Their Wonder Years: Season 1: Fall 1998
Copyright© 2025 by Tantrayaan
24: You Are It
Coming of Age Sex Story: 24: You Are It - Bharath always thought going to America would mean fast love, wild parties, and maybe a stewardess or two. What he got instead? A busted duffel bag, a crying baby on the plane, and dormmates he never thought could exist in real life. Thrown into the chaos of Georgia Tech’s freshman year, Bharath begins an unforgettable journey of awkward first crushes and culture shocks. A slow-burn, emotionally rich harem romance set in the nostalgic 90s—full of laughter, lust, and longing.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft mt/Fa Consensual Fiction Humor School Sharing Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory White Female Hispanic Female Indian Female
The MARTA train rumbled beneath their feet, the car swaying gently as it sped through tunnels etched in steel and shadow. The world outside was a blur of graffiti-tagged concrete, patches of Atlanta skyline, and flashes of late-autumn trees shedding color like a sigh.
Bharath sat near the window, his arm draped over Marisol’s shoulder, fingers tracing lazy circles into her upper arm. Marisol leaned into him, her cheek resting against his shoulder, her silky hair tickling his chin.
Neither spoke for the first few minutes. The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was full-rich with all they’d left behind and all they still didn’t know how to name.
“I keep thinking about her,” Marisol said finally, not lifting her head.
Bharath didn’t need to ask who. “Yeah.”
“She was so close to breaking.”
He nodded slowly. “I felt it too. That edge. The kind of edge that doesn’t show itself until you’re already halfway over it.”
Marisol shifted slightly, lifting her face to look at him. “We can’t let her go back there, Bharath.”
“We won’t,” he said without hesitation. “She’s with the gang tonight. That’s a start.”
“She should be laughing now. Dancing. Being goofy with Camila and Tyrel and Jorge. That’s good. She needs that energy.”
He smiled faintly. “And she needs us.”
“We’re her roots now,” Marisol murmured. “And we can’t let her feel like she has to beg for that love.”
He tightened his hold on her. “I don’t think she will again. Not after today.”
Marisol was quiet for a long moment, then added, “We’ll keep reminding her. Every day. Until she doesn’t just believe it-she knows it.”
They reached their bus connection and slipped into two empty seats near the back. The hum of tires on asphalt joined the soft drone of quiet conversation from the front rows.
As the bus pulled away from the station, Bharath turned to her.
“Can I be honest with you?”
Marisol raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re naked around me most of the time. You better be.”
He grinned, but it faded quickly.
“I’ve been thinking about what your mom said last time.”
Marisol’s body stilled, her posture shifting upright. “What part?”
“About ... reality. About what it means to love someone outside your world.”
Marisol turned toward him fully now, her eyes steady. “You mean how none of your friends or family know about me. Or Sarah.”
Bharath winced. “Yeah.”
She didn’t flinch. “It’s okay, Bharath. I get it.”
“I want to change that,” he said. “Eventually. But it’s going to take time.”
“You’re scared,” she said softly.
He hesitated. “I’m scared of them not seeing you both the way I do. Of them seeing you as-”
“Foreign,” she finished for him. “American. Christian. Brown, but not the right kind of brown.”
He swallowed. “It’s not fair.”
“No. But it’s true.”
They sat with that for a while. The bus passed a playground, empty and shadowed in the afternoon light.
“I haven’t told them anything,” Bharath said. “Not even about you. Not because I’m ashamed-but because I don’t know how.”
Marisol nodded. “And if they don’t accept us?”
He reached for her hand. “I’m not going back home for a long time. We have time to figure it out. But I know this much already-”
He leaned closer, forehead to hers.
“I can’t live without you. Either of you.”
Her breath hitched. “You really mean that.”
“I do.”
She drew in a breath, her voice quieter now. “Tell me about them. Your family. The real story.”
Bharath was silent for a beat. Then he said, “I’m an only child. My dad runs an IT company. My amma’s a homemaker. They’re old-school. Educated, loving, generous ... but they live in a world with expectations.”
“Which you’re already defying by just being here,” Marisol said gently.
