Supriya laughed, the sound rusty. "The dandiya number. You stepped on my toe during the live round."
Tonight, as the retrospective showed their winning moment—Sachin lifting Supriya, both of them crying, confetti falling like golden rain—she felt a tear roll down her own cheek.
"Dance with me?"
On impulse, he stood up. He was fifty-three now, with a bad back and graying temples. He extended a hand.
Sachin and Supriya sat on their worn-out beige sofa. On the TV, a grainy clip from Nach Baliye Season 1 was playing—a retrospective episode. There they were: young, terrified, and madly in love. Sachin, the television actor with the crooked smile, and Supriya, his real-life wife, gripping his hand like a lifeline.
"And you whispered, 'I'll kill you later.'"
