The classroom had never felt this alive.
The moment the cultural committee finished their colorful announcement and stepped out—promises of an unforgettable freshers' event trailing in their wake—the air inside burst like a shaken soda bottle. Conversations overlapped like crashing waves, rising louder than the ceiling fans spinning overhead.
"Group dance! I call dibs on front row!" someone from the front bench shouted, already climbing onto their seat and striking a pose like a film hero mid-shot.
"Dude, you'll be out of breath in five minutes," a boy nearby laughed, half-shoving him back down.
"Let's do a Dandiya fusion! I saw it online last year, looked super cool!" a girl squealed from the other side, spinning in place and nearly knocking over a stack of notebooks.
Shruti sat near the middle row, angled sideways in her seat, chin resting on her palm as she watched the energy swirl around her. Her notebook lay forgotten, pen twirling idly between her fingers. Laughter bounced around the room, colored with anticipation and the unspoken thrill of being part of something joyous.
She hadn't realized how much she'd missed this—this chaotic slice of college life where no one spoke of responsibilities, compromises, or secrets. Just music, lights, steps, and stories waiting to be written on stage.
A boy two benches away called out, "Shruti! What about you? You sing, right?"
Shruti blinked, taken aback. "Me? No, not really."
"She dances," Pragathi chimed in from beside her, leaning in with a proud smile.
Shruti shot her a quick look. "Don't you dare—"
"She used to perform every single year in school," Pragathi continued, grinning as she nudged her. "Sixth grade onwards. And guess what? She choreographed a whole medley for our tenth farewell. I still have that video."
"Whaaaat?!" a girl from the next row turned around, impressed. "Shruti, you never said!"
Shruti laughed awkwardly, cheeks pink. "That was ages ago. I've probably forgotten half of it."
"Well, time to remember!" the same girl beamed. "Come on, we need you!"
"No pressure," someone else added with a teasing wink. "But the best dancers have a moral responsibility to not let the rest of us flop around aimlessly."
That drew a wave of laughter across the room.
Shruti smiled, her fingers still curled around her pen, but her eyes sparkled in a way that hadn't been there earlier.
Pragathi leaned in again, this time her voice lower. "Hey… seriously though. What do you think? Wanna team up for something?"
Shruti glanced at her, visibly torn.
"I don't know," she said slowly. "I mean… I want to. But I think I should talk to Arjun first."
Pragathi's teasing expression softened instantly. "Why? What's he got to do with it?"
Shruti gave her a flat look. "You know why."
"Oh, right." Pragathi clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. "Married people. Always needing spousal permission for every small thing."
Shruti jabbed her lightly in the side with her elbow. "It's not permission. It's just… I haven't danced in a long time. It'll draw attention. And attention means questions. You know how observant Saranya's gotten lately."
At that, Pragathi winced dramatically. "Don't even start on Saranya. I caught her staring at you during chemistry like she was trying to telepathically scan your brain."
"I think she suspects," Shruti murmured, the smile slipping slightly from her lips.
Pragathi studied her friend for a moment, then said more gently, "Hey. That girl may be smart, but she's not stupid. She'll figure it out eventually. That doesn't mean you have to keep living in fear of it."
Shruti's eyes flicked downward, her fingers drawing faint lines on her notebook cover.
"You love dancing," Pragathi added softly. "You light up when you talk about it—even now. I've seen you survive things I can't imagine, Shruti. If a two-minute stage performance makes you feel like yourself again… why let go of that?"
Shruti was quiet for a moment. Then she nodded, slowly. "I'll think about it."
"Good," Pragathi smiled. "Because if you don't, I'm dragging you onto that stage even if you come wrapped in a blanket."
That made Shruti laugh. "You really haven't changed since school."
"Neither have you," Pragathi said with a wink. "You just got better at hiding it."
They both fell silent as the teacher entered for the next period, the noise in the classroom dimming immediately.
But even as Shruti opened her notebook and flipped to the right page, her thoughts were elsewhere.
She pictured herself on stage again—barefoot, moving with music, not hiding. She imagined Arjun in the crowd, arms folded, eyes fixed on her with that barely-there smile he always gave when she caught him watching.
Would he be proud?
Would he smile that way again?
Would he come backstage after and say, "That's my girl"?
Her pen hovered over the page, motionless.
Then, before she could change her mind, she scribbled a small note in the corner of the paper:
Talk to Arjun tonight. About the dance.
Not for anyone else.
Just for herself.
And maybe, just maybe, for the boy who had promised her—"I'm not going anywhere."
To be continued...