Their Wonder Years: Season 1: Fall 1998
Copyright© 2025 by Tantrayaan
49: The Kisses of Destiny
Coming of Age Sex Story: 49: The Kisses of Destiny - 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 Rivera porch light flickered on as the truck pulled into the driveway. A gentle breeze tugged at the hedges, and the scent of the night drifted through the air. Inside, lights glowed in the kitchen windows, and the shadow of a woman moved past the curtains - a familiar and steady presence.
As soon as Marisol stepped out of the passenger side and led the girls up the walkway, the front door swung open.
“Mija!” Maria called out, a bright smile blooming on her face. “You’re home!”
Marisol chuckled and jogged the last few steps, leaning in to hug her mother. “Hey, Mami.”
Maria held her tightly. “I thought you’d be out at that football game.”
“We were around,” Marisol replied cryptically. “But we had other plans.”
Maria’s eyes softened as she caught sight of the girl right behind her. “Sarah!”
Sarah smiled, stepping forward. “Señora Rivera.”
Maria reached for her hands and gave them a warm squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re here again. I’ve told Marisol before that you’re always welcome in my home. You have such a sweet light about you. Mia can’t stop talking about you. Apparently you are her role model now.”
Sarah flushed slightly. “That’s very kind. Thank you.”
Maria gave her a long, approving look, then glanced behind them, her smile faltering for just a second as she took in the other two girls.
Zara stood poised but humble, her striking cheekbones and dark, silky hair catching the porch light. Beside her, Ayesha smiled gently, her beauty luminous but her demeanor uncharacteristically soft. Both girls stared back at Maria with curiosity and maybe a little nervousness.
Maria blinked. “Dios mío ... Georgia Tech really is full of beautiful girls, isn’t it? So much for what they say about engineering schools!”
All four girls burst into laughter.
“You’re not wrong,” Sarah giggled. “We’ve cornered the market lately.”
“These are our friends, Mama,” Marisol explained. “Zara and Ayesha. They’re new to ... our circle.”
Maria’s gaze lingered on them thoughtfully. She didn’t say anything - just nodded slowly. Her intuition was sharp. She could tell something was unfolding. Something she didn’t fully understand yet, but ... trusted. Because Marisol was smiling with her eyes, not just her mouth. And Sarah’s presence always seemed to bless a space with calmness.
Before she could ask more, a familiar voice called from the hallway. “Who’s laughing out here, Mami?”
Mia.
She appeared in the doorway a heartbeat later, wearing oversized sweats and her hair in a high, bouncy bun, still looking drop dead gorgeous. When she spotted Marisol and Sarah, her eyes lit up. She squealed and jumped into Marisol’s arms, nearly knocking her back.
“Hermana! Sarah! You’re here!” Mia chirped, hugging her big sister tightly. “Finally! I’ve been so bored, and school is stupid, and I hate everything that isn’t you.”
Sarah laughed and joined the hug. “We missed you too, chica.”
Maria folded her arms fondly. “You act like you haven’t seen them for a month.”
Mia grinned but then blinked as her eyes drifted toward the other two women still standing on the porch. Ayesha and Zara gave soft, hopeful smiles.
Mia’s brows lifted.
Then she looked at Marisol and Sarah. “Okay, who ... is this?”
“We’re taking you out,” Marisol said smoothly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Late dinner for some girl talk. Just us.”
“Right now?” Mia blinked, already shifting into that excited-younger-sister mode. “Ack!!!! Yay! Mami can I go please?”
Maria raised a brow. “Out this late?”
“Just for a bit,” Marisol assured her. “She can crash with us tonight. She can come back tomorrow.”
“We don’t have too many classes now at school mama. Almost everyone has taken off for Thanksgiving. I can study more when I am with them. Can I go please please please!” begged Mia.
Maria thought for a bit and then finally relented. “Ok mija. You can go. But you better not slack off!”
“I love you Mama! Oooh lemme change! What should I wear?”
“Of course you’d want to do that, you show-off,” Marisol said. “Don’t wear something too elaborate. Something casual-cute. It’s low-key.”
Maria eyed her for a second - then nodded. “Fine. But be careful. And make sure she eats something real. Not just fries and milkshakes.”
“Yes, Mami,” both Rivera girls chorused at once.
As Mia disappeared to get dressed, Maria turned to Zara and Ayesha. “You’re both ... new friends?”