“Exactly. And if I tell them I’m in love with not one but two American girls? One of whom is Catholic and the other Jewish by ancestry, both outspoken, beautiful, proud, and not Tamil?”
Marisol gave a soft laugh. “Their heads would explode.”
“I don’t want to spring this on them,” Bharath said. “Not without a plan. Right now, they’re just happy I’m doing well. Making friends. Top of my class. Settling into Atlanta. I want them to be able to see us and the love we have first - not just make judgements hearing about you.”
“You’re not hiding us,” Marisol said. “You’re protecting everyone from emotional combustion.”
He nodded slowly. “But I never want you-either of you-to think I’m not proud of you. That I’m ashamed. You’re my whole world now.”
Her eyes softened. “We know. But let’s come up with a strategy. We have time.”
Marisol tilted her head toward him, her thumb brushing over the back of his hand as the bus rattled forward. Her lips pursed slightly, thoughtful, like she was already assembling a plan in her head - something tender, stubborn, and fiercely her.
“Okay,” she said slowly. “Here’s what’s going to happen.”
Bharath raised an eyebrow, wary and charmed. “Do I get a vote?”
She ignored him. “Sarah and I are going to start learning. Not performative, not surface-level. I mean real learning. About your life. Your culture. The language, the food, the stuff you miss but never talk about. We’ll figure out what your parents value, and we’ll meet them there.”
“Marisol-”
“I’m serious,” she interrupted gently, squeezing his hand. “We don’t need to become someone we’re not. But we can understand where you came from. Because if we’re going to be with you-really be with you-then that means loving your world too.”
He blinked at her. “You’d really do that?”
She smiled. “Of course. And not just for your parents. For you. We’re already building a life together - but I want to build it on solid ground. Sarah and I were talking about it the other day, actually. Joking, mostly, but ... the truth was there.”
He tilted his head. “What truth?”
“That if this keeps going the way it’s going,” she said, softer now, “someday we might follow you. Even back to India. If you don’t stay here after school.”
He was stunned silent.
“I mean, obviously not tomorrow,” she added, laughing at his expression. “But you said you weren’t sure where you’ll end up long term. And Sarah and I already agreed - we’re not letting you go wherever that is, we’re going with you.”
Bharath’s throat went tight.
“So,” Marisol continued, “we figured we better start preparing. If you ever go back, your world won’t bend for us. We’ll have to meet it halfway.”
He stared at her, his heart thudding.
“We’ll start small,” she went on, more practically now. “You teach us the basics of Tamil. Just enough to make your amma smile if she ever hears us try. You tell us what comfort food tastes like for you - and we’ll cook it together. You show us what rituals mattered growing up...”
Bharath swallowed hard. “You’d do all that?”
Marisol looked him straight in the eye. “Of course. Because loving you doesn’t stop at you. It’s the you that was shaped by Chennai, and ritual, and tradition.”
Bharath smiled, but there was a wetness in his eyes.
“I haven’t had my amma’s rasam since I left. She used to make it whenever I got sick. She’d sit by my bed, rubbing my head with oil and humming this old P Susheela song.”
Marisol’s fingers laced through his. “Then teach us how to make it. We’ll mess it up the first time. But I want to know what comfort tasted like for you.”
His breath shuddered out.
“But,” she added with a little grin, “we’ll need your help. You have to be patient with us. I can’t pronounce half the stuff you say when you’re flustered. And I don’t even know where to begin with your food. I once thought paneer was a type of bread.”
He laughed. Loud and warm, his forehead falling to hers.
“You don’t have to do any of that just to prove something to my parents.”
“We’re not doing it for them,” she corrected gently. “We’re doing it because we love you. But if they see how much we’re willing to learn, to try - maybe that’s what opens the door.”
“I don’t deserve you,” he said quietly.
“Sometimes I worry,” Bharath said softly, “that if this ever gets too hard - too Indian, too complicated - you both will decide it’s not worth it.”
She kissed his chest. “That’s not even on the table.”
Marisol looked up, voice fierce but calm. “We didn’t fall in love with ease. We fell in love with you. That means we stay-even in the storm.”
