight, Maysha felt his gaze and turned.Their eyes met.And just like that, the noise of the auditorium began to recede.The projector light blurred into something softer.The crowded auditorium — judges, contestants, cameras, sponsors — began to fade into the background of their awareness.In that suspended second, the world rearranged itself.The stage, in their minds, stood empty.No contestants waiting in the wings.No judges with scorecards.No host narrating every breath.Just the two of them.

Still in their current outfits — her in the pink saree, him in his black costume — but the setting transformed into a silent spotlight.

And somewhere in the quiet of imagination, “Zara Zara Behekta Hai” began to play.

Zara Zara Behekta Hai

Mehakta Hai Aaj Toh Mera

Tann Badan Main Pyasi Hoon

Mujhe Bhar Le Apni Baahon Mein

They moved slowly, romantically — no choreography, just instinct. His hand at her waist, her fingers brushing his shoulder.

Zara Zara Behekta Hai

Mehakta Hai Aaj Toh Mera

Tann Badan Main Pyasi Hoon

Mujhe Bhar Le Apni Baahon Mein

A spin that ended closer than appropriate. A gaze that lingered longer than safe.It wasn’t performance.

Hai Meri Kasam Tujhko Sanam

Door Kahin Na Ja

Yeh Doori Kehti Hai

Paas Mere Aaja Re

Aaja Re Aa Re

Tadpaye Mujhe
Teri Sabhi Baatein
Ek Baar Ae Deewaane

Jhootha Hi Sahi
Pyaar Toh Kar

Main Bhooli Nahi
Haseen Mulakaatein
Bechain Karke Mujhko
Mujhse Yoon Na Pher Nazar

Roothega Na Mujhse
Mere Sathiya Yeh Vaada Kar
Tere Bina Mushkil Hai
Jeena Mera Mere Dilbar

Zara Zara Behekta Hai
Mehakta Hai Aaj Toh Mera
Tann Badan Main Pyasi Hoon
Mujhe Bhar Le Apni Baahon Mein

Hai Meri Kasam Tujhko Sanam
Door Kahin Na Ja
Yeh Doori Kehti Hai

Paas Mere Aaja Re

Aaja Re Aaja Re

Aaja Re

It was something softer.Something private.The applause from reality crashed into them as the reel ended.The fantasy shattered.The rest of the reels played, and the judges made notes.

He stepped toward her slowly, as if afraid sudden movement might shatter the moment. His hand found her waist — not possessive, not hesitant — simply certain. She responded without thought, fingers gliding up to rest against his shoulder, feeling the solid warmth beneath the fabric.No choreography guided them.No counts marked their timing.They moved on instinct.

She turned beneath his arm, the pleats of her saree swaying in a soft arc. When she came back into him, the distance between them narrowed until breath mingled. His forehead hovered near hers, close enough to feel, not quite touching.Her lashes lifted.His gaze held.There was no audience to impress. No cameras to perform for.

Only the quiet pull that existed when two people understood a rhythm beyond music.

The song swelled in their imagined space, and he drew her closer, slower, as though savoring every fraction of the moment. Her hand pressed lightly against his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath. The world outside that spotlight ceased to matter.It wasn’t about reels.It wasn’t about competition.It wasn’t even about winning.It was something softer.Something dangerously unguarded.And then—Applause thundered.The sound crashed through their reverie like glass breaking.On screen, the reel ended in a freeze-frame of their final pose.The next reels began to play. The audience reacted again. Pens scratched against paper as the judges evaluated expressions, synchronization, chemistry.But somewhere between imagination and reality, they both carried the echo of a dance no one else had seen.

Just before Round Four, the auditorium doors opened quietly.

Ishaan entered and took a seat among the audience.Maira’s eyes, almost subconsciously, scanned the crowd.And then she saw him.Her face lit up instantly.He smiled and gave her a small reassuring nod.

Maan followed her line of sight.And saw Ishaan.A faint stiffness settled in his jaw.He knew their marriage would officially end in a few days. He knew what this phase was.But watching them share those small, comfortable glances — the kind born out of years of knowing someone — stirred something sharp inside him.Jealousy.Even though he told himself it shouldn’t matter.

“Contestants for the Duet Round, please take your positions.”

Maan and Maira walked towards the backstage stage with other contestants and when it was their turn.

They stood on the stage and the music began.Something shifted.

