Ara's POV
Let me start by saying one thing: whoever invented dancing should be personally sued. Or at least made to attend one of AIA's practice rehearsals. Because no human being should have to move in eight different directions, fake a smile, remember footwork, keep count, and not burst into flames. And definitely not all before lunch.
I'm still hungry.
It had been six full days since the random dance pairings were announced and, as predicted, Ethan Kai Rylan was still very much a ghost. There was no sign of my mysterious Irish-Korean partner, which meant that I, Ara Rao Reyes—a person whose idea of dancing was half-sleepwalking through wedding parties—was being trained by a very real, very disappointed dance instructor.
"No, no, no, Ara," she snapped, clapping her hands as if that would magically turn me into a ballerina. "You're doing circles like you're chasing mosquitoes. Again. From the top."
Chasing mosquitoes is my part time job. How does she know?
"I think I dislocated my pride," I muttered under my breath.
Samriddhi giggled from the far end of the hall where she and Siddharth were executing a semi-successful lift. Better then mine.
Lala and Aarav were literally floating like movie characters—hair flying, eyes locked, every move coordinated like they were born on a stage. Lala even had glitter on her eyelids. Who wears glitter to rehearsals?
If I talk about Yaori, she reappeares near aarav when she got time. But she's also doing good.
And me? I tripped over my shoelaces while trying to do a basic turn.
"You're not using your center," the instructor called again. "Where's your control?"
"Back home," I said, only slightly dying inside.
By the end of Day Six, I had stepped on my own foot five times, knocked over a speaker, and briefly hit a wall while spinning the wrong way. The only thing I had mastered was dramatic falling.
During the break, I collapsed near Samriddhi on the floor, panting like I'd just run a marathon.
"You're improving," she offered kindly.
"If by improving you mean I didn't actually die today, thanks."
She laughed, offering me her water bottle. " Aarav told me, he might visit later to you."
I blinked. "Why? Isn't he busy floating around with Lala?"
"He said he wanted to see how you were doing. Maybe your struggle is more entertaining than his own rehearsals."
Great. I'd be the lunchtime comedy show.
"Nice, Btw how's you doing in dance?" I asked.
"Nothing special, I have to teach every single movement of body to that so called partner."
"Best of luck!" I said and leave.
---
That evening, when I was once again in the smaller practice room alone, trying (and failing) to follow the counts, I heard the door creak open.
"Practicing?" a voice drawled.
I spun around. There he was.
Aarav. Dressed in track pants and a faded hoodie, carrying two small juice bottles.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to look composed, even as I almost dropped my phone.
"You looked like you needed spiritual support. And possibly medical insurance."
"Funny. Really."
He handed me a bottle. "This one's mango. Don't say I never bring you anything."
I took it, hesitated, then added, "Thanks."
He plopped down against the wall, stretching his legs out. "So... ghost partner still a no-show?"
I shook my head. "No texts. No emails. Nothing. For all I know, he's a figment of the principal's imagination."
"Yah I know, it's been a long time when I talk to him. I've heard he was ill very badly."
"Oh really?" I asked while sipping my juice.
"Yah, may be he might not appear before performence so you need to prepare a solo as backup."
"Solo?"
"Yah, on the same song you decided."
"I'll think about it."
Aarav tilted his head, watching me. "Then let me see what you've got. Dance."
I nearly choked. "In front of you? No way."
"Come on. You said you wanted to improve, right? Think of me as a practice dummy. With better hair."
Better hair?
I agreed at last. He's right I want to improve.
I sighed, giving in. I queued the same haunting track again and positioned myself at the center. I wasn't going to impress anyone, least of all the boy whose moves looked like slow-motion magic. Especially Aarav.
The music started.
Step. Turn. Lift arm. Pivot.
I was halfway through a sequence when I felt it—a sharp tug in my right ankle. Then pain. Real, stabbing pain.
"Ahhhhh—"
I yelped and stumbled, crashing onto the floor.
"Ara!" Aarav was up in seconds.
"My ankle... I think I twisted it."
He kneeled beside me, gently touching the swollen area. I winced.
"It's not too bad," he said softly. "But you should've worn proper support."
"Well, sorry I don't have titanium ankles like you."
He smirked, standing up. "Wait here. Don't move."
He stands up moving towards the existing, turn around to see me again. Then properly leaved.
He returned moments later with a small first-aid kit and sat down next to me again. He opened the little box, fished out a small tube of pain-relieving gel, and started applying it gently over my ankle.
I stared at him.
"You're surprisingly good at this."
"Had a history of sprains," he said simply. "Comes with dancing, football, and childhood stupidity."
I hissed when the cold gel touched skin.
"Don't be a baby," he teased. "You're tougher than that."
I made a face at him.
Once he was done, he helped me stand up again. Once I stand up
"Done, you just need to move your leg for better improvement."
"Yah, yah I know."
The next morning, an announcement was made during homeroom.
"All dance pairs are to present a sample performance after three days in front of the faculty and student guests. Progress check. Non-negotiable."
Cue collective groaning across the room. I nearly fell off my chair.
A sample performance? Already?
I wasn't even at the 'not falling' stage. My ankle was still recovering. And Kai—my ghost partner—had not even made an appearance. I'd either be dancing alone, or worse, forced to switch partners at the last minute.
Even Samriddhi looked mildly panicked. "We're barely choreographed! Siddharth can't even do a clean twirl without sneezing."
Gaurav muttered, "Watch me fake a sudden fever tomorrow."
By the end of the day, all the excitement had transformed into mass existential dread. Students buzzed between panic rehearsals and frantic costume fixing.
It's okay, last period is going on. Biology. I sat on the last desk as forever.
That was not the end of the day's misfortune.
"Everyone, clear your desks," our biology teacher said with a smile that could rival Dracula. "We're having a surprise class test."
My brain paused.
"On what?" someone dared to ask.
"Frog reproductive system."
Excuse me?
Because nothing says 'fun school day' like dancing on one foot and then trying to recall how frogs produce tadpoles.
Really?!!?
As I stared at the blank sheet in front of me, I scribbled:
1. Frogs have very romantic foreplay.
2. External fertilization. Yippee.
3. Somewhere, a frog is judging me.
This was shaping up to be one of those days I'd look back on and laugh.
Hopefully.
It wasn't that much bad. At home once again Liza and leo were practicing. And I need at least one day bed rest according to everyone.
No options. And still waiting for by dance partner.
Kai