“Yes Señora. We’re very lucky to know your daughter. Hopefully we will be good friends from now,” Ayesha said gently.
Maria tilted her head. “You two seem different from most girls I see that go to college. Not like the others who try too hard. There’s something in your eyes that the others don’t have.”
Zara smiled softly. “We’re trying to be better women. One step at a time.”
Maria gave them a look both assessing and warm, the kind that seemed to peer straight through a soul and take its measure. After a pause, she gave a slight nod of approval.
“Then you’re welcome here.”
When Mia emerged a few minutes later in a flowy pink top and low-waisted jeans, showing off her stunning waist, her lip gloss freshly applied, the girls hugged Maria and then waved goodbye before they piled into the truck once more.
Maria stood on the porch, arms crossed, a small smile on her lips. As they backed out of the driveway, she called out, “Drive safe! And tell Mia to pick something from the vegetable section!”
The truck rumbled down the street.
Silence hung for a moment as Mia took in the others around her.
Then she turned, narrowed her eyes, and said flatly:
“ ... What the hell is this all about?”
Both Sarah and Marisol in the front seat burst into laughter.
Marisol twisted in her seat. “Dinner. Bonding. And maybe a little revolution.”
Sarah grinned. “Don’t worry. You’ll understand everything soon.”
Zara leaned toward her, voice teasing. “We’re just sisters now. You’re next.”
Mia stared at them, stunned. “ ... I have so many questions.”
“And we have so many answers,” Ayesha said, smiling mysteriously.
Sarah hit the gas just a little harder as the lights of downtown Atlanta shimmered on the horizon.
Mia leaned back, folded her arms, and muttered, “This better come with dessert.”
The diner was tucked just off a sleepy stretch of road near downtown, with neon signage that buzzed lazily and a line of booths padded in faded red leather. The kind of place that smelled of maple syrup and coffee at all hours, where night owls, truckers, and students lingered under flickering lights and whispered stories over fries and milkshakes.
The door chimed softly as the four girls stepped inside.
Mia took it in with one sweeping glance - her eyes restless and no less curious. She was still buzzing trying to make sense of the fact that two gorgeous strangers were calling her sister and that her own sister and Sarah were being so maddeningly vague about it all. No matter how much she probed them they just wouldn’t answer them.
They nodded approvingly inside the diner. It was comfortable and clean, and more importantly empty. They slid into the back booth - a deep corner one, partially shielded by a high partition and half-closed blinds. Private and perfect. No one would overhear them now unless they were standing right next to the booth.
Mia ended up between Sarah and Marisol, while Zara and Ayesha sat across from them, both glowing with an energy that Mia couldn’t place yet - but that made her nervous in a way she didn’t like admitting.
A server came by - a tired-looking woman in her forties with a kind smile - and they ordered quickly, intentionally requesting too much food so they wouldn’t be interrupted again.
Stacks of pancakes. Burgers and fries. Hash browns. Milkshakes. A pile of toast no one would touch.
Once the woman shuffled off with a notepad full of orders, the girls relaxed. They put their elbows on the table, crossed their legs, and locked eyes. The hum of conversation in the diner faded behind the soft jazz crackling from the ceiling speaker.
Marisol reached out and patted Mia’s hand. “Okay. We’ll start slow.”
“I mean,” Mia deadpanned, “I’m sitting in a booth with four ten-out-of-tens who are weirdly serene right now and just called me their sister. I feel like I’m about to be sacrificed to a very handsome god.”
The girls laughed.
Zara leaned forward. “You’re not wrong. About the god part.”
Ayesha grinned. “But no sacrifice. Just a lot of ... talk.”
Marisol gestured toward Zara. “Start with the basics. You two haven’t met.”
Zara smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. “Zara Shah. My family’s originally from Gujarat. That’s a state on the western coast of India. My parents moved to Minneapolis before I was born.”
Mia’s brows lifted. “Minneapolis?”
Zara nodded. “It gets cold as hell, but it’s been home my whole life before here. My parents run a small textile business there. We’re not rich, but we’re not struggling. We don’t have much family in the US. Unfortunately, I never had any brothers or sisters - until now.”
“And she was queen bee of her school,” Ayesha added with a smirk. “Not that she’ll admit it.”
Zara rolled her eyes. “I was just ... visible.”
“And competitive,” Sarah added with a teasing glance. “Clearly.”
Zara grinned. “Still am. Just ... hopefully less toxic about it now.”
