Meera stood by the doorway and watched her mother dance.
Her mother swayed to music only she could hear, fingers brushing peacock feathers and diyas.
Meera watched her mother's feet — bare, graceful, painting circles on the cool tile.
Meera tried to copy her mother, arms raised high, but tripped over a loose rug and landed with a loud thud.
Her mother knelt down and took Meera's hands. Tap, tap, clap.
Like this, her mother whispered, tapping her own feet. Meera copies her.
Tap, tap, clap. Tap, tap, clap.
Her mother scooped Meera up and spun them both, their feet drumming against the floor.
Meera squealed as her mother twirled her through the air, past glowing diyas and peacock feathers.
They danced together in the golden light, breathless and laughing. Meera rested her head on her mother's shoulder.