Ameya was the kind of girl who spoke with her eyes, not her voice. Soft, shy, and obedient to a fault—at least, that's what everyone believed. But no one knew the truth she buried deep inside.
She was a dancer. A passionate, hungry, burning dancer.
From the age of ten, Ameya had fallen in love with movement. Not in any formal studio or stage, but in the quiet corners of her room, where she twirled in front of a cracked mirror with music vibrating through cheap earbuds. Dance was her freedom, her voice, her rebellion in a life where everything else was decided for her.
But in her household, dreams had a strict dress code: they had to be logical, respectable, and approved by her mother.
Her mother was stern but loving, a woman who believed deeply in discipline and security. She'd already shaped Ameya's older sister, Asina, into a "perfect example" by pushing her into medical studies despite her dream to write. And now, Ameya was next in line—to follow the path carved out for her in the science stream, eventually landing a stable IT job in their hometown of Pune.
So, Ameya stayed quiet. She studied, she listened, she nodded when told what her future should look like.
But late at night, when the house was asleep, she danced. Her soul came alive in that small space, and even though no one else saw her… she saw herself.
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When the college cultural fest came around, Ameya had no plans to participate—until their class's assigned dancer dropped out last-minute. No one else volunteered, and somehow, all eyes turned to Ameya.
"You've got a graceful walk," their class rep joked. "You'll do fine."
She wanted to say no. She really did. But her lips betrayed her.
"Okay… I'll try."
And just like that, her secret world was about to be exposed.
The day of the performance, Ameya stood behind the curtain, heart racing. The lights were bright, the audience loud—but the moment the music started, everything else faded. Her body moved on its own. Every step, every spin, every beat—she poured herself into it like she'd been waiting her whole life for that one moment.
When the music ended, there was silence.
Then the crowd erupted.
But the biggest surprise came after the show.
A tall man in black sunglasses and a sharp jacket walked up to her backstage. He pulled off his shades, and her heart skipped.
It was Rico Jackson—main dancer of FJ4, one of the most popular idol groups in Asia.
"I don't usually say this," he said, "but that was incredible. You've got something real."
He handed her a sleek black card with gold writing.
"FJ4 is holding auditions for a new sister group next month. Come. I want to see what you can do when the whole world is watching."
Ameya was stunned. Rico Jackson? FJ4? This was a dream she never dared to dream.