The Moren villa stood quietly on the edge of the city — an elegant, old-world mansion kissed by sunlight and shadow alike. It wasn't extravagant, not like the estates of the ultra-rich, but it had a timeless charm: tall white pillars, ivy climbing the stone walls, and large windows that opened into a garden blooming with roses and marigolds.
Inside, the faint fragrance of sandalwood drifted through the air. Somewhere, wind chimes tinkled. And from the open hall came the sound of ghungroos — soft, rhythmic, alive.
"Perfect!" Lila Banerjee tapped her hands together lightly, her voice gentle. "That's it, Isabella! Now again — with feeling."
The girl halfway down the hall lifted her eyes, their lashes ink-black and long. Her lips curved in a small smile as she tilted her head, and music resumed — soft tabla beats echoing across marble floors.
Her bare feet struck the ground gracefully, gold anklets chiming in time. Her skirt swirled with each movement, a pale rose-pink that shimmered like silk in the afternoon light. Her dupatta trailed behind her like a whisper.
She moved with the precision of years of practice and the soul of a born artist.
And her face — she was a dream.
Isabella Moren's beauty wasn't loud or artificial. It was soft and mix of elegance and royal. It was the kind that lingered quietly, slipping under your skin. Her skin was porcelain-soft, glowing naturally in the sunlight filtering through the curtains. Her long hair, chestnut brown with a golden sheen, flowed freely down her back, occasionally brushing her waist as she turned.
Her eyes — large, hazel-green — spoke of innocence along with a haunting kind of depth. They danced to life when she danced, darting back and forth between joy and concentration, like a story only she could tell. Her lips, naturally rose-colored, parted slightly as she breathed in sync with the music.
Lila watched her with pride and a soft sigh. "You've grown into such a fine dancer, my dear. Can you believe it is your last dance class?"
Isabella slowed, her final spin melting into a gracious bow. The bells at her ankles jingled once more before she rose, cheeks flushed.
"I couldn't, ma'am," she said, smiling. "Feels like I was just learning to stand on one foot."
Lila chuckled, walking over to adjust the hem of Isabella's scarf. "Now look at you — elegant, strong, and still my same shy little songbird."
"Songbird?" Isabella teased, wiping a small bead of sweat from her temple.
"That's what you are. You don't just dance, you sing in movement. The music does what you tell it to."
Isabella smiled softly, glancing down. "You'll embarrass me, ma'am.
Lila's eyes softened. "Blush. You deserve to. I'm proud of you, Isabella. You've worked hard, and your mother would have been proud too."
For a moment, a faint sadness flickered across Isabella's face, but it vanished quickly when a familiar voice echoed from the doorway.
"Lila-ji!"
Both women turned.
Belrum Moren walked in, wearing a cream linen suit, his salt-and-pepper hair combed, his face calm but warm. He had a subtle hint of dignity about him — the sort that was acquired by those who had witnessed too much of life but still retained gentleness for their children.
"Mr. Moren," Lila welcomed with a smile. "Just in time. She's done herself proud today."
Belrum's eyes grew warm as they landed on his daughter. "I don't need to see to know that. She's my little miracle."
"Papa… " Isabella whispered, half-laughing, half-mortified.
Lila laughed. "She's graduating, Belrum. As of today, she'll no longer be under my corrections."
Belrum's chest swelled with pride. "Free to conquer the world." He turned to Isabella. "How does it feel, my star?"
"Scary," she admitted, laughing. "I don't know what I'll do without morning dance lessons."
"Dance anyway," Lila said gently. "Whether someone is watching or not."
Belrum extended his hand to the teacher. "Lila-ji, thank you — for making her what she is. I can never repay that."
"Repay me?" Lila smiled knowingly. "Just keep her safe. That's all a teacher asks."
Belrum's smile wavered for the faintest moment — a quick, unreadable flicker — but he quickly masked it. "Always," he said softly. "She's my whole world."
---
As the afternoon light dimmed and the last notes of the sitar faded, Isabella twirled one last time, her laughter echoing through the hall.
She was unaware that this laughter — this peaceful, golden instant — would be a memory trapped within the walls of a stranger's dark mansion soon.
And that the man who would take her there… had already heard her name uttered by destiny.