Sarah turned toward Ayesha. “Your turn.”
Ayesha leaned back, toying with her straw. “Ayesha Patel. Also Gujarati by origin, but my parents came from a different town than Zara’s parents. I was born and brought up in the New Jersey suburbs. My dad’s a doctor, and mom’s a homemaker. I am also an only child, but my extended family here is massive and always around. I was the golden girl - overachiever by day, wild child by night.”
Zara raised a brow. “That tracks.”
Ayesha laughed softly. “It was all for attention. All of it. Trying to look hot, being loud, being everywhere. I thought that’s what made me ... matter.”
Mia didn’t reply right away. Her expression had shifted - thoughtful now.
She looked between the two girls again.
Zara was stunning. All sharp cheekbones, intelligent eyes, and the kind of poise that came from someone used to being in control. Ayesha was radiant, softer around the edges, with a kind of restless fire in her eyes that mirrored Mia’s own. And yet both girls seemed ... calmer now. They appeared more grounded.
“Okay,” Mia said slowly. “That explains your names, and your bio, I suppose. But you’re not applying for a job with me. WHY ARE WE HERE? Where’s Bharath? I haven’t seen him in two days!”
Sarah reached over and refilled her water glass. “We’ll get to it. But first, we wanted you to know who they are and where they come from. You may have seen them at Tech before - at the snooty table. But they’re not just ... party girls or rival queens anymore. They are with us now. As sisters.”
Mia opened and closed her mouth in confusion, “You’re one of those snooty girls on that other table that Ravi and Tyrel used to mimic? How? Wha-? Who are you guys?”
Marisol nodded, then tilted her head toward Zara. “Actually ... come to think of it, I don’t know that much about you either. I mean, you’re Gujarati - but what was growing up like?”
Zara set down her fork, the edge of a smile forming. “Honestly? Kind of a mix. My parents are old-school but Americanized in practical ways. My mom runs the business with my dad - it’s a boutique textile import shop, mostly Indian fabrics. But she still wears saris at home, still lights a diya every evening in front of the little shrine in our laundry room. We had Lakshmi and Saraswati perched next to the washing machine.”
Ayesha laughed softly. “Oh my god, same. My mom puts fresh flowers around the TV shrine and gets mad when I leave laundry in front of Ganesh.”
Sarah grinned. “Wait, you both grew up Hindu?”
“Yeah,” Zara said, “But more chill than you’d expect. It wasn’t fire and brimstone or anything. Just ... familiar rhythms. Morning prayers. Festivals at the temple. Fasting on certain days - or trying to, at least.”
Marisol leaned forward, fascinated. “So it’s similar to Bharath’s family?”
Zara hesitated. “Well ... yes and no.”
Ayesha picked up the thought. “See, Gujarat and Tamil Nadu are in completely different parts of India. Gujarat’s on the west coast, Tamil Nadu is far down south. It’s like the difference between, say, Georgia and Maine. Same country. Very different people.”
Mia perked up. “Do they speak the same language?”
Zara shook her head. “Nope. We speak Gujarati. Bharath’s family probably speaks Tamil.”
Ayesha added, “And Hindi and of course English, like most Indian kids who grew up around the culture. But Tamil is its own world - different script, different sounds. You can’t fake it.”
Sarah blinked. “So y’all wouldn’t even understand each other in India?”
Zara smiled. “Sometimes not even in the same city. Like, Bharath’s version of a curry probably tastes completely different than what I’d eat in my parent’s hometown.”
Mia asked, “But you’re both Hindu?”
“Yes,” Ayesha said. “Hinduism’s like ... an umbrella. It’s one religion, but super decentralized. Every region has its own way of celebrating things. Different gods get more focus or less focus depending on where you are from. We even have different rituals that would seem alien to the other.”
“Different food, too,” Zara added. “My mom’s idea of a feast is dhokla, thepla, undhiyu - very light, a little sweet, lots of lentils. But Tamil Nadu is spicier. Heavier on rice and coconut and mustard seeds.”
Sarah leaned back, nodding slowly. “It’s wild how people group Indian culture together when there’s so much inside it.”
Ayesha smiled softly, tracing her finger along the rim of her glass. “That’s what we realized after we met Bharath. We’re Indian-American, but he’s ... India-born. He carries this depth we don’t. Like every part of him is tied to a place, a history, a rhythm we’re only now starting to understand. What we told you barely even scratches the surface. The truth is, we only learned scraps. Bharath lives it in ways we can’t even explain.”
