Falling Destiny

Episode 2 : "“A Life I Never Chose… A Story I Never Asked For and The Journey Begins..."

(Neha’s POV)

I’ve always believed in the beauty of simple things — in chai during monsoon rains, in old songs that echo memories, in laughter shared over late-night Maggie and soft pillow talks. I was never the girl who dreamt of riches or fairytale castles. All I ever wanted was a peaceful life, a loving home, and the freedom to live without fear — surrounded by people who saw me, really saw me, and chose me anyway.

But life never worked in straight lines for people like me.

Being an orphan didn’t just make me different. It made me invisible in a world that often only saw blood ties as real love. But even in those early years of loneliness, I had Disha. My best friend. My sister by soul, not by blood. We were two lost girls in an unforgiving world, clinging to each other like lifelines in a storm. Sunshine Orphanage wasn’t sunshine most days — it was survival. Yet through every hard night, we found comfort in whispered dreams and pinky promises.

We dreamed of college degrees, of jobs that mattered, of finally decorating a home of our own with mismatched curtains and chipped mugs. We promised we’d grow up and never let go — that no matter how hard the world tried, it wouldn’t separate us.

And I held onto those promises.

But nothing could’ve prepared me for the truth I’d eventually face — that not all monsters hide in shadows. Some come cloaked in kindness. Some wear the mask of family. And some… you fall in love with.

I used to believe that God had written something beautiful in my destiny. That maybe all this pain I’d endured would lead to something pure. I was naïve. Foolish. Desperate for love. I believed in fairy tales — the kind where wounds healed, and villains turned good. I was too blind to see the signs, too trusting to question the smiles.

And now? Now I carry scars — not just on my body, but deep within. Scars I hide behind fake smiles and well-timed silences. Scars I protect, because I’ve learned that truth often invites more pain than lies.

If you’re reading this, judging me… maybe that’s fair. Maybe I did make mistakes. But before you pass your verdict, I ask only one thing: Walk a mile in my shoes. Feel what I felt when everything I knew turned into a lie. Understand what it’s like to be caged by those you once trusted the most.

This isn’t just a story.

This is my story.

Raw. Messy. Unfiltered.

And I’m finally ready to tell it.

---

The Journey Begins…

“Not again! Oh my God, I’m going to be late!” I exclaimed, hopping on one foot while trying to tie my hair with the other hand. My dupatta got caught in the stair railing as I clumsily made my way down the old wooden staircase, nearly slipping in the process. “Shivji, please! I’m your favorite child, aren’t I? Just this one time… make the clock stop or something!”

I was late. Again.

The academy gate was already half-shut, and I could see students warming up through the glass windows. My breath came in short gasps as I finally reached the campus lawn, the Delhi morning sun already harsh against my skin.

Just then, a familiar voice chimed in from behind.

“Running late, Miss Drama Queen?”

I turned to see Vishal, leaning casually against the academy railing, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

“Good morning, Vishal,” I panted, trying to catch my breath.

He held out a water bottle, which I gladly accepted. “Mrs. Bansal asked me to inform you — you’re wanted in her office. Something about ‘this being your final strike’ or whatever.”

I froze. “Are you serious?”

Vishal chuckled. “Deadly serious. And from the look on her face this morning? Let’s just say… may the odds be in your favor.”

My stomach dropped. “Shivji… you have clearly forsaken me today,” I whispered skyward, making Vishal laugh louder.

“Don’t worry,” he said, tapping my shoulder. “You’ve charmed your way out of trouble before.”

“But not with Mrs. Bansal,” I groaned. “She eats charm for breakfast.”

Still catching my breath, I made my way to her office. The hallway felt like a death march. Every step heavier than the last.

I knocked on the wooden door — two quick taps — and slowly pushed it open.

Without glancing up, Mrs. Bansal said sharply, “Late. Again.”

“Good morning, ma’am,” I said softly, standing with hands folded like a student in front of the principal’s desk. “I sincerely apologize. I promise it wasn’t on purpose.”

She looked up, her gaze sharp. “Excuses, Ms. Neha?”

I hesitated. Then decided to tell the truth — well, mostly.

“Disha hasn’t been feeling well. She had a rough night, and we don’t have anyone else. She’s… all I have.”

There was a long pause.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, then slowly softened. “For Disha’s sake… I’ll let it go. But mark my words, this is your final warning.”

A breath I didn’t realize I was holding finally escaped me. “Thank you, ma’am,” I said sincerely, bowing slightly. “I won’t disappoint you again.”

She nodded and went back to her files. I didn’t waste a second — I turned and left the office before she could change her mind.

As soon as I stepped into the hallway, I looked up and whispered, “You came through, chudail… thank you.”

---

The moment I entered the dance hall, my mood changed completely. The mirrors, the polished floors, the faint thump of music from the adjoining studio — this place wasn’t just my job. It was my freedom. My temple.

When I dance, I forget everything — the past, the pain, the people who hurt me. It’s the one thing I have complete control over. Each move is mine. Each breath, each turn, each rhythm — it belongs to me.

No one can take that away.

And so, I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders back, and stepped forward.

Because no matter what storms were waiting outside that door, inside this space — I was Neha.

Dancer. Dreamer. Fighter.

And my story was just beginning.