Phir kahin dil ne mehsoos kiya tha

Ik dafa phir se zinda ye huaa tha

Nazar jo aaya tu toh jeena aaya

Nazar se phir kyun tu gum ho gaya

Pal mein hi

As they danced, the choreography stopped being steps.It became memory.Every lift reminded them of rehearsals from when they were dating.Every near-touch carried old longing.

Haan tere intezaar hai

Kahaan karaar hai

Hai teri aas hi dil ko

Haan beshumaar hai

Bayaan karoon kaise

Tera intezar hai

Tera intezar hai

Tera intezar hai

The chemistry wasn’t forced.It was lived for one last grand time.Yearning flashed in their expressions. Passion flickered in their proximity. The unspoken misunderstandings between them translated into tension-filled pauses and powerful eye contact.

Na meri kami, na teri khataa

Mohabbat mein dono ne paayi sazaa

Dil mein nahi wafaayein thi kam

Magar waqt humpe na tha meherbaan

The audience was mesmerized.Maysha watched carefully from the judge’s seat.A small knot tightened in her chest.The chemistry between them was intense — almost intimate.For a fleeting second, jealousy brushed against her.After all, she was dating Maan.But she exhaled slowly.It’s just performance.And she allowed herself to appreciate the artistry instead.

Kisi kahaani mein tu hoga mera

Haan uss kahani mein

Milna mujhe phir kahin

Haan tera intezaar hai

Kahaan karaar hai

Hai teri aas hi dil ko

Haan beshumaar hai

Bayaan karoon kaise

Tera intezaar hai

Tera intezaar hai

Tera intezaar hai

In the audience, Ishaan watched without a trace of discomfort.No jealousy.Only admiration.He knew what performance demanded.On stage, Maan and Maira ended their duet in a dramatic final pose — breathless, inches apart.

Tera intezaar hai

Tera intezaar hai

Tera intezaar hai

Tera intezaar hai

The auditorium erupted in applause.And somewhere between claps and camera flashes, every heart in that hall was carrying a different emotion.

The stage lights brightened once more, golden and expectant.

The host stepped forward, cue cards in hand, his voice carrying the thrill of culmination.

“And now,” he announced, pausing just long enough to let the anticipation build, “it is time for the cumulative scores from our esteemed judges and our chief guest, Maysha Wadhwa.”

A wave of cheers rolled through the auditorium.

“Let’s find out who wins the NMACC Dance Academy Competition 2026… along with a whopping cash prize of fifty lakhs! And of course, our runner-up academy will be awarded twenty-five lakhs.”

The contestants exchanged nervous glances. Hands intertwined. Shoulders straightened.

“I would like to call upon our honorable judges and our lovely chief guest on stage.”

One by one, the judges rose from their seats. The Bollywood choreographer adjusted his blazer. The street dance sensation flashed a confident grin. The respected female dance guru — draped elegantly in a traditional saree — made her way carefully toward the stage.

The host stepped down to assist.

With gentle courtesy, he offered his hand first to the dance guru, helping her ascend the steps. Then he turned to Maysha.

She gathered the pleats of her pink saree slightly, accepting his hand with grace as she stepped onto the stage. The spotlight caught the subtle shimmer of her attire, and the audience applauded once more.

When all were in position, the host resumed.

“Before we announce the winner, I would like to extend our heartfelt gratitude to our competition sponsors, our digital and media partners, and of course, to Mrs. Nita Ambani for creating this incredible platform through NMACC that continues to nurture and celebrate talent across the country.”

The auditorium echoed with appreciative applause.

A drumroll began softly in the background.

The host turned toward Maysha, holding out the envelope.

“And now, I request our chief guest to do the honors.”

For a fraction of a second, the hall seemed to hold its breath.

Maysha accepted the envelope. Her fingers were steady, though her heart carried the weight of what this meant — not just as a chief guest, but personally.

She opened the card.

Her eyes scanned the name.

A smile bloomed.

“And the winner of NMACC’s Dance Academy Competition 2026…”

A deliberate pause.

“…goes to Nrittrang Dance Academy!”

The auditorium exploded.

In the green room, Aanya gasped before bursting into tears of disbelief. Maira’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes shining as she turned immediately toward Aanya.

“We did it!” Aanya cried.

Maira pulled her into a tight hug, both of them laughing through tears. Months of rehearsals. Bruised feet. Doubts. All dissolving into this one overwhelming moment.