Zara nodded. “We grew up with fragments - religious holidays, family stories, food at home. But Bharath ... he lives it. He doesn’t even realize it, but everything he does - the way he speaks, how he treats women, how he touches you, the things he values - it all flows from where he’s from.”
Marisol and Sarah exchanged a look - one part wonder, one part curiosity.
“So...” Marisol leaned forward, her fingers laced. “Would you be willing to teach us? About Bharath’s culture?”
Sarah added eagerly, “Or at least about what you know? Maybe it’ll help us understand more about him - his values, his spirituality, his traditions.”
Zara and Ayesha hesitated.
Their smiles faded just slightly - not out of reluctance, but honesty.
Zara exhaled. “We can help. For sure. But ... you need to know something first.”
Marisol tilted her head. “What’s that?”
Zara glanced at Ayesha, who gave her a small nod before speaking.
“Bharath is Tamil. We’re Gujarati. That’s like asking someone from Greece to explain Polish traditions just because they’re both Christian and European.”
Sarah blinked. “Wait - it’s that different?”
Zara laughed softly. “Worse, sometimes. Different languages, alphabets, food, fashion, architecture, even history. Gujarat is on the west coast. Tamil Nadu is deep south. We’re vegetarian sweet tooths. They’re rice-loving spice fiends.”
Mia’s mouth dropped open slightly. “But you’re all Indian.”
Ayesha grinned. “That’s the thing. India isn’t one thing. It’s like ... twenty civilizations layered into one flag.”
Sarah sat back, visibly processing. “So what can you teach us?”
Zara’s smile turned warm again. “A lot, actually. Especially when it comes to religion or say festivals. Hinduism, rituals, symbolism, philosophy - the stuff that underpins why Bharath is the way he is. That’s shared, even if the details differ.”
Ayesha added, “We grew up doing pujas, learning about dharma, karma, moksha. We can teach you the stories - Ramayana, Mahabharata, Ganesha and Shiva and all the gods that show up in Bharath’s metaphors when he’s half-asleep and mumbling poetry in Tamil.”
Marisol grinned. “He does mumble in Tamil sometimes when he prays. I thought it was just dream-babble.”
Mia snorted.
Sarah leaned forward, eyes bright. “So you’ll teach us? The rituals? The festivals? Even the prayers?”
Ayesha reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “Gladly. We’re learning too. But we’d love to do it together.”
Zara added, “And the more we learn about his culture, the more we’re starting to fall in love with our own.”
Mia looked between them, a little overwhelmed but curious. “And you think this will help us understand him better?”
Ayesha looked her dead in the eye. “It will help you understand why you already love him.”
That made the table go quiet.
All of them - even Mia - sat with the weight of that truth.
Outside, a car passed by with its headlights off. The jazz music overhead faded into a mellow instrumental, letting the stillness linger.
Then Sarah exhaled, a slow, reverent breath. “Okay. Teach us. All of it.”
Zara grinned. “You’re gonna need notebooks.”
Marisol laughed. “Girl, we’ve got entire diaries filled with things he’s said. What’s a few more pages?”
Mia sighed, pretending to complain. “Great. More homework.”
Ayesha leaned over and bumped shoulders with her. “You’ll like this kind of homework.”
Zara smirked. “Especially when it comes with moaning.”
The table erupted in laughter again, brighter this time - not just relief, but joy. The joy of women who had found each other not through blood or accident, but through choice, vulnerability, and one boy with godlike hands and ancient eyes.
The plates clattered onto the table as the waitress dropped off a stack of hot food - pancakes, fries, burgers, hash browns, and milkshakes with striped straws. The girls murmured thank-yous and waited until she was out of earshot before settling in properly.
Sarah took a long sip from her chocolate shake, then glanced at Marisol. They exchanged a nod - a silent signal.
Mia was picking at a fry when she looked up, eyebrows arched. “Okay. Spill. I’ve been patient. Kind of. But seriously ... What the hell is going on? You girls are lovely - but didn’t we have a pact about Bharath, Marisol and Sarah?”
Marisol exhaled, then leaned in. “It started at the tailgate today.”
Ayesha and Zara had gone still. Their eyes flicked between Sarah and Marisol, as if unsure how much would be said. But neither of them spoke - they knew it wasn’t their story to tell anymore.
