Laughing and smiling have been the only constants in my life. With loving parents and friends who could pass for certified lunatics, I’ve never really had to worry about anyone or anything.
I’m a business major student at Rosehill University. Originally from India, I’ve been raised in Los Angeles since I was five, when my dad landed a job here. Honestly, I’m not complaining.
My ideas about independence are galaxies apart from the mindset back in India, especially in Tamil Nadu. The restrictions on women there are enough to make me grind my teeth.
Even basic things seem like privileges for women. Why can’t people just accept that it’s a human need, not some forbidden relic to be locked away in a dusty box? Okay, maybe I’m too opinionated about my own culture, but seriously?
And it’s not just about relationships. The whole don’t talk to strangers rule is fine. But don’t talk to the male species? That’s where I roll my eyes so hard they might get stuck.
My extended family in India—grandparents, cousins, everyone—still cling to that mindset. If I FaceTime them while I’ve got friends over, that’s it. My Periyappa (Uncle/father’s elder brother) will immediately call my dad to lodge a complaint like I’ve just committed an international crime.
But luckily, I have the coolest dad in the history of cool dads. He trusts me completely and doesn’t waste time worrying about every little thing. He works at one of the top law firms in LA, Lancaster Law Group, and he’s a criminal defense lawyer with the kind of sharp mind that could win cases in his sleep.
My parents’ love story is practically a rom-com cliché that ‘love at first sight’ and somehow, after all these years, they’re still wrapped up in each other like teenagers.
It’s enough to make me envious, dreaming about the kind of man I might end up with. If I’m honest, I want someone exactly like my dad. Because he never once said no to me. Ever.
My mom is a different story. She loves me just as fiercely but holds on to her role as the strict Indian parent with both hands.
I close my dairy and stand up.
I glance at my reflection in the mirror, fixing my hair as I get ready for the university basketball match. Classes are cancelled today, which is already the best news of the week, and the match is just an excuse to hang out with my friends.
I give myself a quick spin, checking every angle to make sure I look perfect. Students from our rival university will be there, so yes, appearances matter. I thought about wearing shorts, but my mom would go nuclear if I stepped onto campus like that.
She’s always reminding me that a place of study is sacred, that we should respect it. I wonder what she’d say if she knew some students treat the hallways and parking lot like make-out arenas.
With a shrug, I grab my bag and head out, the floorboards creaking under my sprint to the living room.
“Diya, breakfast is ready,” my dad calls out.
“Coming, darling!” I reply, grinning as I make my way to the dining table.
We’re comfortable—okay, loaded—thanks to my dad’s brilliance in court. He’s not just good at his job; he’s a genius. Tharun Prasad, criminal defense lawyer, my pride, my hero, and my first love… just like every other daddy’s girl.
I lean in and plant a kiss on my dad’s cheek before sliding into the seat beside him. My mom sets a plate of steaming idly in front of me. To this day, I still have no idea how she manages to find the perfect rice for making them here in LA. Honestly, I don’t care how—what matters is that she does, because food here is like gnawing on cardboard sprinkled with salt and a sad drizzle of ketchup.
But Indian food are always in my personal top three. The spice, the heat, the kind of flavor that makes your eyes water. That’s my heaven.
“You said there are no classes today. Then what’s with the bag? Knowing you, you’re not exactly the library’s most loyal customer.” My dad pops a piece of idly into his mouth, giving me a pointed look.
I flip my hair like the queen I am. “Have to keep my appearance perfect until evening, right?”
“So… makeup kit in your bag instead of books.” My mom throws me the kind of disapproving glare that could curdle milk.
I nod, unbothered, because my give-a-damn tank is perpetually empty.
“My mother would’ve beaten the life out of me if I pulled that,” she mutters, and I know exactly why she says it.
“You don’t need some powders and creams to look perfect, Vaishu,” my dad says, nudging her shoulder. She blushes instantly.
See? This is exactly what I was talking about. They’re still disgustingly in love. My dad flirts with her every chance he gets, like some walking romance novel.
“Excuse me? Did someone just talk about my makeup?” I narrow my eyes in mock suspicion.
“Nothing, sweetheart. Just wondering why you bother when you’ve inherited your mother’s genes.” He chuckles.
“I see right through you, Dad.” I huff and polish off the rest of my breakfast.
“Here.” He hands me my daily pocket money. I take it, but I already have his card, he just doesn’t know I swiped it from his wallet while he was in the bathroom this morning.
“Bye!” I call, heading to the sink to wash my hands before walking out.
Once I slide into my car, my phone chimes.
Emma: Why aren’t you here? The match is about to start. I saved you a seat so get your ass here.
Me: On the way.
I toss my phone onto the dashboard, start the engine, and crank up the music. After crawling through LA’s special brand of traffic hell and fighting for a parking spot, I finally make it to the gym.
