The campus dining hall was, once again, humming.
Trays clattered, chairs scraped, and conversations swirled like wind through leaves-but Table 7, by the east-facing windows, had a gravity all its own.
At the center of it all sat Bharath, flanked by Marisol and Sarah like bookends of devotion. On his right, Marisol poked at her burrito bowl with studied calm, one hand always resting sowhere on Bharath-his forearm, his thigh, his knee under the table. On his left, Sarah nibbled carrot sticks with alarming grace, occasionally slipping him sips of her strawberry lemonade without being asked.
Across from them, Jorge, Ravi, Tyrel, Camila, LaTasha, and Nandita did their best to act casual. It didn’t work.
There was a subtle but unmistakable energy around the table-part reverence, part chaos. A few heads from neighboring tables turned their way now and then, whispering, giggling, nudging elbows.
“Okay,” Tyrel said, finally leaning forward, “you want to hear today’s greatest hits?”
Bharath blinked. “Do I?”
“Oh, you do,” Ravi said, eyes wide.
“I’m just brushing my teeth,” Tyrel began, “minding my business. Then these two freshn barge into the bathroom and ask -!-if I know where the Prince of Pleasure’ lives.”
“Another ti I heard soone say you’ve got healing hands,” Tyrel whispered. “Like, literally. There’s a kid claiming his acne cleared up after you high-fived him yesterday.”
Sarah choked on her lemonade.
LaTasha dropped her fork.
Marisol snorted into her napkin. “Prince of what now?”
Tyrel threw his hands up. “Don’t ask ! I’m just quoting. Apparently, they’ve started a whole discussion thread about Bharath on the dorm whiteboard. He has other nas too… like the King of the College of Computing”
Jorge chid in. “Last night two guys knocked on my door just to see Bharath’s desk. They wanted to know what cologne he uses. Said they were doing ‘recon.’”
Ravi nodded solemnly. “One of them was taking notes.”
Marisol tilted her head at Bharath. “What do you use?”
Bharath straightened like a soldier reporting to duty. “Wild Stone,” he declared. “It’s this musky-”
Both girls gasped.
“Oh my god,” Sarah groaned.
“No,” Marisol said, pointing at him. “Absolutely not. We binned that weeks ago. You’re still using that?.”
“But it’s got this… smoky charm,” Bharath defended weakly.
Sarah leaned in, dead serious. “It slls like bad decisions and airport bathrooms.”
“You said you liked it!” Bharath protested.
“We like you,” Marisol replied with a grin. “Not the chemical weapon you were wearing.”
“Blasphemy,” Jorge said, cracking up. “I knew that sll was working so kind of dark magic.”
Tyrel leaned back. “I’m just saying-if the campus has an underground ‘Bharath strategy council,’ I want in. I’ll sell tips.”
“I knew I had a fan club back ho,” Bharath muttered dramatically. “Looks like they’ve gone international.”
Sarah and Marisol leaned into him from either side and kissed his cheeks in unison.
“You’re welco,” Marisol whispered.
“We created a monster,” Sarah added.
Nandita, who had been flipping through a notebook with choreo sketches, finally looked up. “Okay, enough about perfu espionage and fan clubs-we need to dance.”
“Oh god,” Jorge groaned.
Camila raised an eyebrow. “Dance?”
“LaTasha, Sarah, and I are already onboard,” Nandita said. “Marisol, I assu you’re in?”
Marisol perked up imdiately. “Diwali dance? Of course.”
Nandita smiled. “I’ve narrowed down the choreography and costu ideas. It’s fusion-modern Indian ets street performance. Think lehenga with sneakers.”
Sarah clapped her hands. “I love this.”
“The guys will need at least one rehearsal every day this week,” Nandita said, eyeing Bharath. Ravi, Jorge, and Tyrel aningfully.
Tyrel groaned louder. “No offense, but I have the rhythm of a broken washing machine.”
“You’ll learn,” LaTasha said sweetly.
“Or suffer,” Nandita added, not missing a beat.
Jorge turned to Bharath. “Tell you’ve at least danced before.”
Bharath shrugged. “Mostly at weddings. Badly.”
“Perfect,” Nandita muttered. “We’ll start from scratch.”