Sarah picked up the thread. “LaTasha and Tyrel saw them spying on us. We knew they had been for a few days now but we thought it was just being ... well them.”
“No offence taken. We know what we were,” said Ayesha solemnly.
“Well ... when LaTasha knew that they had been mean to Bharath ... you know how she can be. She charged at them and started berating them. But they both broke down crying in front of everyone. It wasn’t cute crying. It was ... devastation. Ugly sobbing. Makeup smeared, breathless, shaking. Like the world had just broken open.”
Mia blinked. “Zara and Ayesha?”
Marisol nodded. “Ayesha was in Sarah’s arms, and Zara had just dropped to her knees, whispering ‘sorry’ like she was in confession. I didn’t trust it at first. I thought it was another performance.”
“But it wasn’t,” Sarah added quietly. “It was real. They were wrecked. You could feel it in the air. That something inside them had cracked. Maybe for the first time in their lives.”
Mia stared at them, stunned. “What ... happened?”
Marisol’s voice softened. “They didn’t tell us then. We then ran into their crowd and found that they were being slut-shamed for not wanting to be like them anymore. It was ugly! So Sarah invited them back home. We just ... knew they needed somewhere private.”
“Not that they needed to know where our house was. They even knew a shortcut to get back home faster than we normally do,” deadpanned Sarah as Marisol snorted and Zara and Ayesha blushed.
“So well ... we brought them in. Made tea,” Sarah said. “But when they walked into the living room ... it hit them.”
Mia’s brow furrowed. “What hit them?”
“The couch,” Marisol said simply.
Mia’s expression twisted in confusion. “The couch? The one you got from Walmart? (Couchball in the vignette series) What’s so special about it?”
Ayesha finally spoke, her voice reverent. “Our Sacred Tuesdays couch.”
Zara added, “The one you three made holy.”
Mia went red. “Oh.”
Sarah smiled faintly. “Yeah. That one.”
Marisol looked across the table at her sister. “They knew what happened there. Not because they were told. Because they saw.”
Mia froze, mouth half-open.
“They were spying?” she said, her voice tight.
“They’ll explain that later,” Marisol said gently. “What matters is what they felt. They stood there like they were standing in a temple.”
“They were trembling,” Sarah murmured. “Haunted. Changed. They didn’t even touch the couch at first. Just stared at it like it had swallowed them whole.”
Marisol turned to Mia. “And then they started remembering out loud. His voice. The way he said, ‘You’re mine.’ The way we begged for it. The way we cried, and he held us through it.”
Sarah nodded. “The way he worshipped us even when he spanked us.”
Mia’s eyes were wide now, her breath caught in her throat.
“They wanted it,” Marisol said. “They didn’t even realize it until that moment. But something inside them recognized it. The belonging. The ache.”
“And they didn’t hold back,” Sarah added. “When we came back with tea and snacks we were shocked to find them holding each other and kissing each other passionately! We first thought they were lesbians but it wasn’t that. They cried in each other’s arms. Not out of love for each other - but for him. For what they saw us doing with Bharath. For what they wanted to become.”
Mia stared at the two women across from her.
Zara, who looked like a model but had tears lining her eyes. Ayesha, who looked like fire and was sitting with her hands folded like she was in church.
“You’re serious,” Mia whispered. “You felt it?”
Zara nodded. “Every second of it. Even now.”
Ayesha added, “We haven’t stopped.”
Sarah reached across the table and touched Mia’s wrist gently. “We thought they were fakers at first. But the more we talked we realized that they were transformed. We saw it with our own eyes.”
Marisol smiled faintly. “And we realized ... they were meant to be part of this. With us. With him.”
Mia looked down, silent for a long moment.
Then, slowly, she said, “You’re saying ... they’re like us?”
Sarah nodded. “Not like us. Ours.”
Mia leaned back, folding her arms, lips tight. “But we made a pact. No more people. No outsiders. It was supposed to be us.”
Marisol tilted her head, calm but insistent. “It is us. It always will be. But think about it, hermanita ... imagine holding him from behind, pressed to his back, feeling his muscles work - while he’s inside someone else who finally understands what we do. That’s not betrayal. That’s worship.”
Sarah’s eyes gleamed as she leaned in, her voice softer, coaxing. “Picture it, Mia. Your arms around him. His breath ragged in your ear. Ayesha under him, trembling, begging. Zara losing control in his arms. And you, the whole time, knowing it’s you who steadies him. You who anchors him. You who makes it possible for him to give that much.”
