CHAPTER 37
When Raja-Sa Learns to Dance
MEHER
The sound of tiny footsteps and squeals of laughter fill the classroom, bright as sunlight pouring through the wide open windows.
I can’t help but smile as I clap my hands to keep the rhythm, guiding my little students through the dance steps we have been practicing for their annual function.
Their energy is boundless, their little faces beaming with pride whenever they manage to follow my instructions.
“Step forward… and twirl!” I demonstrate, the girls giggling as their colorful skirts fly around them, and the boys trying—somewhat clumsily—to copy the same. Their little feet stumble, but they pick themselves up with a determination that warms my heart.
“Very good!” I encourage, clapping my hands, the excitement in their eyes telling me they live for this praise. There’s something magical about their innocence. Teaching here never feels like a duty—it feels like being a part of something purer than the world outside these four walls.
“Now all together, one-two-three… spin!” I twirl again, this time slower, giving them space to catch up. My dupatta flies a little, making a few children giggle and mimic the way it moves.
Their laughter is contagious. I laugh with them, shaking my head at their theatrics. “Acha, acha, no pulling dupattas, focus on your feet!” I say playfully, as two boys try to copy the way my scarf sways.
It’s then that I feel the presence. My back stiffens before I even turn. My skin tingles with the unmistakable awareness of being watched. Slowly, my eyes dart toward the door.
And there he is.
Raja-sa.
Leaning casually against the doorframe, his tall frame filling the space with a quiet authority that always unsettles me. His hands are tucked neatly into his pockets, his posture relaxed, but his eyes—his eyes are fixed on me, dark yet softened with a small, unguarded smile tugging at his lips.
My breath stumbles for a moment. I wasn’t expecting him. I never do, and maybe that’s the problem; he always finds a way to surprise me.
The children, quicker than me to notice, squeal in delight. “Maharaj!” they chorus, their voices echoing through the room like a festival chant.
His smile grows just a little as he steps inside, nodding in acknowledgment, that regal charm never leaving him even in the simplest gestures.
I fold my hands together, trying not to betray the way my heart seems to be dancing faster than the children in front of me. “Children.” I clear my throat. “Let’s continue—”
But they’ve already abandoned me. Little hands tug at his kurta, some clinging to his arms, others pulling him further into the room.
“Maharaj, come dance with us!”
“Yes, you must! It’s fun!”
“Miss Meher is teaching us so nicely, you should also try!”
I bite my lip, half amused, half horrified at their boldness.
Surely, he won’t… He chuckles, the sound low, smooth, and—if I dare admit—dangerously pleasant.
“Dance?” He raises his brows slightly, glancing at me as if testing how I will react.
Then he looks down at the eager faces surrounding him. “Children, I cannot dance well.”
The disappointment on their faces makes me laugh softly, though I quickly mask it. But the children are relentless.
“No, no, you must! Miss Meher will teach you!”
“She is very good, Maharaj!”
“Yes, yes, better than anyone!”
And before I can intervene, one of the little girls— Gauri, tiny, her pigtails bouncing—points at me. “See? She will teach you.”
Raja-sa’s eyes shift back to me, his smile lingering heat climbs my cheeks at their betrayal. My own students, selling me out so quickly. I fold my arms, trying to mask my embarrassment with a mock stern look. “Children, I don’t think Raja-sa has time for—”
“Are you saying your teaching cannot save even me, Miss Meher?” His eyes glint with mischief as they flick to mine.
The room explodes in giggles. Little hands shove him toward the center, the sea of voices all chanting: “Dance, dance, dance!”
He sighs, dramatically, playing along. “If Miss Meher agrees… then how can I refuse my little kingdom here?” His words make the children cheer.
I shake my head, trying to suppress my laugh. “This is hardly a royal court, Raja-sa.”
“On the contrary,” he replies smoothly, stepping closer. “These are the most demanding subjects I’ve ever met.”
I roll my eyes, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The children clap their hands and scatter into a circle again, leaving space for him beside me. I feel his presence like a force of gravity as he comes to stand near me. My nerves are ridiculous—I’m the teacher here, not him. Why should his nearness make me suddenly conscious of every move I make?