Out on the contestants’ floor, Maan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

When Maira reached him, he didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her in a quick, firm hug — pride evident in his eyes.

“You deserved this,” he said softly.

The entire crew of Team Ignite rushed together, forming a chaotic group embrace before being ushered toward the stage.

They climbed up amidst deafening cheers, confetti cannons bursting overhead in shimmering gold.

The trophy gleamed under the lights as it was handed over.

Maan and Aanya held it first, then pulled Maira in so all three could grip it together. The rest of the crew gathered around them, laughter and tears mixing freely.

A representative handed over the oversized cheque — ₹50,00,000 boldly printed across it.

Cameras flashed relentlessly.

Photos were clicked — with the judges, with Maysha, with the trophy raised high. Arms slung around shoulders. Victorious smiles captured forever.

From the audience, Ishaan stood and applauded genuinely.

On stage, under the blinding lights, surrounded by her team, Maira felt something settle within her — pride, closure, achievement — all at once.

And as the confetti continued to fall, the night ended not just with a winner,

but with a story that had unfolded in dance, emotion, rivalry, and quiet realizations.

The green room was alive with noise — laughter bouncing off the mirrors, makeup artists squeezing past dancers, someone replaying snippets of the winning performance on a phone. The trophy sat at the center table, surrounded by water bottles, half-opened makeup kits, and glittering costume pieces hastily discarded in celebration.

Maan stood near one corner with a few crew members, animatedly breaking down moments from the group act.

“That lift in the second chorus? Perfect timing,” he said, clapping one of the boys on the shoulder. “That’s where we sealed it.”

Across the room, Aanya was still flushed with excitement, recounting her solo highlights to Maira.

“I thought I’d mess up that final spin,” Aanya laughed breathlessly. “My ankle almost gave up!”

“You didn’t show it for a second,” Maira grinned. “You owned that stage.”

The door to the green room opened quietly amidst the commotion.

Ishaan stepped in.

He wasn’t part of the chaos, yet he carried a calm presence that contrasted with the frenzy. His eyes scanned the room before settling on Maira.

She noticed him instantly.

Aanya followed her gaze and straightened.

Ishaan walked toward them with an easy smile. “Congratulations,” he said warmly, first to Aanya. “That solo was outstanding.”

Aanya beamed. “Thank you, Jeeju.”

Then he turned to Maira. There was no dramatic pause, no heaviness — just a quiet sincerity in his expression.

“You were incredible,” he said softly. “All of you were.”

“Thank you,” she replied, her smile.

He didn’t stop there. Ishaan made his way around the room, shaking hands with the other crew members, congratulating them individually for the group act. His appreciation felt genuine, not obligatory.

Maan noticed him then.

Their eyes met briefly across the room — not hostile, not friendly. Just aware.

Maira moved quickly after that, as if remembering something. She grabbed her small suitcase and the extra garment bag she had brought, stuffing in stray accessories and makeup pouches with practiced efficiency.

“I’ll just pack this up,” she murmured to Aanya.

Before she could lift the bag properly, Ishaan reached for it.

“I’ve got it,” he said simply.

She didn’t argue.

He adjusted the duffle bag so it rested securely over the trolley handle, gripping both the duffle strap and the trolley handle together in one arm with ease.

Ishaan then asked Maira about Maysha

"Where is Maysha? Doesn't she want to come with us? I can drop her." he asked as a concered brother-in-law

"Actually Maysha messaged me that she wanted to meet a friend along the way so she decided not to come with us, so it's okay".

"Cool then".

As they headed toward the exit of the green room, they nearly collided with Maan who had just turned the corner.

For a second, the three of them stood in a small, suspended triangle of awareness.

Maira broke it first.

“Maan,” she said lightly, “this is Ishaan.”

Then turning slightly, “Ishaan, this is Maan — coach of Nrittrang.”

The introduction was simple. Direct.

Maan extended his hand. “Nice to finally meet you.”

Ishaan took it firmly. “Likewise. And congratulations. Your academy truly deserved the win.”

“Thank you,” Maan replied, his tone controlled but polite. “You must be proud.”

“I am,” Ishaan said, glancing briefly at Maira. “They worked hard.”

There was something unspoken in that glance — years of shared understanding, of witnessing each other’s ambitions.

“Well, we should head out before the traffic builds,” Ishaan added.

Maira nodded.

