Diya

I was almost light-headed with tension. My hands were cold. Putting on my make-up, I looked in the mirror and wondered who this girl was who was suddenly ready to rebel. I was defying my father. Singing in public. Lying about where I was. And I was going to spend the night with my boyfriend.

I can’t tell you how terrifying it was to think that after this night, I would have crossed a line my father would never ever forgive me going past. But I was ready. Happiness had come to me, and it had made me think of freedom. I would not be my father’s pawn, married to whomever he chose. I would not do my duty. I was in love, and I would do what my heart wanted.

‘Happiness is hard to come by. Don’t give up on it so easily,’ Aman had said. And I had learnt that you could make your own happiness, hold on to it. You just had to be ready to pay the price. I was. On that night, I was.

My girlfriends surrounded me. I had made so many friends since I started rehearsals. They helped me do my hair. Fixed my lipstick. We were all laughing and chattering.

Moniya squeezed my hand tight. ‘I won’t tell a soul,’ she said. She was the girl who had volunteered to pretend that I was at her house that night. ‘Where are you going?’ she asked.

I had no idea. I had left it all to Aman. There was a knock on the dressing room door. Aman was standing there. ‘Come on, sunshine,’ he said. ‘It’s time to light up the night.’

He held out his hand. Mine was cold. His was warm. He was holding my hand as we walked on to the stage.

So many people. I was suddenly hit by the reality of it. So many people. And me in front of them. I felt my throat close up.