With the class over, Ridha couldn’t decide why she was happy. Was it because she learnt something new, or because this ordeal was over? But when did dancing become a task. She shoved away all the thoughts, hoping to tackle them with fresh energy.
She picked up her cloth bag, put her ghunghroo in it, and was ready to leave. She wiped her forehead with the corner of her dupatta but ended up smudging her black bindi. It now formed a tick mark across her forehead.
‘Hey! You are very graceful when you dance. I could help you with some of the steps in the next class.’ A young guy with an athletic build and curly hair springing out in all directions, said to her.
He wore a light kurta that was drenched in sweat, and half a dozen discolored threads on his wrist.
He was probably the first person who had spoken to Ridha on a warm note. She thanked him profusely, and decided to come early for the next class.
‘Aren’t you leaving?’ She asked.
No, I stay back after everyone leaves to do some riyaaz.
May I just sit and watch?