“You deserve every ounce of love we give you. And more.”
He reached for her, pulling her close. The leather seat creaked as she slid into his lap sideways, arms around his neck. He kissed her hair, her cheek, the edge of her jaw.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Marisol kissed him back, slowly, deeply. “I know.”
When they pulled apart, she added, “And for the record, Sarah’s already making flashcards.”
He blinked. “What?”
“She made me guess five Tamil words yesterday. I got one right.”
He chuckled again, stunned and moved. “You two are unbelievable.”
“No,” Marisol murmured. “We’re yours. That’s the difference. If we’re not careful, we’ll end up like your backup dancers-slash-devotional wives. Sarah’s already making plans.”
Bharath choked. “What? That’s a weird thing to joke about.”
Marisol shrugged, smirking. “I mean, you do have a certain cult-leader charisma. We’re just saying ... hypothetically, if Mia ends up at Tech too-”
“Absolutely not,” Bharath said quickly, hands up. “That’s wrong. That’s ... she’s your sister!”
“Relax,” Marisol teased. “We’re kidding. Mostly.”
Sarah’s voice, faint in his memory, echoed: But it wouldn’t be the worst thing to watch.
He shifted in his seat. Bad idea to remember that while sitting on vinyl.
The late-afternoon sun slanted across the sidewalk as Marisol and Bharath walked up the quiet, familiar street toward the modest Rivera house. It was strange how quickly it had come to feel familiar - the lemon tree out front, the sagging wooden gate, the slightly crooked wind chime that always seemed to rattle half a second too late.
Marisol exhaled slowly. “Okay. You ready for my mom?”
“No,” Bharath said immediately. “But I’m good at improvising now.”
Marisol smirked and squeezed his hand as they stepped up to the porch.
Before they could knock, the door flew open.
“Mia-?” Marisol began, but stopped short.
It was Mia.
But ... not the version she was expecting.
No smoky eyeliner. No crop tops. No strategically ripped jeans or glittery accessories. Instead, Mia wore loose pajamas stretched across the front, a pair of soft leggings, and her hair pulled up in a no-nonsense bun. A pencil was stuck behind one ear, and she had what looked suspiciously like a textbook tucked under one arm.
“What in the Fresh Prince is going on here?” Marisol blurted.
Mia ignored her. Her eyes had locked onto Bharath the moment the door opened - and they lit up like someone had switched on a thousand-watt bulb inside her.
“Bharath!” she squealed, beaming as she reached for his hand. “You finally came back!”
Before he could say a word, she grabbed his wrist and tugged him into the house like a prize she didn’t want to share, practically dragging him past a baffled Marisol.
“Wait-Mia-hello?” Marisol called out, shutting the door behind them.
“Later!” Mia shouted from down the hall.
By the time Bharath realized what was happening, he was in Mia’s room, standing in front of a desk covered with neatly arranged flashcards, printouts, a calculator, and a small dry-erase board on a stand. Her bookshelf, once more decorative than functional, was now crammed with SAT prep books and chemistry manuals.
She spun around, eyes sparkling. “Okay, so first - look! I’ve been practicing vector problems. Mr. Alvarez said we’re covering this next week, but I wanted a head start. And I’ve been doing mock SATs every other weekend - don’t tell Marisol, she says I’m crazy.”
Bharath stared, genuinely impressed. “This is ... wow. This is incredible, Mia.”
“I mean, I’m still struggling with some calculus topics,” she said quickly, biting her lip, “but I hope I will get through it.”
He smiled, touched by her earnestness. “You’re doing all this by yourself?”
She nodded. “Well, mostly. Sometimes I rope in friends. But no one takes it seriously.”
She paused, then added - just a bit too casually, “I’ve decided I’m only applying to Georgia Tech. Or maybe Georgia State, if I really don’t get in. But Tech is the dream.”
Bharath blinked. “You’re aiming for Tech?”
Mia tilted her head, watching him carefully. “Would that be ... weird? If I ended up there?”