The gym is already packed, bleachers swarming with people in their team jerseys, chanting and buzzing with energy.
I call Emma, and she picks up immediately. “To the front! I’m waving my hand. Can you see me?”
My gaze scans the crowd before landing on her. “Yup. Got you.”
Hanging up, I weave my way through the bodies and slide into the seat beside her.
Emma and Leah both give me that you’re late, bitch look. Fair enough, I probably deserve it. I answer with a slow, mocking smile and sit up straight.
The buzzer blares, the crowd goes still, and then the game explodes into motion with the echoing thud of the ball on hardwood.
“If you hadn’t made it, I’d have personally dragged you here by your hair,” Leah hisses.
“But I’m here,” I grin. “And what about the sleepo—”
Before I can finish, Emma lets out a scream that could shatter glass. “Come on, Logan! Show them who you really are!”
Leah and I exchange matching exasperated looks before turning toward the chaos in human form, Emma.
Logan, her boyfriend and my self-appointed brother figure, has been stuck with this hyperactive gremlin for two years now. And when I say stuck, I mean head over heels. He’s hopelessly smitten, the poor man.
Logan’s also our resident moral compass, always walking the straight and narrow, and the star shooting guard on the university’s basketball team. Athletic, talented, and irritatingly good at being perfect.
“Can you shut up and sit down for one moment?” Leah taps Emma’s arm, her patience clearly on life support.
“I’m cheering for the love of my life,” Emma declares, batting Leah’s hand away before screaming Logan’s name at a decibel that could shatter glass.
“Bitch says this to every man she’s with,” I mutter under my breath. Leah chokes back a laugh, but the universe doesn’t let me get away with it, Emma’s hand smacks the back of my head.
“Shut up and join me,” she orders in that passive-aggressive tone that’s basically her native language, then returns to her personal mission of deafening the stadium.
The game, meanwhile, is brutal. Both teams are trading baskets like punches, points stacking almost evenly.
The boy in front of us turns. “Do you mind? We’re here to watch the game in peace.” His finger jabs toward Emma, who’s still howling Logan’s name.
“She committed chaos. There’s nothing we can do about it.” I shrug with zero guilt, zero empathy, and zero plans to help.
He glares but wisely turns back around. On the court, the opposite team’s fans explode with applause, chanting their captain’s name.
Axel is a power forward and the captain is Hunter…and the whole place is a testosterone-charged battlefield. The players slam into each other, growling insults, pure aggression radiating from every movement. No one here is playing for “fun.” This is war.
Logan sinks a shot, Axel guards the rim like his life depends on it, and Hunter seems to be everywhere at once, covering every position. Yet, somehow, the other team still manages to score.
“Logan! Will you marry me?! Say yes, baby!” Emma screams again, shattering whatever shred of dignity we had left.
The crowd goes dead silent. Leah and I immediately shrink into our seats like we’re trying to melt into the floor.
God, if there’s a higher power, now would be a great time to let the earth swallow me whole.
I smack Emma’s back and yank her into her seat. “What is wrong with you, you absolute waste of a sack of trash?” I hiss, each word soaked in disbelief.
“What? Isn’t this the perfect moment to propose to him?” she shrugs, completely unfazed.
I glance at Logan, expecting at least mild embarrassment, but he just chuckles and goes right back to the game.
The minutes crawl by, the match so tense it feels like it could snap in half. The buzzer finally blares, signaling the end of the first twenty minutes. The players huddle for a quick strategy session while others cool themselves down.
Then the whistle blows, and just like that, the second half roars to life.
Axel and Hunter barely broke a sweat in the first half, leaving the heavy lifting to Logan. But now they’re tearing the court apart as if two beasts fighting for the same patch of territory. Hunter’s passes slice through the air, landing flawlessly in Axel’s hands near the basket. If an opposing player gets too close, Axel redirects to the power guard or Logan, and every play ends in a clean two or three-pointer.
My phone chimes. I glance down, a text notification flashing across the screen.
Arjun: I’m coming to LA next month. Just got my visa.
My eyebrows shoot up in shock and disbelief. Arjun is my cousin, my mother’s elder brother’s son. In Indian or let’s say tamil culture, cousins like him—mother's brothers' sons and father's sisters' sons—aren’t off-limits for marriage, but that’s beside the point.
Arjun’s a genuinely good man, respectful, well-mannered. In fact, he’s probably the only gentleman in my entire extended family I willingly claim. I’ve always liked him because he’s the one who kept in touch over the years, even if it’s just through FaceTime or the occasional voice call.
Me: I want the exact date so I can pick you up from the airport.
Arjun: On the 4th. I’ll be there.
Me: Text me the arrival details. I’ll be there before you!
Arjun’s a law student, currently working in India as a junior lawyer under one whose boss cares more about his own ass than training anyone. A few months ago, Arjun vented about it to my dad. Dad told him to come here, promising to take him under his wing. It’s good news for me too. finally, some decent company.
