As they strolled back from Centennial Park, Tyrel hung back slightly with Jorge and Ravi while Bharath and Marisol walked ahead, talking quietly.

  Tyrel kept his voice low. “Alright. Operation Wake Up Dumbass is a go.”

  Ravi asked, “Why do you keep changing the name of the mission? It gets confusing.”

  Tyrel stared at Ravi.

  Jorge smirked. “You think tonight’s the night?”

  Ravi shrugged. “If she holds his hand in the park and he still doesn’t get it? We’re going to have to spell it out in ASCII or Binary.”

  “She said yes to a frat party,” Tyrel said. “With him. That’s not subtle. Tonight, we close the deal.”

  “Bueno! Are we still pying wingman?” Jorge asked.

  “We’re doing more than that,” Tyrel said. “We’re clearing the dance floor, we’re pying DJ, and if needed… we’re faking emergencies so they get stuck together.”

  Ravi nodded solemnly. “For love. And future hot girlfriends.”

  Jorge added, “But mostly the hot girlfriends.”

  Tyrel grinned. “If we’re giving up our chance with a dimepiece like Marisol, she better return the favor with interest.”

  From ahead, Marisol called over her shoulder, “You guys scheming back there or just walking that slow?”

  “Stretching!” Tyrel called back. “Just admiring the sunset!”

  “Mm-hmm,” she replied, clearly not buying it, but amused.

  Bharath gnced back, confused. “Everything okay?”

  “Perfect,” Tyrel said. “Tonight’s gonna be legendary.”

  The sun was just beginning to mellow, casting long golden stripes across the quad as the gang spilled out of the MARTA station, legs tired from walking and ughter still fresh from the day at Centennial Park.

  Tyrel pulled his cap lower and cracked his neck. “Alright, nerdlings,” he said, pausing in the middle of the sidewalk, “tonight, we go feral.”

  Bharath blinked. “Feral?”

  “Rush week, baby,” Tyrel grinned, spping Jorge’s shoulder. “Zeta Psi’s throwin’ a rager. Supposed to be wild. DJs, jungle juice, maybe even a fire-breather.”

  Jorge looked thrilled. “I’ve always wanted to see a drunk guy try that.”

  Ravi snorted. “I still don’t even know what Rush Week is, man. It sounds like a Coke ad.”

  Tyrel threw his arms around both of them. “Rush week is when the fraternities and sororities recruit. Frats throw huge parties to lure dumb freshmen with bad decisions. And guess what?”

  “We’re the dumb freshmen?” Bharath guessed.

  “Exactly,” Tyrel beamed. “But with style.”

  Bharath exchanged a look with Jorge. “You sure this isn’t... too much?”

  “Come on,” Jorge said. “It’s college! When are we ever gonna be this young and this stupid again?”

  “I dunno,” Ravi said. “I was pnning on being stupid for years.”

  Behind them, Marisol adjusted the strap of her bag and raised an eyebrow. “You boys pnning to get yourselves roofied or what?”

  Tyrel turned with a wink. “We’re scouting the scene, miss. Gotta see what these frat guys think passes for charisma.”

  “Chugging vodka and yelling ‘bro’ every five seconds?” Marisol offered. “Impressive.”

  “You’re coming, right?” Jorge asked half-teasingly, winking at her.

  Marisol winked. “Me? To a frat party?”

  Tyrel winked back. “What, scared of the wild side?”

  She gave him a knowing look, then gnced at Bharath, who was conspicuously silent, staring at Marisol’s hands in his with a dazed smile like they held the answer to all his existential questions.

  “I don’t know,” she said slowly. “Sounds like I’d need a security detail.”

  Tyrel gestured grandly. “Behold… your four bodyguards. Unarmed but dangerous. Ravi bites.”

  Ravi gave a thumbs up. “More like bits. But confirmed.”

  Everyone groaned at his bad computer science joke.

  Marisol ughed, “You know what? Why not.”

  Bharath looked up. “Wait… really?”

  She shrugged. “I’ve never been to a frat party. And if I’m ever going to survive one, it’s with you guys. Plus…” She gnced at Bharath and smirked. “Gotta make sure someone doesn’t wander into the keg thinking it’s a urinal.”

  “I would never…” Bharath began, horrified.

  “Mm-hm,” she said, already looking for a payphone to call home.

  As they waited for her to call home from a nearby phone, Tyrel leaned toward Jorge. “Did that just happen? Are we bringing her to this?”

  Jorge nodded slowly. “God bless America.”

  Marisol’s voice softened slightly as she spoke in Spanish to her mother. A moment ter, she ended the call and returned to the boys. Bharath held her hands again causing her to blush.

  “All good,” she said. “Told my mom I’m staying over at a friend’s pce tonight.”

  “Which isn’t technically a lie,” Ravi said. “We’re friends. Sort of.”

  “You’re mascots,” she corrected. “Bharath is the only one keeping my faith in men alive.”

  Bharath turned red immediately.

  Tyrel cpped his hands. “Alright, squad. Go back, change into your party armor. Jeans, good shoes, no weird college tees. This ain’t study hall.”

  “Wait,” Jorge said. “There’s a dress code?”

  “It’s not Sunday at the church, but you gotta look good enough that they don’t bounce you at the door.”