“Are you kidding?” Bharath said, grinning. “That would be amazing.”
Mia’s eyes widened slightly. “Really?”
He nodded, stepping forward to look over her notes. “You’d crush it. Honestly, I wish I had been this organized at your age. You’re focused. Motivated. You’ve got the drive. If you keep this up, you’ll get in easy next fall.”
Mia looked away quickly, a faint blush rising in her cheeks.
Bharath glanced at a sticky note by her desk that read “GT 1999. Get in. No excuses.”
He turned back to her with a soft smile. “You remind me of your sister, you know.”
That made Mia look up, a little caught off guard.
“She’s one of the smartest people I know,” Bharath continued, his voice gentler now. “Not just in books - though yeah, she’s brilliant. But in the way she sees people. The way she fights for the people she loves. The way she never gives up.”
Mia’s face softened as she watched him.
“I’m so proud of her,” Bharath said. “And proud to be with her. She’s ... one of a kind.”
The silence that followed was warm. Charged. Mia glanced down, pretending to fix her pencil case.
“I think she’s proud of you too,” she said quietly. “She talks about you like ... you’re everything.”
Bharath’s voice dropped. “She’s everything to me.”
Mia swallowed hard, then smiled again. “Well. You better stick around, Bharath.”
He tilted his head. “Why’s that?”
“Because if I make it to Tech,” she said, giving him a mock stern look, “I’ll need a study buddy.”
Bharath laughed, bowing slightly. “It would be an honor.”
Mia smiled - but this time it lingered. Deeper. Softer. She didn’t look away quite as fast as she normally would. Her eyes studied Bharath’s face just a little too long. The sharp line of his jaw, the careful warmth in his gaze, the way he made her feel like she mattered not because she was pretty or clever, but because she was trying. Because she was becoming.
And in that quiet, unspoken space between them, something shifted.
Mia Rivera, for all her teasing and sass, had never once been seriously impressed by a boy before. Not like this.
She’d flirted. Toyed. Flashed a smile or a glance, always in control, always keeping boys at arm’s length like pieces on a game board. But Bharath didn’t fit any of the rules. He wasn’t smooth. He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t trying to impress her.
He was just... there. Steady. Encouraging. Kind in a way that felt rare. Safe in a way that made her question every defense she’d built.
As he bent over her notes again, pointing out a correction with his index finger, she found herself watching the way his lips moved when he spoke. The way his brow furrowed when he explained a formula. She wasn’t hearing the math anymore.
She was thinking about how he spoke of Marisol - with awe and respect, not just love. Like her sister was made of galaxies.
And Mia - for all her pride and bravado - had never seen a man look at a woman like that before.
No wonder Marisol is so protective of him, Mia thought, heart thudding softly. He’s rare.
She felt something flutter inside her chest, uneasy and foreign. Admiration, yes - but something sweeter too. A longing she hadn’t known how to name until this very moment - to be seen not just as clever or pretty, but worth the effort. To have someone look at her the way he looked at her sister: like she was already enough.
And God, how rare that felt. Something that twisted with guilt even as it bloomed.
Because how could she feel this way about the man her sister loved?
And yet ... there it was. A warmth that crept in under the ribs. A longing not for attention, but for inclusion. To be seen like that. To be spoken of with that same reverence someday. To be worthy of that kind of love.
She tried to shake it. “You know, you’re making it really hard to stay focused on academics,” she said lightly, hoping her voice still worked.
Bharath looked up with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I tend to derail focus with my overwhelming charisma.”
Mia laughed, maybe too loudly. “Right. That’s what it is. Your dad joke energy.”
“Hey,” he said, mock offended, “I’ve been working hard on that persona.”
“And succeeding wildly,” she quipped, but her tone had softened again.
He leaned against the edge of her desk, arms crossed casually, not pressing in but not retreating either. “You’re really serious about Tech.”
Mia nodded. “More than anything. It’s all I think about lately. I mean, yeah, Georgia State’s a good backup, but I want to be there. I want to walk the same halls you and Marisol walk. I want to be where the best people go.”
Bharath tilted his head. “You are one of the best people, Mia. Don’t doubt that.”