Ravi, sipping his third iced tea, squinted at Bharath. “Speaking of tonight-are we eting your little sister-in-law?”
Bharath hesitated.
“Tonight’s just for family,” he said. “I’m tutoring Mia, and then… she’s coming over. To et Sarah.”
Camila raised an eyebrow. “Big move.”
Marisol nodded. “She’s curious. It’s better she hears things from us than from the dorm gossip chain.”
Sarah added, “She’s smart. But we want to give her space to ask questions. Tomorrow, she can et all of you.”
Ravi raised his hands. “Fair. But I’m bringing popcorn to see how she reacts.”
Tyrel nodded. “And a pen and notebook. In case she starts a competing fan club.”
Bharath buried his face in his hands. “I hate all of you.”
Marisol and Sarah just leaned in again, each pressing a kiss to his jaw.
“We know,” they said together.
As Nandita rolled out her folded paper with sketches and notes, the energy at the table shifted again-from playful chaos to organized mischief.
“Alright,” she said, flattening the sheet with both palms. “Here’s the deal. We’ve got ten days till the Diwali showcase. That ans daily practice.”
“Daily? I thought you were joking before!” Ravi blinked.
“Every day?” Jorge’s voice cracked.
“Wait-there are ten days in a week now?” Tyrel asked, horrified.
Nandita raised an eyebrow. “I’m a girl. I can change my mind. Let’s make it two sessions on weekends. One hour after class on weekdays. Minimum.”
LaTasha nodded supportively. “It’s not that bad. We’ll rotate through segnts and everyone gets breaks.”
Sarah leaned over to look. “Are we starting with the group number?”
“Yes,” Nandita confird. “Then a mid-tempo trio, and we finish with a high-energy fusion mashup.”
Marisol grinned. “Tell there are dupattas I can twirl.”
“Flowy skirts, bangles, eyeliner, drama-the works,” Nandita replied. “We’re going big.”
Bharath winced. “We’re dood.”
“No,” Sarah said, nudging him. “You’re going to be radiant.”
“I am going to be publicly humiliated.”
Marisol kissed his temple. “You’re going to be publicly desired.”
The girls high-fived.
anwhile, across the table, Ravi leaned toward Jorge. “Video gas after this?”
“Imdiately,” Jorge whispered. “I need to go beat sothing up very badly.”
Tyrel was already pushing back his chair. “Let’s go pretend we have agency.”
“You can’t run from culture,” Nandita called after them.
“Watch us!” Tyrel yelled back as they fled in a tight huddle of masculine dread.
Bharath made his way back to Smith Hall alone, still chuckling from the after-lunch chaos. The November breeze was cool against his cheeks, but his thoughts were a warm blur of Marisol’s fingers in his hair, Sarah’s laughter echoing in the dining hall, and the faint cinnamon-sandalwood scent still clinging to his collarbone from that morning’s bath.
The mont he stepped into the dorm lobby, it hit him.
“Yo-it’s him!”
A group of guys lounging on beanbags around the common TV turned as one. Two freshn actually stood up. One of them-skinny, bespectacled, vibrating-practically ran up.
“Is it true?” he asked breathlessly. “You use Wild Stone?”
Bharath blinked. “I… yeah?”
The room erupted.
“I knew it!” soone yelled from the back.
“Dude, I just ordered a box!” another guy shouted.
“You’re like the Tom Cruise of romance,” a voice muttered reverently.
Bharath was ushered into the lounge like a cult leader returning from pilgrimage. Soone brought him a slice of cold pizza. Another offered the controller to the dorm’s PlayStation with both hands like it was sacred.
“Tell us,” a guy in an ani hoodie said seriously, “what’s the daily ritual?”
“I don’t know if I should-” Bharath started.
“Please,” soone else said. “My GPA depends on this.”
Bharath laughed and raised his hands. “Alright. Fine. Step one: shampoo. Step two: kindness. Step three: Wild Stone. That’s all I’ll say.”
“Legend,” soone whispered.
“I’m naming my goldfish after you,” another added solemnly.
As he settled onto the couch with a controller in hand and the scent of body spray lore trailing behind him, Bharath glanced out the window-toward the direction of the diner, of Marisol and Sarah and the girls talking dance-and smiled.
He had no idea how he got here.
But apparently, he slled good doing it.
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