She danced like she was in a trance, eyes closed. Her long curls swaying from side to side. The white, spaghetti-strapped, calf-length dress flowing like she was an angel.
She danced like she was in a trance. To hip-hop. Bollywood hip-hop.
He shook her. He was obviously embarrassed.
He shouldn’t have. He should’ve let her be. They had just patched up after a bad fight.
The trance broke like it was a rude shock. Just like when someone forces you to wake up with a jolt, when you are sleeping deep.
She woke up with her mouth dry. And scared. Scared that they had fought again.
They were dancing together, how could they’ve fought?
She got up. She needed to wash down the dryness in her mouth. When did they come back from the dance lounge? Did they go there at all? But, they had. It was Bollywood night, she remembered. He hates it.
Even so, he went with her. He wanted to be nice. It was an effort for him, she knew. Both, ‘bad’ music and being nice.
What had she gotten herself into? A person who takes pride in not being nice. But he liked being nice to her. It came easily to him too. She felt special.
That thought was like the gush of water running down her throat. So satisfying. She started swaying again. To the imaginary music in her heart. It felt good to be back with him.
“Why do you dance like that? It looked funny last night too!”He shook her up again.
She walked towards the door to his trailing words, “I mean…I was just saying…”
The trance had broken.