“Step forward, one-two-three,” I say, showing the children again, but out of the corner of my eye, I see him copying me.
Or trying to. His usually composed, precise movements falter.
His long legs don’t quite match the rhythm, his steps are a beat too late, and when we twirl, he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
The children burst into laughter. And despite my best efforts to remain composed, a laugh escapes me too—loud, unrestrained, and utterly genuine.
I turn to him, covering my mouth with my hand, but it’s useless. The sight of the stoic Raja-sa, failing miserably at the simplest step, is too much.
He stops, straightening with mock offense. “I see. You find joy in my suffering.”
I laugh harder, my eyes watering now. “You—you look so serious, like you’re planning a battle strategy instead of dancing.”
That earns me a grin from him, wide and boyish, the kind I’ve never seen before. For a moment, it steals my breath. He doesn’t smile like this often. Not with me. Not with anyone, perhaps.
“Strategy is what I know,” he admits softly, his eyes meeting mine, amusement flickering in their depths. “Dancing, clearly not.”
The warmth in his gaze makes my laughter falter, turning into something softer. I look away quickly, pretending to fix the circle of children. My cheeks are burning, and I know it isn’t just from the laughter.
“Again, Maharaj!” Jay demands.
“Yes, again!”
He raises his palms in mock surrender. “Children, I fear if I continue, Miss Meher will laugh herself ill.”
The children giggle, and I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “You should at least finish one round properly. Otherwise, what will they think of their king?”
He narrows his eyes playfully at me. “Are you challenging me, Miss Meher?”
“Only encouraging,” I reply, tilting my head.
His smile deepens, and for a second, it feels like the room grows smaller, quieter, though the children are still buzzing with excitement around us.
We try again. His steps are awkward, but less so this time, and the children cheer for every small improvement.
I guide them through the routine, aware of his effort, aware of his presence beside me.
His hand brushes mine once when we both spin the wrong way, and though accidental, the touch sends a jolt through me.
I laugh again, softer this time, and when I glance at him, he’s watching me with a look that makes my breath catch—eyes happy, lips curved in a smile that feels rare, precious.
“You laugh like this often, Miss Meher?” he asks quietly when the noise calms a little.
I press a hand to my chest, still breathless. “Not often enough, it seems.”
He tilts his head, studying me as though he’s found something rare. “Then perhaps I should fail at more things.”
“No!” I exclaim, my eyes widening at my own outburst. I would never like to see him fail. I look away quickly, focusing back on the children, who are busy trying to teach him again. “Children, be kind. Not everyone learns at your pace.”
“Oh no, Miss Meher,” Raja-sa cuts in, raising his hands in surrender as they giggle around him, “you don’t need to defend me. It is quite clear that the crown does not come with rhythm.”
I bite back another laugh. “That much is obvious.”
The children cheer at my boldness. He only chuckles, the sound sending an odd warmth through me.
We spend the next few minutes in this strange harmony—the children tugging him left and right, me guiding, him failing gloriously but never once looking embarrassed.
Every mistake makes the room brighter, every clumsy step loosens something in the air.
And all the while, his gaze drifts back to me, over and over, as though I am the true lesson he’s learning here.
When the bell rings, the children scatter with shouts and giggles, leaving the two of us standing amidst the quiet that follows.
He steps closer, lowering his voice. “I will admit, I have led meetings and councils, but today, I faced my greatest defeat—in front of your little soldiers.”
I laugh and tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “And yet you survived.”
His eyes hold mine, steady, unwavering. “Only because you were there.”
The words are simple. Not a grand confession. Not a promise. Just… honest. And somehow, that honesty is enough to make my heart race, to make me wonder what it means when a man like him, so guarded, allows a moment like this to exist.
I look away, gathering my books with trembling fingers. “Well,” I manage, keeping my voice light, “perhaps next time we’ll try clapping games. They’re easier.”
He chuckles behind me. “Next time, then.”