Friday evenings on campus were loud, chaotic, and smelled faintly of samosas. The student council had decided to organize a cultural fest, complete with music, food stalls, and — unfortunately for Meera — a mandatory dance performance for her photography club.
"Why do photographers need to dance?" she groaned, adjusting the ghungroo on her ankle.
Priya grinned. "Team spirit. Also, you're the only one tall enough to partner Karan."
Meera froze. "Karan? As in, noodle-comment Karan? The one Aarav nearly murdered with a shoulder squeeze?"
Priya smirked. "Exactly. Which makes this so much better."
Meera was still processing that when Karan himself approached, flashing his most charming grin. "Ready, partner?" he asked, offering his hand.
She forced a smile, taking it. "Don't make me regret this."
They had barely stepped onto the practice floor when a voice cut through the hall.
"She's not available."
The entire room stilled. Aarav was standing at the edge of the stage, hands in his pockets, eyes locked on Meera like she was prey caught mid-escape.
Karan frowned. "It's just practice, Malhotra. Chill."
Aarav's jaw tightened. He walked forward, slow, deliberate. "Find another partner."
Meera felt her stomach drop. "Aarav—"
He ignored her, turning his gaze to Karan with such coldness that even the senior took a cautious step back.
Karan muttered, "You're insane," and stalked off.
Which left Meera standing alone on stage, glaring at Aarav. "Unbelievable! You just scared off my only partner."
"Good." He stepped closer, his voice low but firm. "You don't need one."
She folded her arms. "Oh, really? And what do you suggest I do? Dance solo?"
The corner of his mouth lifted. "No. With me."
Meera nearly choked. "You? Mr. No-Social-Life Malhotra? You can't dance!"
"Try me."
The next thirty minutes were a disaster. Aarav moved like a soldier on duty — stiff, precise, completely hopeless at rhythm. Every time Meera tried to twirl, he pulled her back too firmly, like he was afraid she'd spin out of his reach.
"Loosen up!" she groaned, stumbling against his chest.
His arms tightened around her waist. "No."
Meera looked up at him, exasperated, and froze. His gaze wasn't on the steps, or the music, or the crowd gathering to watch them. It was fixed on her — intense, unblinking, like she was the only thing that mattered.
For a second, her breath caught.
Then the spell broke when Priya clapped from the sidelines. "Okay, wow, either this is the worst dance or the hottest thing I've ever seen."
Meera shoved Aarav away, cheeks burning. "This isn't funny. You can't just… insert yourself into my life whenever you feel like it."
"Yes, I can," he said simply.
Her jaw dropped. "That's not how this works!"
"That's exactly how this works," he replied, stepping closer, his voice dropping low enough that only she could hear. "Because no one else gets to touch you like that. Not Karan. Not anyone. Only me."
Her heart pounded, half with anger, half with something she refused to name.
She pushed past him, muttering, "You're impossible."
He let her go this time, but as she stormed off, his voice followed her, calm and certain.
"You'll see, Meera. No matter how much you fight it… you're mine already."
And the terrifying part?
A small, traitorous part of her wasn't sure she wanted to prove him wrong.