Steps to Seoul

Chapter 1: Moonwalks in the Dark

The ceiling fan creaked above her head like an old song playing on loop — tired, broken, but still dancing. Ananya lay on her bed, earphones tucked deep, eyes wide open to the flickering light of her cracked phone screen.

It was 2:13 AM.

Everyone else in the house was asleep — her Appa’s snores echoed from the next room, and her mother’s glass bangles clinked softly every time she turned in sleep. But Ananya couldn’t sleep. Not when a new choreography video from her favorite K-pop group had just dropped.

Her heart raced as the beat kicked in.

Sharp. Clean. Effortless.

Every move felt like lightning in her blood. She watched the main dancer glide across the stage, spin, stop, and smirk — not for the fans, but for himself, as if to say, “I own this.”

Ananya rewound. Rewatched. Memorized.

And then quietly slipped out of bed.

She tiptoed past the kitchen, dodged the creaky third floorboard near the pooja room, and reached the backyard shed — her secret studio. Once meant for storing tools and coconuts, it now held her dream.

She flicked on the emergency light. The mirror on the wall was cracked at one corner. The tiles were uneven. But the moment she plugged her speaker in, the space transformed into Seoul’s biggest dance stage — at least in her heart.

She tied her hair. Took a deep breath.

And danced.

No instructions. No teachers. Just memory and obsession. Her footwork wasn’t perfect, her angles rough — but her fire was undeniable. The way she moved was not trained — it was felt.

Every drop, every kick, every pop and lock was a rebellion against the life she was born into.

Here, she wasn't someone's daughter.

She wasn’t a Tamil medium girl from a village school.

She wasn’t the girl who got laughed at for doing "Korean dance" in morning assembly.

Here, she was Ananya — future K-pop trainee.

When the music ended, her chest heaved with breathless joy. Sweat stuck to her kurti. Her anklet had snapped mid-step, one tiny bell rolling to the corner.

She picked it up and laughed softly. “Even you’re tired of this routine, huh?”

Suddenly, a sound — a soft thud.

She froze.

A shadow passed by the window. She ran to peek.

It was her mother. Standing silently, holding a glass of water, eyes reflecting the dance light.

Ananya’s heart sank.

Would she be scolded again? Would the mirror be broken like last time?

But Amma didn’t say a word.

She simply placed the water on the doorstep, turned, and whispered, "Drink when you finish. Don’t dance on an empty stomach."

And left.

Ananya stared at the glass, tears welling up.

The world hadn’t changed. Her father still wanted her to study for NEET. Her neighbors still mocked her dreams.