The first floor of the library was unusually alive for a Monday evening - the kind of quiet buzz that came not from whispers but from pens scribbling, pages turning, and the occasional hiss of “Wait, how did you get that?”

  Two study groups had camped at opposite ends of the open floor.

  Sarah’s corner, by the window, was covered in engineering textbooks, diagrams, and a growing mountain of mechanical pencils. She sat like a queen, fnked by Cami, Nandita, LaTasha, and Tyrel, all huddled around worksheets on stats and basic circuits.

  “You calcuted torque like it's your rent,” Sarah said, peering at Tyrel’s notebook.

  “Look, the beam was heavy, okay?”

  “You made it heavier by being on it,” Cami teased.

  LaTasha was expining resistor logic to Nandita with the patience of a saint. “So if this is parallel, the voltage stays the same across both, right?”

  Sarah nodded. “Exactly. That’s why we use it in household wiring.”

  Tyrel rubbed his forehead. “I don’t even trust my house anymore.”

  Across the floor, Bharath’s group huddled around a whiteboard and several ptops - the Discrete Math brigade.

  Jorge was buried under a bnket of truth tables. Ravi had three open notebooks and still couldn’t find the will to solve a single question. Bharath stood calmly at the board, walking them through a proof involving logical implications.

  “If not Q is true, and P implies Q, then what must P be?”

  “False,” said Jorge without looking up.

  Ravi blinked. “Wait. How are you so sure?”

  “Because I’ve failed at love and math,” Jorge muttered. “Both require logic. I have neither.”

  Bharath chuckled but didn’t slow. “Focus. One more problem and we can take a break.”

  Behind them, the printers hummed. Other students passed by but lingered subtly - stealing gnces at Bharath, who had now somehow developed the reputation of being the best-looking Discrete Math tutor and the center of Georgia Tech’s test romantic legend.

  It was like a mothman sighting in reverse.

  Bharath was refilling his water bottle when a tall figure approached from the left - pressed khakis, wire-frame gsses, and the unmistakable confidence of a campus organizer.

  “Bharath, right?”

  He turned, wary. “Yeah?”

  “Arvind,” the man said, offering his hand. “President of the Indian Student Association.”

  Bharath shook it politely.

  “We’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Arvind said. “A lot of our folks are talking about you tely.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Bharath muttered.

  Arvind grinned. “Well, Diwali’s coming up - in a couple of weeks. It’s our biggest event of the semester. We’d love to have you perform.”

  Bharath blinked. “Perform?”

  “Yeah. Dance, sing, py something. You’d be a huge draw. People know you now. You’re like our own campus Shah Rukh Khan.”

  Bharath stepped back, suddenly defensive. “I’m not a show pony. And neither are my girlfriends.”

  “Of course not! No offense meant,” Arvind said quickly. “But this is cultural. Fun. The ISA event is mostly about community. Representation. We want to make it big this year. You could lead it.”

  “I’m really not-”

  And that’s when it happened.

  Three shadows appeared behind him.

  “Lead what?” Marisol asked, sipping from a Sprite can.

  “Babe, why are you blushing?” Sarah followed, eyes narrowing in interest.

  Cami appeared next to them, grinning. “Are we talking about a groupie situation or…?”

  Arvind suddenly looked very outnumbered.

  Bharath tried to wave them off. “It’s nothing. Just the ISA thing. Diwali celebration. They want me to dance or something.”

  “Dance?” Nandita said, appearing like a ninja from the Sarah side of the room.

  LaTasha and Tyrel peeked around a bookshelf like prairie dogs.

  Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god.”

  “No,” Bharath said.

  “Yes,” Marisol said.

  “Absolutely yes,” Nandita chimed.

  Cami cpped. “I’ve always wanted to be in a group dance.”

  “No. Absolutely not,” Jorge said from across the room. “I’m Latino, I have rhythm, and I still say no.”

  “You don’t get a vote,” Marisol called back.

  “I wasn’t voting!” Jorge replied. “I was issuing a cry for help!”

  Tyrel leaned into LaTasha. “What’s Diwali again?”

  “Festival of lights. Big. Loud. Colors. Dancing.”

  “Cool. Will there be drums?”

  LaTasha grinned. “There better be.”

  Sarah turned to Arvind. “We’ll do it. Group number. Minimum of eight people.”

  “Nine,” Cami said. “We’re dragging Ravi in.”

  Ravi lifted his head from his textbook. “What.”

  “Nine is a nice square number,” Sarah said. “We’ll use both symmetry and chaos.”

  Bharath tried one more time. “Girls, I’m not performing in front of an auditorium. I’m barely used to being stared at during lunch.”

  Marisol patted his chest. “Which is why this is the perfect follow-up. You’re already a legend. Might as well bring the moves.”

  “Besides,” Sarah said, linking arms with Marisol. “You’ve got two girlfriends. The least you can do is keep up with our choreography.”

  Tyrel shrugged. “I'm in. I’ve always wanted to wear those floaty pants.”

  “They’re called dhotis,” Nandita said with a grin. “And we’re doing fusion. Bollywood and hip hop.”

  “Oh, you’re choreographing this?” Cami asked.

  Nandita tilted her head like it was obvious. “Yes. And we start tomorrow.”

  Arvind was still standing awkwardly in the middle, holding his clipboard like a shield.

  Sarah smiled. “Send us the registration form. We’ll finalize names.”

  Arvind nodded, blinking. “Right. Yes. Thank you.”

  He backed away slowly like he’d just negotiated a peace treaty with a gang of joyful zealots.

  After Arvind left Bharath stared at the girls. “You just volunteered me for public humiliation.”

  Marisol shrugged. “Welcome to dating feminists with great bance.”

  Sarah smiled sweetly. “And hips.”

  Cami winked. “And fir.”

  LaTasha added, “And excellent taste in men.”

  “Don’t worry,” Nandita said, pulling out her pnner. “We have two weeks. I’ll break it down into daily practices. Outfits. Beats. Fusion setlist. We’re doing this right.”

  Tyrel raised a hand. “Can I suggest one Bollywood song where the guy spins and doesn’t sweat?”

  “No,” came three voices in unison.

  By the end of the night, the study sessions were forgotten.

  New schedules were made.

  Pylists were drafted.

  The library lights flickered as they were kicked out at closing - a ughing group with open notebooks, smudged whiteboard notes, and now… the beginnings of a full-fledged Diwali dance squad.

  Legends or not, the gang had officially signed on for their biggest performance yet.