Ravi and Nandita found a quieter pocket near the back speakers, where the lights didn’t strobe so aggressively and the bass didn’t make your mors buzz. The wall behind them vibrated gently with the rhythm of the crowd, but in their little alcove, it almost felt like a te-night dorm hallway conversation-if the dorm hallway was full of vampires, shirtless Spartans, and at least three Sailor Moons.

  Nandita was radiant - in a bck halter top tucked into high-rise jeans, her signature silver bangles catching the glint of neon lights. Her thick gsses slid down her nose as she tilted her head toward Ravi, arching one perfect brow.

  “I can’t believe you still think Mulder was the hot one,” she said, mock-appalled, sipping from her cranberry soda.

  Ravi clutched his imaginary pearls. “He’s David Duchovny! That jawline could solve cases on its own.”

  Nandita snorted. “Please. Scully was the real reason we watched. Science, skepticism, that pantsuit game? Icon.”

  “You’re just saying that because you want to be her.”

  “Wrong. I already am her.”

  Ravi narrowed his eyes. “Okay then, Scully. What’s the logical expnation for the guy in the corner dressed as a sexy corn cob?”

  She smirked. “Clearly the result of undergrad stress and unresolved mother issues.”

  He stared at her. “...You are terrifyingly fast.”

  “I’m also winning,” she said smugly. “Three to two.”

  “Three? That was just a comeback.”

  “You lost a point for confusing the Outer Limits reboot timeline. Unforgivable.”

  Ravi groaned. “Okay, that’s fair.”

  Before he could rally a comeback, the opening riff of “No Diggity” dropped like a bassy velvet bomb over the dance floor, and Nandita’s eyes lit up.

  “Ohhh yes. That’s my jam.”

  She grabbed his wrist before he could even protest.

  “Wait-what are you-”

  “Dance now. We’ll continue the quiz ter,” she said, dragging him toward the edge of the dance floor with that signature mix of mischief and command that Ravi was rapidly learning was very her.

  “I don’t dance,” he said helplessly, even as she positioned them under the soft red glow of a corner spotlight.

  “You do now.”

  The beat rolled in. Smooth. Lazy. Confident.

  Ravi stood frozen, feet firmly pnted, arms slightly akimbo like a deer caught mid-software update.

  Nandita ughed. “Oh my god. You weren’t kidding.”

  “I told you,” he said, half-apologetic. “I’ve got negative rhythm.”

  She tilted her head. “Okay. Fine. We’ll start simple.”

  Grabbing both his hands, she locked eyes with him, and gently pulled him into a two-step. Left-right. Left-right. Basic. Manageable.

  “See?” she said, guiding him with her hands, hips swaying in time. “Not so bad.”

  He blinked. “Am I… dancing?”

  She nodded. “Like a malfunctioning R2D2, but yes. You are.”

  He ughed, loud and surprised. “You are dangerous, Nandita.”

  “I’m just unlocking your full potential,” she said with mock innocence. “Now stop thinking so hard. Just feel it.”

  So he did.

  For the first time since they stepped inside Club Zero, Ravi wasn’t hyper-aware of how sweaty he was or whether he was blocking a strobe light. He just watched her - the way her hair moved when she threw her head back to ugh, the way her fingers ced with his as they moved together. Her body wasn’t pressed against his - not yet - but the space between them felt charged. Not lusty. Just... potential. Curiosity.

  The chorus hit, and she pulled him closer, her hands sliding from his into the crook of his elbows.

  “Okay,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “Final exam. Can you spin me?”

  He blinked. “Like… physically?”

  “No, emotionally,” she deadpanned.

  He grinned and took a breath. “Alright. Here goes nothing.”

  Ravi stepped forward, gently guiding her into a clumsy but surprisingly elegant spin, his hand brushing the small of her back as she came around.

  She didn’t stop smiling. “Well, look at that. The R2D2 leveled up.”

  “You bring out the best in me,” he said, half-joking, half-not.

  She didn’t ugh. Instead, she leaned in just slightly, eyes locked on his. “You’re sweet, you know that?”

  “I try,” he said, suddenly breathless. “I just… don’t always get it right.”

