Chapter 11 : Campus Beats Part II

Neil took the floor.

Hip-hop beats dropped like thunder.

♪ Boom boom boom tss ♪

Neil was a wave of power. He curved, bent, snapped. His body obeyed every beat with merciless perfection. He fell to the floor and rippled upward like a tide. The crowd lost it:

“NEIL! RUTHLESS! NEIL! RUTHLESS!”

Then, his eyes caught Malang.

Standing at the edge, apart from it all.

Something twisted in Neil’s chest.

He wasn’t sure what it was. Anger? Curiosity? Or Longing?

All he knew was—he didn’t want Malang standing on the sidelines.

He wanted him in the fire.

“I just want to challenge him for the battle,” Neil told himself.

But the truth was simpler.

He wanted to dance with him.

And now, finally, he had the perfect excuse.

Without warning, he grabbed Malang’s wrist and yanked him into the center.

Malang stumbled, shocked. For a moment, he tried to keep up.

But it was like dancing with fire.

Neil moved too fast, too sharp. Malang faltered, the rhythm slipped through his fingers. He couldn’t keep up. Then slowly backed away.

From the sidelines, he watched Neil burn.

“I get it now,” Malang thought. “They’re not just mean. They’ve earned their reputation. They’re damn good.”

For the first time, he saw beyond The Ruthless’s arrogance. He saw the years of sweat and practice.

Neil noticed his absence. A flicker of something in his eyes—but he danced on.

Then Sam, Figo, and Rihanna joined him. The music dropped again—faster, louder.

In a perfectly timed move, Sam and Rihanna ran toward Neil and Figo—leaping into their arms, spinning midair as the boys caught and turned them with ease.

The crowd screamed. The dorm ground shook.

The Ruthless ended with a stomp in perfect sync, breaths heaving, sweat glistening.

Silence.

Then thunderous applause. It was electric. Ruthless had raised the bar to the moon.

It was almost over. Everyone knew who had won.

Kiran, Amit, Sulekha—they looked defeated.

But Netra’s eyes blazed.

“Do you know the steps to ‘Param Sundari’?” she asked Kiran.

“Param…? Um—yes?” Kiran said.

“Good. We do ‘Param Sundari’, then ‘Chikni Chameli’... then Tandav.”

“Tandav—?Wait—I don’t know—”

Too late. Netra pulled her to the center.

The desi music burst to life.

♫ My desi girl, my desi girl Girl, girl, girl, girl, girl ♫

Netra and Kiran danced with wild abandon. Their moves were sexy, sassy, and undeniably Desi. Glittering eyes. Swishing hair. Whipping skirts. The crowd went wild.

Amit jumped in. They fused steps—Bollywood flair with rustic heart.

Then, silence.

Drums. Fast. Intense.

It was time for Tandav.

The music changed. It wasn't music anymore—it was war drums.

The tabla pounded like a racing heart, a bansuri cried, and in the center, Netra stood alone.

♫ Jatatavigalajjala pravahapavitasthale Galeavalambya lambitam bhujangatungamalikam Damad damad damaddama ninadavadamarvayam Chakara chandtandavam tanotu nah shivah shivam ♫

Her hair now tied back. Her face serene. Her eyes burning.

She began slow.

One foot struck the ground.

Then again.

Then the flood.

Her fingers told stories. Her feet demanded space.

Like lightning striking earth, Netra became something else entirely.

She was Shiva. She was destruction and creation. She was beauty and fire and wrath.

Her feet hammered the ground with increasing speed, dust rising around her. Her arms slashed the air with meaning. She dropped into a full split, snapped up, spun—her braid slicing the air.

“What is this?” Malang thought, breathless. “This… this is not just dancing. This is devotion. This is rebellion.”

Even Neil, standing with arms crossed, felt it.

Netra’s eyes closed as her final spin slowed. She knelt, palms raised to the sky, head bowed, chest rising with each breath.

The crowd lost it.

“NETRA! NETRA! SHE’S AWESOME YAAR!”

Phones flashed.

Malang’s chest swelled with pride.

But Rihanna couldn’t let it go.

She leaned into Sam’s ear and hissed, “We can’t lose to them. Sabotage it.”

When the crowd was still cheering, Sam subtly shoved Kiran from behind. Kiran stumbled into Netra—who lost balance and fell backward right onto Rihanna.

Crash.

Perfect setup.

Rihanna hollered. “What the hell?!”

Neil and Figo, furious, rushed over, pushing people back.

“What’s going on!?”

The teams clashed.

One push led to another.

A full-blown fight began to break out.

Pushing. Shouting. Fists threatening to fly.

Netra and Malang looked at each other.

How do we stop this? Their eyes said.

Then—