As they stepped into the corridor leading toward the parking lot, the celebration noise faded behind them. The hallway lights were softer, calmer.

The trolley wheels rolled smoothly over the marble floor.

Without thinking, almost instinctively, Maira slipped her hand around Ishaan’s arm for support — not dramatic, not romantic — just familiar. Her fingers rested lightly against his sleeve as she walked beside him. The duffle bag balanced against the trolley, and he steadied everything effortlessly with one arm while adjusting his pace to hers.

It was a small gesture.

Subtle.

But intimate in its normalcy.

Back in the doorway of the green room, Maan stood still.

He watched them.

There was something steady between them.Jealousy rose in Maan’s chest, sharper this time.Their marriage was ending. Officially, in just a few days.He knew that.He had reminded himself of it countless times.But watching her hand rest so naturally on Ishaan’s arm unsettled him more than any argument could have.Love didn’t always disappear with signatures and court dates.Sometimes it softened.Sometimes it reshaped itself into something quieter but just as deep.And that kind of ending — dignified, mature, unresentful — was harder to compete with than a broken one.Because broken endings leave space to replace.Peaceful endings leave space to remember.Maan exhaled slowly, his jaw tightening despite himself.He told himself it shouldn’t matter.He told himself the present was his.But as he watched them disappear down the corridor together, something inside him burned with a jealousy he couldn’t quite silence.Because no matter how it ended —there had once been a beginning.And some beginnings never truly loosen their hold.

Earlier that evening, in the middle of the chaos backstage, Maan had sent her a simple message:

Be ready after pack-up. I’ll pick you up from the same spot where I dropped you in the morning.

She had only replied with a short Okay ❤️ before getting pulled into post-show formalities.

Now, as the celebrations wound down and the green room emptied, Maysha stepped in her own comfortable clothes — fitted jeans, a soft top, minimal makeup.

His car was already there.

He stepped out the moment he saw her approaching

He walked around and opened the passenger door for her without a word.

She smiled faintly at the gesture and slid inside.

Before closing the door, he took the mini suitcase from her team member approaching him. “Thanks bud,” he said casually.

He placed it carefully into the dickey, shut it firmly, and gave a nod of thanks to her team. Their car drove off soon after.

Then he got into the driver’s seat.

As he started the engine, her hand quietly reached for his.

His fingers laced with hers instantly.

He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other holding hers — thumb brushing gently against her skin.

When they finally reached near her house — the same quiet corner he had dropped her that morning — he slowed the car and parked discreetly.

She turned slightly toward him.

“I have sent you what you asked for,” she said softly, a playful glint in her eyes. “From the vanity after the packup just before I could change.”

He smirked, already knowing what she meant.

“Thanks, Maysha,” he murmured, his voice lowering. “And you know… in the auditorium today, you were looking so mesmerizing. Like a siren.”

She raised a brow.

“I literally got possessive when he complimented you,” he added, almost grudgingly.

She chuckled, the sound warm and amused. “You and your jealousy.”

“I’m serious,” he said, though his tone softened. “Couldn’t even react. Cameras everywhere.”

She leaned back slightly, still smiling at how transparent he could be.

“Oh, by the way,” she added casually, as if it had just crossed her mind, “you’re coming tomorrow. Rudra and Palki’s wedding. Be my plus one.”

He didn’t even pause.

“Yes.”

The answer was immediate.

A little too immediate.

“I’d love to,” he continued smoothly, masking the flicker of calculation behind enthusiasm. “This is amazing. I can’t wait to be there for your brother’s wedding. And thanks for inviting me.”

Inside, however, something else stirred.

This was perfect.

A family wedding meant proximity. Conversations. Observations. A chance to see dynamics unfold without suspicion. To understand what had truly happened between Maira and Ishaan.And maybe… to ask the question that had never fully died inside him.His reason for stepping into Maysha’s life as more than just a rebound — it was slowly taking shape.

He leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her.She hugged him back without hesitation.

When they slowly pulled apart, their faces remained dangerously close. Breath mingled. Neither moved away.Their lips hovered inches apart.He closed the gap first.A soft, lingering kiss.Their lips hovered inches apart.He closed the gap first.A soft, lingering kiss.

He watched as she walked toward her house, suitcase rolling behind her.

Only when she disappeared inside did he finally get back into his car.

And as he drove away, a quiet determination settled in him.

Tomorrow wouldn’t just be a wedding.

It would be answers.