  “You’re doing just fine,” she said softly, her voice low now, barely above the music. “I like that you’re not trying too hard. Everyone else here feels like they’re trying to win a reality show. You’re just... being.”

  “Well,” he said, a little shy now, “I am competing. But only for your attention.”

  She gave him a long look - like she was seeing something new. Something more than the shy, funny boy with trivia up his sleeve.

  And then she stepped forward.

  Just a little.

  Her fingers slid up the front of his shirt, resting just over his colrbone. Her body leaned in - not pressed flush, but close enough for him to feel her warmth, the shape of her, the hint of her breath as she tilted her face up toward his.

  “You’ve got it,” she whispered.

  Ravi blinked. “Got what?”

  “My attention.”

  He forgot how to breathe.

  She leaned in closer - their noses nearly touching, lips a breath away - but didn’t close the distance. Not yet.

  Instead, she reached behind him and tugged him in by the belt loop, a wicked smile curving her lips. “But if you want more than that… you’ll have to earn it.”

  Ravi’s voice cracked. “H-how?”

  Nandita’s grin widened. “Surprise me.”

  Before he could chicken out, he kissed her.

  Quick. Gentle. Terrified.

  She blinked, then burst into a soft ugh. “Oh my god, that was adorable.”

  “Too soon?” he asked, cheeks crimson.

  She tilted her head. “No. Just… rookie-level.”

  He looked down. “Right.”

  “Lucky for you,” she murmured, pulling him back in, “I happen to be a very generous teacher.”

  And then she kissed him.

  Properly.

  And this time, Ravi stopped thinking.

  Her lips were soft and full. Her body slid against his like puzzle pieces finally finding alignment. Her fingers curled into his hair, her tongue flicking pyfully at the seam of his lips.

  Ravi melted.

  By the time they broke apart, the music had shifted again - a slower groove now, more sensual.

  She looked at him with dancing eyes. “Still thinking about Mulder?”

  He grinned. “What’s an X-File?”

  They stayed like that - pressed close, swaying gently - until the lights shifted, the song ended, and the spell of the moment gently let go.

  But the promise?

  That stayed.

  As they made their way off the dance floor, Ravi reached for her hand.

  Nandita looked down at their entwined fingers and then back up at him, smiling.

  “You know,” she said casually, “I’m pretty sure we just skipped about three months of awkward flirting.”

  “Or maybe,” Ravi said, smiling shyly, “we just found the fast ne.”

  She squeezed his hand. “Better hope you can keep up, bhai.”

  And for once, Ravi didn’t flinch at the teasing.

  Because this time?

  He knew she meant his name.

  Not just a nickname.

  Not just a bit.

  She meant him.

  Jorge tried to py it cool - leaning against the bar like it was the most natural thing in the world, rum and Coke in one hand, the other tucked casually into his jeans pocket. He watched the dance floor through the flicker of strobe lights, trying not to look like he was scanning for her.

  Too te.

  “Buscas a alguien, papito?” came a voice from behind, low and teasing.

  He turned just as Cami slid up beside him, sipping something neon orange through a straw and wearing a devil costume that had already ruined his ability to think clearly. Red velvet crop top, matching mini skirt, glitter on her colrbones, and horns nestled in her glossy bck curls. A silver cross dangled from her neck, swaying with every step like it was in on the joke.

  “Dios mío!” Jorge whispered under his breath.

  She cocked her head. “Say something, pretty boy. Or are you just gonna stand there sweating?”

  He cleared his throat, forcing a grin. “You look…”

  “Dangerous? Ravishing? Sinful?”

  He nodded slowly. “All of the above. And maybe like trouble.”

  She leaned in, her voice like warm syrup. “Maybe I am.”

  Before he could catch his breath, she grabbed his wrist and tugged him toward the dance floor.

  “Cami-wait-”

  “No waiting tonight, Boliviano,” she said with a wink. “Let’s see if you can move like your accent says you can.”

  The crowd swallowed them whole - bodies in motion, lights fshing, the bass thick enough to feel in their ribs.

