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Chapter 8 - Dance floor distaster

The Fashion Show finally wrapped up around ten, marking the end of the 'Spandan' competitions. The energy didn't die down, though; it just shifted into a loud, bass-thumping DJ party that was supposed to go until two in the morning. We would all head back to our home campus after the prize ceremony tomorrow.

I changed out of the ridiculous traditional costume, scrubbing the mineral oil and stage makeup off my face with a rough towel. I could still feel the grease on my skin. I don't really dance, not properly anyway, but I liked being on the floor—just moving with the beat, losing myself in the noise.

Just as I was about to step into the crowd, a tap on my shoulder stopped me. Mownika. She smiled up at me. "Are you going to dance?"

I nodded, but a familiar unease settled in my gut. I didn't want to dance with her. We had an agreement—clear, simple, no misunderstandings. It was just physical. No relationship, not even friendship. We had both agreed that if it stopped being a good time, we would walk away, no hard feelings. And right now, the thought of her hands on me, of pretending this was anything more, felt... scary.

My eyes scanned the crowd almost on their own. And there she was. Fiza. She was right in the middle of the music group, surrounded by our classmates. I had seen her cheer for me during the show.

Now, she was trying to dance, looking a little self-conscious, a little awkward. My friend. I automatically smiled.

I saw a couple of guys from other colleges try to move in on her, and my jaw tightened. But then our guys closed ranks, forming a protective circle around her and the other single girls. Good. She looked relieved, safe. She finally let go, surrendering to the music, laughing.

Watching her, I felt a strange pull—a mix of protectiveness and something else I didn't want to name. Mownika followed my gaze, her smile tightening slightly.

I took a slow breath. This was why I didn't do complications. This was why I stuck to the rules. But for the first time, the rules felt like a cage, and the noise of the party felt suddenly very, very loud.

I hesitated. The word exclusivity kept echoing in my head. Mownika had brought it up, being exclusive. She had framed it as just a safety thing—no STDs, non-negotiable. I didn't necessarily want to see other people, but it felt like a commitment. Commitments... commitments always came with expectations. And inevitable disappointment.

"I was considering it," I admitted finally. If she was going to read into things, maybe I needed to end it now.

"Great!" she said, her voice bright and enthusiastic. "I was heading that way, too."

I glanced at her. She was still in her fashion show outfit, the stage makeup making her features sharp and dramatic under the pulsing lights. For a moment, I let myself appreciate it—the way she looked, the confidence she carried.

As we moved toward the dance floor, Mownika fell into step beside me, not saying another word.

When we reached the edge of the crowd, my eyes found Fiza almost immediately. She was laughing, really laughing, as she moved to the music. There was a simple beauty to her tonight. She wore a black dress and she looked... comfortable. Happy. Like she hadn't a care in the world. Like she didn't realize how beautiful she was.