Dawa wasn’t happy. He knew that he had something special to offer the world, something that none of his friends really understood: He was a dancer.

He went to a small high school in central Bhutan, and he had a nice circle of friends. Everyone who spent time with him knew that music ran in his blood, that it was a part of him. They supported him whenever he choreographed a new dance number or wrote a new song.

The other students, though, weren’t so kind. People called him names and laughed behind his back. A seventeen-year-old boy in Bhutan wasn’t supposed to spend all his time thinking up dances. It was weird.

The worst of it came from Dawa’s own father. While his mother supported him in everything he did, his father was strict and disapproving. He wanted his son to study hard and become a lawyer one day. He thought that dancing was inappropriate and pointless.

At the beginning of this school year, Dawa decided to sign up for the school’s variety show. Even though he spent all his free time dancing, he’d never performed in front of a crowd before. What he wanted, more than anything in the world, was to show everybody that he was gifted. Maybe if he did, he’d be happy.

During breakfast, he told his parents his plan: “Mom. Dad. I’m going to dance in the school variety show.”

His mother smiled. “That’s wonderful, dear. We’ll be in the audience.”

His father looked away.

“Dad?” Dawa asked.

“Don’t do it,” the old man said. “You’ll just embarrass yourself.”

“But…”

“Dancing isn’t for boys like you,” he said. “Trust me. You don’t want to put yourself in front of all those people and act like a weirdo.”

His mother placed her hand on the father’s shoulder. She was silently giving him a message.

The father scoffed. “Whatever.”

Dawa didn’t let his father’s disapproval get in the way of his plan. He spent the next week figuring out the best dance for the show. He knew that a lot of the other students would have very traditional performances, and he wanted to be different. He chose an English language hip hop song with a really good beat. Scribbling in his notebook, he designed all his choreography. It was going to be wild.

When he was at school, he spent his lunch time perfecting the routine. While practicing behind the school’s multi-purpose hall, a few other students came up to him and make a few jokes. Dawa told them to go away. He told them that he didn’t care what they thought, but he really did.

When the big day finally arrived, Dawa was ready. He showed up early to the multi-purpose hall and put on his outfit of ripped jeans and a T-shirt. He waited with the other performers outside the building until their teacher unlocked the door and let them inside.

As soon as he got inside, Dawa became nervous. His heart beat quickly in his chest. As he waited backstage, silently telling himself that everything was going to be okay, he watched as the principal gave a welcome speech to the crowd.

He couldn’t see the crowd, but he knew that it was a full house. Thousands of eyes would be watching him.

Then, with a blast of music, the show started.

Dawa was the last student to perform. Several of his friends went onstage and sang songs or performed rap numbers. There were a few other dancers, but they all did slow, traditional dances. No one had a performance quite like Dawa’s.

When it was finally his turn, he took a deep breath and stepped onto the stage. The crowd was even bigger than he’d thought. All the seats were filled. People were even standing in the aisles. A few snapped photos with their cameras.

His music started, and Dawa danced. It was a wild, fast dance. When he moved, he lost all his nervousness and fear. The stage was his home, and he loved it. With the song thumping from the speakers, he performed for his life. Sweat poured down his forehead.

In the end, it was a perfect performance, exactly as he’d practiced. The music stopped, and the whole building was very, very silent. Dawa worried that the audience didn’t like it. Then, all at once, the room burst into applause. People clapped and screamed.

Dawa bowed once and hurried offstage. He was out of breath and smiling. Two figures were waiting for him by the back door: his mother and father. Dawa had completely forgotten that they were in the audience.

His mom wrapped her arms around him in a big, warm hug. “I am so proud of you,” she said, “Did you see the crowd? Everybody was loving it.”

“Yeah,” Dawa agreed.

His mom let go. She looked at her son for a long time. “Just keep the spirit going, son,” she said.

Then it was his father’s turn to speak, and Dawa dreaded what he was going to say.

“Good job,” the old man said. He nodded once and then walked away.

Dawa didn’t know how to react. On one hand, his father didn’t scold him. He actually gave him a compliment. On the other hand, though, the words didn’t seem sincere. Was he only saying those things to be civil? Was he planning to scold Dawa on an epic level as soon as they got back home? Was the man’s anger so great that he didn’t want to create a scene in public? Dawa just didn’t know.

A huge group of students came up to him and patted him on the back. They were all shouting pieces of encouragement into his ear.

“That was amazing.”

“Really cool.”

“Good job, man.”

“I had no idea.”

This was exactly what Dawa had wanted. He wanted his classmates and friends to see the real him, to see what he could do. He should’ve been happy.

He wasn’t happy. Why?

It was because of his father. He really wanted to know how his father felt.

Dawa thanked everyone for the kind words. Then he rushed away. He ran outside the building and saw his parents walking toward their car. He waited a few steps behind and listened to what they were saying to each other.

“I had no idea,” his father told his mother. “No idea at all.”

“What do you mean?” his mother asked.

“I shouldn’t have been hard on him. Our son is gifted. I just never knew.”

“I know,” his mother said. “I know.”

Dawa stood there in stunned silence. He watched as his parents disappeared into the distance. For once, Dawa was really and truly happy.