Arjun: 👍🏻
I read his last text and shove my phone back into my pocket. By the time I look up, the game’s over. I didn’t mean to miss the best plays, but I’m not exactly upset either. Somewhere along the way, I’d lost my mood to watch.
Final Score: Timberwolves – 45, Nightcrawlers – 43.
Our university’s team wins, apparently with a last-minute shot. Don’t ask me if it was a two or three-pointer, I couldn’t care less.
The crowd’s reaction is split…half groans, half wild applause. Logan’s crowned MVP of the day. Emma bolts toward him, and he’s already waiting with open arms. She launches herself at him, and he catches her without missing a beat.
Leah and I finally rise, strolling toward them at a slower pace.
“What about the sleepover we talked about yesterday?” I ask Leah.
“Tonight works for me,” she replies quietly.
The gym slowly begins to clear out, though not entirely. A handful of people—mostly girls—linger, hovering near the players with that look in their eyes.
“It’s my house the sleepover is going to happen,” I declare with finality.
Leah scoffs. “Why are you deciding that for yourself? It’s obviously my house.”
“Excuse you! Not gonna happen. Did you just forget the last time we had a full-blown disaster at your place? No fucking way.”
Axel strolls up and pats Logan’s shoulder. “You did it again.”
Logan nods, then glances at the man joining our little circle to Hunter. “Nice throw, Captain.”
What throw?
What did I miss?
I shoot a questioning look at Leah. “What happened?”
“When you were busy flirting with your cousin,” she says, completely deadpan, “Hunter passed the ball to Logan, and he nailed it before buzzer-beater. Two seconds on the clock.”
My eyebrows lift. Okay, so I missed something worth seeing.
“Flirting?” Logan’s tone sharpens instantly. His protective-brother energy kicks in like someone just threatened my life.
“Nothing serious.” I wave my hand, brushing it off.
“Of course. When have we ever looked at someone with serious intentions? The only thing we’ve mastered is ending up in trouble when it comes to dating.” Logan glares, every word dipped in that I-know-you-better-than-you-know-yourself tone.
He’s not wrong. My dating life is a graveyard of half-burned sparks. The moment someone gets too close, it’s like flipping a switch, I would lose interest almost immediately.
And my toxic trait is always working overtime. I can erase people from my life like they never existed as fast as I let them in. Which is exactly why I don’t trust myself with love.
“Don’t,” Emma warns, tapping Logan’s arm.
He nods, then looks back at Hunter. The three of them are friends, just like us, and they’re as loaded too, but more than us. Since Emma started dating Logan, Leah and I have been forced into this extended friend group.
They’re our seniors in the same major, which would be fine if it didn’t mean being dragged everywhere with them. Even to the gym. I’ve had to endure Hunter’s closed-off morning face at ungodly hours, a literal curse on my existence. But complaining isn’t an option, thanks to Emma and Logan.
“We have a meeting this Saturday,” Hunter tells Logan.
Logan nods, already turning his attention back to Emma. Meanwhile, Axel and Hunter drift into their own conversation. That’s when she arrives.
Ruella Osmund, the head cheerleader, Hunter’s family friend, and a woman so deep into her main character syndrome she might as well trademark it. She’s obsessed with Hunter.
“You killed the game, honey,” she purrs, her fingers trailing over Hunter’s jersey like she’s reading braille. Then she kisses him. He doesn’t pull away.
Fine. Not my problem.
My actual problem is Axel. I’ve been nursing a crush on him for months, but I keep it locked down because he’s a certified playboy. If Logan ever caught me within a three-foot radius of Axel, he’d rat me out to my dad faster than Axel could blink and then Axel’s perfect nose would be history.
“I’m throwing a party tonight. You two should come,” Axel says, pointing between Leah and me.
My brows lift. “Umm… yeah. Okay.”
“It’s a pool party,” he adds with a sly grin.
“Then I’ll join you in spirit,” I reply, already turning to Leah.
See, I have an aversion to pool parties and bikinis. I’m not exactly the exhibitionist type. I’ll wear bikinis, sure, but only in all-girls settings.
“You can wear a tank top and shorts if you want,” he offers, clearly unwilling to let it drop.
I glance at Leah, who gives me a subtle nod. Reluctantly, I nod back at Axel.
Then I catch Ruella’s eyes on me. Well, half of her eyes. The other half is still busy devouring Hunter’s face. Why is she looking at me like that? What does she expect? A standing ovation? Yeah, not happening.
“Okay. See you all tonight.” Axel waves, grabbing Logan’s hand and pulling him away from Emma.
“Don’t be jealous,” Emma mutters, her words fading as my thoughts drift to what my parents are going to say about this.
God, it’s going to be a long day.
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