No sign of her. Rude.
Suddenly, my phone rang.
I swear—I love my phone, okay? 
But right now? I wanted to fling it across the room, let it shatter, and hold a funeral with snacks.
With the enthusiasm of a sloth, I picked it up.
"Yes?" I mumbled, already half-annoyed.
A voice on the other end asked politely,
"Am I speaking to Aisha Singh Oberoi?"
"Yesss?" I replied, dragging the 's'.
"Oh, great! Well, Ms. Oberoi, you are selected for the dance competition! The judges loved your audition video. You're in for the further rounds of. We're excited to have you—"
Wait. Pause. Rewind.
Selected?
Dance competition??
Video???
Excuse me, sir. What illegal substances are you on and why am I in your hallucination?
I sat up like a zombie possessed. "Hold on. What video? Which dance competition? When? Where? Who? WHY??"
He cleared his throat like he was scared I'd reach through the phone and throttle him. Smart man. "Umm... the competition is Rhythm Crown, ma'am."
That was it. I stood on the bed, if my eyes weren't wide enough before, now they were basically satellites.
Just then, my phone pinged.
New email: Congratulations on being selected for Rhythm Crown – Round 2 Entry!
I squinted at it like the letters would rearrange and make sense.
"Look, thank you for the selection," I said, trying not to sound like a confused pigeon, "but I haven't applied for any competition."
At least not in this universe.
He coughed again. Poor guy probably needed water. Or divine protection.
"Yes, ma'am, I know. Actually, five entry forms were filled on your behalf. And, um, five videos submitted too... by different people."
Five?! What is this? A campaign?
I facepalmed so hard I nearly gave myself another headache.
"Can you please tell me who those people were?" I asked with the patience of a ticking bomb.
He hesitated. Probably double-checking his life insurance.
"Ma'am... umm... they were all from Oberois, I believe. Your family, ma'am."
Of course they were.
Why fix their own trauma when they can project mine onto a international stage?
I sighed in resignation. "Okay. Thank you. I'll get back to you soon."
After committing a few murders, that is.
I hung up before he could say anything else and marched toward the door like a woman on a mission—specifically, the mission to destroy her family with love and passive-aggressive sarcasm.
Descending the stairs, I saw my dear, lovely father and brothers chatting like they hadn't just tossed me into a dance war behind my back.
They heard my footsteps and turned around, looking at me like I was a toddler walking in with a crayon.
I looked at them.
They looked at me.
"Oh don't stop on my account," I said sweetly, smiling like a serial killer. "I love being played."
They blinked. Innocent. Clueless.
Dad tilted his head, concern all over his face. "What happened, princess?"