Dinner was spread across the small, checkered tablecloth in the Rivera kitchen like a silent poem: warm colors, fragrant steam, and more dishes than Bharath could name. The smells-cumin, tomato, roasted peppers, lime-wrapped around him like a hug. A bowl of seasoned bck beans simmered gently beside a golden ptter of arroz amarillo, fried pntains gleaming in a ceramic dish, sautéed bell peppers and onions stacked neatly in a cast-iron pan. And at the center of it all was something Bharath hadn’t expected: two whole trays of vegetarian enchidas, their tops bubbling with cheese, stuffed with roasted squash, mushrooms, and bck lentils.

  He blinked at the spread.

  “Ma’am,” he said, quietly stunned, “did you make all this… for me?”

  Maria, who was bustling by the stove with a wooden spoon in hand, turned and gave him a modest shrug. “You don’t eat meat, right?”

  He nodded slowly.

  “Then of course,” she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re in my home, mijo. You get fed.”

  Bharath smiled so widely it almost hurt. His chest tightened in the best way. He looked at Marisol, who was already smiling at him from across the table like she knew. Because she did.

  They sat. The meal began in soft clinks and satisfied hums. Maria made sure his pte was never empty, and Bharath made sure to thank her every time she passed something his way.

  Conversation flowed easily, if carefully.

  They told stories-censored, of course-about the “chaotic energy” of their friend group. About Ravi’s insistence that his mixtape could outshine any DJ, about Tyrel trying to teach Cami how to “grind like it’s 1998,” about Jorge and his tragic attempts at salsa. They shared anecdotes from css, ughter from te nights watching movies in their tiny dorm room, and memories of studying at Sarah’s off-campus house.

  When Sarah’s name came up, Bharath felt a flicker of tension across the table. Maria’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly.

  “She’s… the girl Bharath helped,” Marisol offered smoothly. “After the attack.”

  “She’s a junior,” Bharath added. “Really kind. Brilliant. I think we’ve all sort of adopted each other.”

  Maria nodded slowly, still skeptical, but not hostile. “And that’s whose pce you’ve been staying most nights?”

  “Yes,” Marisol said truthfully, brushing her thumb across Bharath’s knuckles under the table. “It’s just quieter there. Off-campus.”

  “She has a very calm house,” Bharath said. “We all hang out there a lot.”

  Maria nodded, then sipped her hibiscus tea and gave them a measured gnce. “You should all come here for Thanksgiving.”

  Marisol blinked. “Wait-what?”

  “Your friends. You talk about them so much. Bring them. Your grandfather would have said the more the merrier.”

  Marisol's expression softened. “Are you sure, Mami?”

  Maria looked between the two of them. “I’m sure. That way I can see if they’re feeding you enough.”

  Everyone ughed, including Bharath-though his heart melted quietly under the table.

  But not everyone was ughing.

  Mia had been mostly quiet during dinner. Not sullen or withdrawn, just… observant. Her eyes kept drifting to Bharath whenever he wasn’t looking. And when he did look her way, she’d shift her gaze back to her pte with a small smile or a pretend cough.

  She was studying him. Trying to figure him out. Trying to understand the strange pull she couldn’t expin.

  Her fork clinked against her pte. “I’m still sucking at Calculus.”

  All heads turned toward her. Marisol raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”

  “Since Mr. Alvarez decided we should all be baby Einsteins and solve multivariable integrals with broken calcutors,” Mia said ftly.

  Bharath chuckled. “It’s not that bad.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she said, stabbing her rice. “You probably dream in integrals.”

  Marisol grinned. “He kind of does, actually. He’s like a calculus god. He helped me visualize slope the other day and it was like someone had removed a mental blindfold.”

  Bharath ughed modestly. “It was a good analogy.”

  “Well, I need more of those,” Mia said. “Consistently.”

  “I can help again,” Bharath said, brushing his hair back. “But I can’t really keep coming here often. It’s a bit difficult with csses and no car.”

  Mia’s eyes didn’t leave his. “Then I’ll come to you. I mean, it’s not that far. I can take the MARTA after school. I’ve got my license now too.”

  Marisol tilted her head. “You want to come to campus for tutoring?”

  Mia shrugged like it was no big deal. “Why not? You’re always there anyway. And he’s-well, he’s better than Mr. Alvarez.”

  Bharath smiled. “We’ll make a schedule. As long as you bring the effort, I’ll bring the analogies.”

  “Deal,” she said, almost too quickly.

  Maria looked vaguely amused. “You’re really serious about this Georgia Tech dream, huh?”

  “I am,” Mia said. But her eyes were still on Bharath. “And I have the best person helping me now.”

  Bharath didn’t notice the way she looked at him then-not fully. But Marisol did.

  She watched her little sister closely, a quiet flicker of something passing through her.

  Later, as they helped Maria clear the table, Marisol nudged Bharath with her elbow. “I think you’ve got a fan.”

  He blinked. “Mia?”

  “She’s glowing like a firefly every time you speak.”

  Bharath frowned slightly. “I was just being supportive.”

  “I know,” Marisol said gently. “That’s why she’s starting to look at you differently.”

  He went still for a moment, pte in hand. “You think…?”

  “She’s seventeen. You actually listen to her. That’s like… mythical creature levels of rarity.”

  Bharath lowered the pte slowly. “I didn’t mean to-”

  “I know you didn’t,” Marisol said, touching his arm. “And she doesn’t know what she’s feeling yet. But maybe just… be mindful, okay?”

  Bharath nodded, though his ears were burning. “I mean, yeah, she’s cute. But she’s also seventeen. And your sister. I’m not a monster.”

  “No one’s saying you are,” Marisol said lightly. “I’m just… observing. Besides, Sarah and I wouldn’t let you seduce anyone else without our strict supervision.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Think of us as your erotic HR department,” she deadpanned. “All applicants must be emotionally stable, team-oriented, and okay with shared benefits.”

  “You two are deranged,” Bharath muttered, but he was ughing despite himself. “This isn’t funny.”

  “It is a little,” Marisol said, winking. “You should’ve seen your face.”

  But even as he ughed, something tightened in his chest.

  She’s seventeen, he reminded himself. She’s Marisol’s sister.

  He didn’t want to imagine Mia like that-not seriously. Not ever. It felt wrong. It was wrong.

  And yet, his body betrayed him with every teasing nudge, every sly comment from the girls, every time Mia looked at him like he was already part of her future.

  He exhaled slowly.

  This is dangerous, he thought. Not because of temptation-but because she matters. And I can’t afford to mess that up.

  He gnced toward the hallway, where she’d disappeared minutes ago.

  I need to be careful. For her. For us.

  Mia appeared in the doorway then, drying her hands on a towel.

  “Don’t forget,” she said, fshing Bharath a grin. “Tuesday after school. You’re mine for an hour.”

  And with that, she disappeared down the hall.

  Marisol exhaled. “Ay, Dios mío.”

  Bharath just looked dazed.

  And far down the hallway, in the quiet of her room, Mia sat down at her desk and stared at her pnner.

  She flipped to the coming Tuesday and wrote in block letters:

  CALCULUS WITH B.

  Then, after a long pause, she added a heart.