Her throat tightened. “I’m not. Not exactly. But I’m trying.”
He watched her a moment, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he said, more gently, “Trying counts for everything.”
She looked down, her voice almost a whisper. “I guess I want to matter. Not just be the pretty girl or the wild one or the kid sister everyone underestimates.”
“You do matter,” Bharath said quietly. “You don’t have to prove anything to matter, Mia. Not to me. Not to anyone. And you’ve got more grit than most people I’ve met at Tech already. That has nothing to do with who your sister is.”
Mia swallowed. “But I want you to be proud of me too.”
That came out before she could catch it.
And the second she said it, she wanted to rewind time.
Bharath blinked, then smiled. “I am proud of you. Seriously. You’re killing it.”
She forced a laugh, covering her embarrassment. “You sound like an overinvested soccer dad.”
He smirked. “Better than being the weird tutor who vanishes after midterms.”
“Don’t,” she said, pointing at him. “No vanishing. I need you around when I get my acceptance letter. I need someone to gloat to.”
“Promise,” he said, crossing his heart. “You’ll be at Tech. And I’ll be there to take you out for pizza to celebrate.”
Her heart flipped at the way he said it - like it was already written. Like he’d just given her future a heartbeat.
Stop it, she told herself. You’re getting carried away.
She sat down on the edge of her bed, trying to collect herself. “So ... you and Marisol. It’s real, huh?”
Bharath nodded immediately. “She’s everything.”
Mia nodded slowly, heart clenching and softening at once. “Yeah. I see that.”
He gave her a warm, genuine smile. “But you’re something else too, Mia. I hope you know that.”
Her chest swelled. The words sat in her like light.
Before she could respond, there was a soft knock at the door.
Marisol peeked in, eyebrows raised, but her voice was casual. “Everything okay in here?”
Mia stood up quickly, clearing her throat. “Yeah. Just showing off my empire.”
Marisol glanced around the room, eyes skimming over the notes and textbooks. “Damn. You weren’t kidding. This is impressive.”
Bharath nodded with pride. “She’s locked in. GT 1999 - calling it now.”
Mia tried to keep her smile measured. “Well, I have the best consultants.”
Marisol stepped in and wrapped an arm around her sister, pulling her close for a quick squeeze. “I’m proud of you, chiquita. Even if you’re trying to dethrone me.”
Mia grinned. “Just keeping the Rivera legacy strong.”
The three of them stood there for a beat - something fragile and warm hanging between them.
Then Mia gently pulled away, brushing imaginary dust from her pajamas. “I should probably get back to my reading.”
Bharath looked like he might say something else, but Mia was already slipping toward her desk.
Marisol caught his hand and tugged him out, glancing over her shoulder. “Don’t let the calculator bite.”
Once the door shut behind them, Mia let out a slow, steady breath.
She leaned back in her chair, staring down at her SAT notes, though her eyes weren’t focusing on the equations anymore.
This is going to be a problem, she thought, heart thudding against her ribs.
Because somewhere between the laughter, the compliments, and the soft way he said her name...
She’d started falling for Bharath.
And she had no idea what to do about it.
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 black beans simmered gently beside a golden platter of arroz amarillo, fried plantains 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 enchiladas, their tops bubbling with cheese, stuffed with roasted squash, mushrooms, and black 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 plate 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 Camila how to “grind like it’s 1998,” about Jorge and his tragic attempts at salsa. They shared anecdotes from class, laughter from late 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 place 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 glance. “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 laughed, including Bharath-though his heart melted quietly under the table.
But not everyone was laughing.
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 plate 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 explain.
Her fork clinked against her plate. “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 calculators,” Mia said flatly.
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 laughed 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 classes 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, plate in hand. “You think...?”
“She’s seventeen. You actually listen to her. That’s like ... mythical creature levels of rarity.”
Bharath lowered the plate 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 laughing despite himself. “This isn’t funny.”
“It is a little,” Marisol said, winking. “You should’ve seen your face.”
But even as he laughed, 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 glanced 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, flashing 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 planner.
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