Page 150 of Mrs. Rathore

Kavya pulled me into her arms, rubbing my back. “Don’t… please don’t,” she whispered gently. “I’m just glad you came to your senses. If I had found out later, I swear I would have killedyou,” she added playfully, and I let out a broken laugh through the tears.

“Come here,” Noor said softly. I sat on the stool beside her, my eyes lowered, unable to meet hers. “I’m glad you realized your mistake. Sadaf helped you.”

“Wow… Sadaf. Beautiful name,” Kavya said, brushing her finger over the baby’s cheek. “She looks just like you.”

“I honestly can’t even tell what she looks like,” I smiled through sniffles. “She’s just... a ball of white cotton to me.”

Kavya started cracking jokes, lightening the heavy air. We laughed softly, but genuinely, as the weight in my chest loosened. We talked about babies, motherhood, and dreams. I told them I wished for a baby girl like Noor’s, but if it was a boy, I would be just as happy; he would be a little Aryan.

Kavya said she wanted twins so they would always have each other, no matter what life brought. Noor laughed and said she wanted to return one baby right now because she was still trying to build her career.

But as they spoke, my thoughts drifted to Aryan.

Was he thinking about me? Missing me? Or had he already moved on… planning a life with Ira, who could give him children without hesitation?

The thought of him with her twisted something dark inside me.

Selfish or not, I wanted Aryan and all of him. ______

Chapter 61

AVNI

The auditorium hummed with a vibrant energy, the one I had known all my life. The chandeliers sparkled above rows of eager faces, and the sweet perfume of jasmine garlands filled my lungs like a soothing memory.

From behind the velvet curtain, I glimpsed the grand stage, bathed in a golden wash of lights. Then, the announcer’s voice boomed across the hall, sending a sharp shiver down my spine:

“Up next, representing Jaipur Gharana… Avni Rathore.”

God, I was nervous as hell. I didn’t know if I could do it or if my body would even let me, but I had no choice. Do or die.

“You see how excited they are…” I whispered, gently caressing my seven-months-pregnant belly. It had grown rounder with every passing day, stretching my limits, physically and emotionally. I smiled faintly and closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. I did the exercise to calm the storm. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Then I heard them, the whispers rippling through the crowd like dry leaves in the wind.

“Isn’t she the dancer from the accident?”

“She’s pregnant… she won’t actually perform, will she?”

My grip tightened around the ghungroos as my jaw locked. People always had something to say, especially about things they would never dare to do themselves.

I knelt, tying the heavy ankle bells, wrapping them with extra care. My maroon silk anarkali clung softly to my frame, my pregnant belly rising like a proud peak beneath the intricate embroidery. My sheer dupatta rested on one shoulder like a whisper of courage. The same one I wore on my wedding day. Maybe Aryan wasn’t here beside me, but I had brought his memories with me.

This dupatta, his ghungroos, the sacred necklace at my throat, and the vermillion still bright in my hairline.

You’re with me, Aryan, and you always were.

I filled my lungs with resolve. This stage had once been taken from me. I had thought I would never see it again. But tonight… Tonight it was mine, and I would bring it back to life with my dance.

I had practiced this piece for over a year. I wasn’t going to let anything stop me now.

With a broad smile, I stepped forward and bowed my head. I took position and nodded to the musicians.

The tabla struck its first beat… dha… deep and resonant. I stepped into the light.

And I began.

Every movement was deliberate and sacred. My feet tapped in rhythmic defiance, shaking the stage with every pirouette. My eyes sparkled with fire, and my hands painted stories in the air, stories of longing, of resilience, of a woman reclaiming her soul.

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