Dia's POV

The morning sun greeted me as I opened my eyes, the warmth on my skin feeling oddly comforting. After freshening up, I slipped into the black anarkali Ekansh had arranged for me. The soft fabric hugged me in just the right places, and the intricate golden embroidery gave it an elegance I rarely saw in my own wardrobe. I added a pair of jhumkas, a small black bindi, and a set of glass bangles that jingled with every movement. For the first time in days, I felt a little like myself.



Her look~

I decided to explore the house. It was massive, more like a palace than a home. Each corridor seemed to lead to another beautiful mystery. As I wandered, my feet led me to the library. I gasped as I stepped inside—it was breathtaking. The shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, lined with books of every size and color. A soft golden light bathed the room, giving it an almost magical feel.

As I moved further in, I noticed a small section tucked into the corner, a cozy alcove away from the towering bookshelves. It was quiet, secluded, and the perfect place to lose myself for a while. Something about the space felt intimate, like it had been waiting for me.

Without thinking, I began to hum a tune, my feet moving to an invisible rhythm. The sound of my bangles clinking together and the rustle of my anarkali filled the space. I let the music in my head take over, twirling and spinning with abandon. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt free.

I lost myself completely in the moment, my body flowing with the music only I could hear. Each movement was a release, a way to forget the heaviness of my reality. The worries, the fears—they all melted away as I danced.

---

Ekansh’s POV

I sat at my desk, the morning light streaming through the large windows of my office. Papers were scattered in front of me, demanding my attention, but my mind was elsewhere. A soft chime on my phone alerted me to movement in the library. Curious, I tapped into the hidden CCTV feed, and the image that greeted me stopped me in my tracks.

Dia.

She was a vision in black, her anarkali flowing like liquid gold as she moved. Her bangles caught the light, sparkling with every graceful turn. She was dancing, completely lost in her own world. I watched, mesmerized, as she twirled, her expressions shifting with the invisible music.

For a moment, I forgot everything—my work, my responsibilities, the dangerous world I lived in. All I could do was watch her. There was something so pure, so untainted about her in that moment. It felt like she didn’t belong here, in my world of darkness and violence.

Unable to resist, I left my office and made my way to the library. When I reached the door, I paused, my hand resting on the handle. I pushed it open just enough to see her clearly, careful not to make a sound. There she was, completely unaware of my presence, her movements hypnotic and her joy infectious.

I leaned against the doorframe, unable to take my eyes off her. She was beautiful, yes, but it was more than that. Watching her dance felt like a privilege, like I was witnessing something sacred. I stayed there, silent and still, not wanting to disturb the moment, completely captivated by her.

---

She moved like she was weightless, her feet barely touching the ground, her expressions shifting with every step. There was a mix of innocence and passion in her movements that I couldn’t look away from. It was as if she was telling a story only she could understand, her hands tracing invisible lines in the air.

For a man like me, whose life revolved around power and control, seeing something so unrestrained was disarming. I felt like an outsider, peering into a world I didn’t belong to—a world of light and freedom. And yet, I couldn’t pull myself away. She didn’t need an audience, didn’t need approval. She danced for herself, and that made it all the more captivating.

I caught myself smiling, something I rarely did. The sight of her brought a strange warmth to my chest, a sensation I wasn’t used to. She was unlike anyone I’d ever met—raw, unpolished, and utterly genuine. She didn’t even know how much she stood out in a house like mine, surrounded by shadows and secrets.

When she spun one last time and stopped, slightly out of breath, her hands resting on her knees, I had to hold myself back from stepping inside. She straightened, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, her cheeks flushed from exertion. I could see the hint of a smile on her lips, and it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

I stayed there a moment longer, watching as she picked up a book from a nearby shelf and settled into a chair, oblivious to my presence. A part of me wanted to walk in and talk to her, to see if the spark I saw in her dance was reflected in her words. But another part of me, the part that had built walls around my heart, told me to turn away. So I did, silently leaving the library, though her image stayed burned in my mind.