  Cami didn’t press against him immediately. No, she danced just out of reach - close enough to tempt, far enough to taunt. Her hips swayed with the beat, her hands occasionally brushing his as she twirled, eyes always locked on his.

  Jorge gulped the st of his drink. “Tú estás jugando conmigo,” he said, trying not to stare too obviously.

  “Obvio,” she said, spinning with a ugh. “But you like it.”

  “I do,” he admitted. “A little too much.”

  “Then come closer,” she dared, curling a finger.

  He obeyed - cautiously at first, then with more confidence. Their bodies aligned, not grinding but swaying in sync, like they shared some unspoken rhythm only they could hear.

  “You smell like rum,” she whispered, lips near his ear. “Y un poquito de lust.”

  Jorge chuckled. “You smell like you’re gonna ruin my life.”

  Cami’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe just your night.”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  He twirled her again, pulling her back into his arms this time, his hands settling at her waist. She didn’t resist. In fact, she leaned in - the velvet of her top brushing his chest, her breath warm against his cheek.

  “You look good tonight,” he said finally, voice rough.

  “I always look good,” she replied with a smirk.

  “Fair.”

  “But tonight…” she continued, eyes flicking over him, “you clean up nice too. Not bad for someone who thinks La Paz is a personality trait.”

  He ughed, leaning in. “Not bad for someone who thinks Miami invented reggaeton.”

  “Bite your tongue,” she said, but she was smiling now - the kind of smile that said she was thinking about kissing him.

  He leaned forward.

  This time, she didn’t stop the kiss.

  Their lips met - slow, hot, electric. No hesitation. No fumbling. Just a crash of tension released in a single, perfect moment. She tasted like tequi and mango and danger.

  When they broke apart, she blinked - surprised by her own breathlessness.

  “Damn,” she said softly.

  Jorge looked stunned. “You’re real, right?”

  Cami tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

  “I just…” He ran a hand through his hair, nervous now. “I keep thinking you’re this girl from a dream. And then you say something smart and sarcastic and so you, and I realize you’re even better than the dream.”

  Her smirk faltered - just a second - repced by something softer. “That’s a big line, Bolívar.”

  “It’s not a line,” he said, stepping closer again, his hands now framing her waist. “It’s the truth. I came here to drink and dance and maybe flirt a little. But then I saw you, and…”

  He hesitated, but then let it out.

  “I think I’m falling for you, Cami. Fast.”

  Cami stared at him, blinking like she’d been caught naked in the rain. Something flickered - an instinct to joke, to dodge - but she didn’t. Not this time.

  “You mean that?”

  He nodded. “I’ve never said that to a girl before. Not like this. Not when it felt like something I’d regret not saying.”

  She swallowed. “We just met a few weeks ago.”

  “I know.”

  Her eyes softened. “So why?”

  Jorge smiled. “Because when I’m around you, everything feels brighter. Louder. Realer. I feel like I can breathe. Like I don’t have to try so hard to be impressive, because somehow you already see me.”

  Cami bit her lip, clearly overwhelmed.

  Then she leaned in again - this time slower, more deliberately.

  And she kissed him.

  Not a game.

  Not a tease.

  A kiss that said, I see you too.

  When they broke apart again, she rested her forehead against his.

  “Te aviso,” she whispered. “I don’t fall easy.”

  “I’m not asking you to fall,” Jorge said. “Just… don’t run.”

  She closed her eyes for a beat - long enough for him to see something flicker. Not fear. Not doubt. Just the kind of ache that comes from being seen too clearly.

  “I’ve run from a lot of things,” she said quietly. “I joke. I flirt. I push people away before they can do it first. It’s safer that way.”

  Jorge didn’t say anything - just waited, holding space like she hadn’t known anyone could.

  She looked up at him again, her voice softer now. “But you… you don’t flinch when I’m sharp. You don’t try to fix me. You just stay.”

  A breath. A beat. A smile.

  “Okay, Boliviano,” she said, brushing her thumb across his cheek. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

  And together - fingers intertwined, hearts pounding - they danced back into the chaos.

  But now?

  They weren’t circling each other anymore.

  They were orbiting the same sun.