  Ravi nodded solemnly. “I shall attempt not to look like a mathlete.”

  They split off in pairs, Marisol trailing behind the boys with Bharath as they walked back toward Smith Hall, her smile lingering just a little longer than usual when she looked into his eyes.

  Saturday evening arrived like a buzz in the air. It was warm, electric, thick with the scent of cut grass and barbecue smoke drifting in from the frat row.

  Back in Room 202 of Smith Hall, the boys stood in various states of wardrobe chaos.

  “This shirt makes me look like a divorced uncle,” Jorge groaned, holding up a bright red button-down.

  “It’s fine,” Bharath said, tying his shoeces.

  “You’re just saying that because your shirt fits,” Jorge grumbled.

  Ravi emerged from the shared bathroom, sniffing his armpits. “Should I go light on the cologne or... drown myself in it?”

  “Don’t worry. You’ve got Wild Stone on” said Bharath.

  “Depends,” Tyrel drawled from the futon, lounging in a crisp white tee, bck jeans, and a gold chain that probably wasn’t real. “You tryna impress or confess?”

  “I’m just trying to not look like I’m applying for a schorship,” Ravi muttered.

  Then, a knock at the door.

  Bharath opened it.

  And there she was.

  Marisol.

  Wearing a tucked-in tight bck tank top, wide-leg high-waisted jean shorts, hoop earrings, and white sneakers. No makeup. Hair left loose over one shoulder. A denim jacket slung casually over the other shoulder. She looked like she’d just walked off the cover of an effortlessly cool magazine.

  Bharath’s jaw forgot gravity.

  Jorge actually dropped his deodorant.

  Ravi blinked twice, frozen.

  Tyrel let out a long whistle as he tried to sit down and stand up at the same time. “Well, goddamn.”

  Marisol raised an eyebrow. “This is what peak male preparation looks like?”

  Jorge recovered. “You’re not even dressed up. How do you look like that?”

  She smirked. “It’s called style” as she fixed Bharath’s colr without asking.

  Tyrel cpped his hands. “Aight peepz. Let’s roll out.”

  The group began to shuffle out of Room 202 with a chorus of jokes and bravado, but Bharath lingered. His hands fidgeted at the edge of his shirt, where Marisol’s fingers had just been. His colr still held the ghost of her touch. It was casual, maybe, but it had sent something spiraling inside him. Something that had been trying to climb its way to the surface all week.

  He turned, just as Marisol was about to follow the others out.

  “Wait,” he said, a little louder than intended.

  She paused, half in the doorway, eyebrows lifted. “Yeah?”

  His mouth opened, then closed again. But he forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to meet her eyes.

  “You look… amazing,” he said, voice lower now. “I mean, you always do, but tonight, it’s like… I don’t know. Like you’re walking out of my dreams.”

  Marisol blinked. Her expression softened, just slightly. “That’s new,” she said, teasing. “Look at you flirting.”

  “I’m not good at it,” Bharath said honestly. “But I wanted to say it anyway. Before we go.”

  She stepped fully back into the room and closed the door gently behind her, muffling the sounds of the hallway. “Say what?”

  “That I like you,” Bharath said, the words tumbling out now. They came out too fast to stop. “I mean, really like you. Not just as a study partner. Not just because you’re funny or smart or gorgeous or... or because you’re the only one who talks to me like I’m not some weirdo from another continent.”

  She tilted her head, studying him.

  “I like being around you. I look forward to every css, every day because of you. And I know I’ve been... slow, maybe even clueless, but it’s not because I don’t feel something. I just didn’t want to assume. Or scare you off.”

  Her lips parted slightly, but she said nothing. Not yet.

  He took a step closer. “I don’t just want to be your friend, Marisol. I mean, if that’s all you want, I’ll take it - because being near you is already more than I thought I deserved. But if there’s even a chance that you feel something too…”

  He swallowed, voice almost trembling now. “I want more. I want to see where this goes. I want to hold your hand without wondering if it’s too much. I want to kiss you without pretending I’m just imagining it.”

  Her breath hitched. She looked at him like he’d just knocked the wind out of her.

  “You’re serious,” she whispered.

  “I’ve never been more serious about anything,” he said. “You make me feel like I belong here. Like I’m more than just someone passing through.”

  A beat of silence.

  Then Marisol crossed the space between them in two quick steps and stood on her toes, her hands resting lightly on his chest.

  “Bharath,” she said, her voice suddenly breathless. “I’ve been waiting for you to say something. All week.”

  He blinked. “You have?”

  She smiled. “Of course I have. You really think I come around just to borrow your notes?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, dazed. “I thought maybe you were just nice. Or... way out of my league.”

  “You’re an idiot,” she murmured, and leaned in - not to kiss him, but to press her forehead against his. “But you’re my idiot.”

  The doorknob rattled. Tyrel’s voice echoed through the wood. “Wakey wakey. Y’all makin’ out in there or what?”

  Marisol ughed softly, eyes still closed. “Soon,” she whispered, only for Bharath.

  Then she stepped back, opened the door, and walked out like nothing had happened.

  Bharath stood there for a second longer, heart pounding, soul on fire. Then he followed her out into the dusk, knowing with utter certainty that the night ahead would be nothing like he expected.

  And maybe, just maybe, everything he wanted.