Abhiman watched from a distance, his sharp eyes fixed on the girl who had been living under his sister's daughter's name for nearly a decade. What was she after? He had no doubt that by now, she must have realized that she wouldn't get a single penny from the Pandare family. If she had been waiting patiently for some sort of claim, that patience must have worn thin by now.
But he wasn't going to act just yet. No, he would wait. He would observe.
As he made his way back, his attention was caught by a group of youngsters lost in their own world of rhythm and celebration. They danced with uninhibited joy, their laughter blending with the pulsating beats of the music. Among them, Drishti stood out, not because she was enjoying the moment like the others, but because she was different. She wasn't there to revel in the festivities—no, she was cautious, deliberate. She was trying too hard, attempting to win the favor of the Singhania family.
A slow smirk crossed Abhiman's face. Let's see how long she can keep this up.
Nearby, an elderly gentleman chuckled warmly. "Drishti, you should enjoy yourself with your friends," he said, his voice filled with affectionate encouragement.
The others chimed in instantly, as if waiting for the right moment. "Yes, Drishti! Look where your friends are!"
Vansh, ever the charismatic one, grinned at her. "They're ruling the dance floor! Come on, join them!"
Drishti hesitated, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. She had been doing her best to remain composed, to carefully weave her place within the Singhania family, but now all eyes were on her. There was no escaping their scrutiny.
Just as she was about to find an excuse, Piya appeared beside her, her energy as relentless as ever. "Drishti, come on! We're all performing together. You can't miss this!" Before Drishti could protest, Piya grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the stage.
Drishti's heart pounded as she reached the steps. Her pulse quickened, not from excitement but from sheer anxiety. She looked up and saw the entire Singhania family watching her, their expressions expectant, evaluating. There was no room for mistakes.
She swallowed hard. Piya had done this on purpose—Drishti was sure of it. The smirk on Piya's face as she nudged her toward the stage was proof enough. Damn you, Piya.
Her mind raced. She wasn't a trained dancer. She wasn't like Maithili.
"Ah, but dance and music were Maithili's strengths," someone in the crowd murmured. "Surely, Drishti must have inherited her mother's talent."
The words cut through her, sharper than a blade. It wasn't a compliment—it was an expectation. A test.
She had to prove herself. She had no choice.
Taking a deep breath, she placed one foot on the stage, forcing her nerves into submission. The music changed, and the moment of truth arrived. Would she falter under their watchful gazes, or would she rise to the challenge?
As the beats filled the air, Drishti closed her eyes for a brief second, blocking out the whispers, the judgment, the weight of her mother's name. When she opened them, there was only the music. Only the stage.
And she danced.