Mia shivered despite herself. Her thighs pressed together under the table. “That’s ... different,” she whispered.
“Not different,” Marisol murmured. “It’s what you already love. Him, giving everything. You, seeing everything. Only this time, you don’t just imagine. You share it.”
Sarah smirked gently. “Tell me that doesn’t make you ache.”
Mia covered her face with her hands, groaning. “You’re evil. Both of you. You know exactly what you’re doing.”
Marisol reached across the table and took her wrist, tugging her hands down. “We’re doing what’s right. We thought it would only ever be us three. We made that pact. But we didn’t know. We didn’t see what he could awaken in others. Now we’ve seen it, Mia. With our own eyes.”
Sarah added quietly, “And maybe the truth is ... we want him to have everything. Every woman who belongs. Every woman who can feel what we feel. Because it doesn’t take anything from us. It only proves what he is.”
Mia looked at Zara, then Ayesha - still glowing, trembling slightly, eyes lowered in reverence. Her chest tightened.
“ ... God help me,” she whispered. “I do want to see that.”
Marisol met Mia’s eyes. “And now we want to know if you’re ready to hear everything. Because this is where the story really begins.”
Mia was still blinking, trying to digest what she’d just heard, when Marisol leaned back and folded her arms with a smirk.
“So, hermanita,” she said slowly, eyes glittering, “while we’re on the subject of confessions...”
Sarah chimed in, tilting her head with exaggerated curiosity. “Didn’t you forget to mention something rather spicy during our morning phone calls?”
Mia frowned, confused. “What?”
“You know,” Sarah drawled. “Like the time you got finger-blessed in a public alley by a certain someone we all happen to worship?”
Mia nearly choked on her milkshake.
Her eyes went wide. “How do you -?!” She whipped around to stare at Ayesha and Zara, who were suddenly very interested in their pancakes.
Marisol raised her eyebrows. “Oh, so it was you?”
Mia’s cheeks were already turning crimson. “I ... well he ... you know... we -”
Zara let out a guilty groan. “Okay, okay. It was us. We saw. Both times.”
Ayesha nodded sheepishly. “We didn’t plan to! It just ... happened. And then it happened again.”
Mia dropped her face into her hands, groaning. “Oh my God.”
Sarah was cackling now. “The second time. The one where you couldn’t even stand afterward? That one was ... wow. Honestly, props to you for the way you didn’t even let us guess. I never realized you could be so sneaky!”
Marisol fanned herself dramatically. “Bharath in dom mode is a lot.”
Mia peeked through her fingers. “Why didn’t you stop us?!”
“Sweetheart,” Ayesha said with a grin, “if we’d interrupted that? You would have murdered us.”
“And besides,” Zara added, “we were kind of ... stunned. Honestly, it was hot.”
Mia dropped her hands, still blushing furiously. “I didn’t think anyone was watching.”
Zara reached across the table and took her hand gently. “We shouldn’t have watched. But we couldn’t look away.”
Ayesha squeezed Mia’s other hand. “You were beautiful. Honest. Wild. And the way he looked at you...”
Mia glanced down, her blush deepening. “I can’t help it around him. I swear. It’s like ... my body doesn’t listen to me.”
Marisol leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. “You’re not the only one.”
Sarah laughed. “Trust us. None of us listen to logic when he’s around. Or apparently even when he’s not around now.”
Mia grinned shyly. “So ... I’m not in trouble?”
“Only for not telling us!” Sarah pouted. “We share everything in our morning calls and you skipped that?”
“I didn’t mean to!” Mia cried. “I was going to. I just ... every time I thought about it, I got all fluttery and then you started talking about your nights and - ugh!”
All four girls burst into laughter.
They fell into an easy rhythm then - snacking, giggling, pulling apart fries and swirling bits of syrup in shared plates. The warmth of the food mixed with the comfort of this circle, glowing under the dull diner lights like a secret hearth.
Later Mia, curious as ever, leaned in again as she smirked faintly. “But if you even think about kissing him before I’ve had my turn in bed, we’re gonna have a problem.”
The table exploded in laughter again, but beneath the giggles and milkshake slurps, something softened - a shared acknowledgment of how precious that moment would be.
Marisol was the first to notice Mia’s smile shift slightly, eyes glazing with sudden realization.
Everyone looked at her.
“My birthday,” she whispered. “It’s in four days.”
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