Fake It Till You Make It

The stench of cheap beer and regret fills my nostrils as Gavin presses me against the Kappa house bathroom's marble tiles. His hands fumble with my shirt buttons while I try to convince myself this is what I want...to finally fit in, to be desired by someone who looks like he stepped out of a movie.

But his touch feels wrong. Like he's checking items off a list: Hook up with ethnic girl. Check.

"Sita, are you in there?" Anika's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts.

"Get rid of her," Gavin breathes against my neck, and something in his entitled tone makes my skin crawl.

"Yes, I'm here. Privacy please?" I call out, my voice shakier than I'd like.

"Just checking on you, girl! Those samosas from yesterday were destroying my stomach too. Talk about loose motion."

Heat floods my face. Nothing kills the mood quite like your best friend discussing digestive disasters during your first attempt college hookup. But Gavin doesn't even pause, too focused on unzipping my jeans to catch Anika's mortifying commentary.

"This is what happens when white people try to make our food," she continues. "Anyway, take your time. I know that kind of shit takes forever. Literally." She laughs as she retreats back to the party.

I yank my jeans back up. Whatever spell I was under breaks completely.

"What's your deal?" Gavin's blue eyes flash with irritation. "I thought you wanted this."

I do want it. Or I think I do. I want to want it the way girls in movies want guys like him.

"I should've known," he mutters, fixing his golden hair. "All Desi girls are prudes anyway."

The words land like a slap. There it is...the box everyone keeps trying to shove me into. Too Indian. Too foreign. Too conservative. But somehow also not Indian enough, not traditional enough, not enough period.

Without a word, I slip out and lock the door from the inside, trapping him with his assumptions. Hopefully, due to his inebriated state, it will take him a second to unlock the door.

"Whoa, that was fast!" Anika exclaims as I catch up with her.

"It wasn't what you think." I grab her arm like an anchor. "Let's go."

We push through perfectly straightened blonde hair and bodies that have never carried the weight of dual identity. The backyard pulses with bass that vibrates through my ribs as I grab two beers from a cooler, my hands still shaking slightly.

"So?" Anika presses, linking our arms. "What happened with golden boy?"

"He said Desi girls are prudes." The words taste bitter or was that the beer?

Anika nearly does a spit take. "That waste of oxygen doesn't deserve your time."

This is why I love her. At Stonehaven University, in what feels like the whitest town in America, Anika gets it. She understands the impossible tightrope we walk. Too Indian for some spaces, too American for others, honestly never quite fitting in anywhere.

A trio of sorority perfect blondes approaches the cooler, glances at our brown skin, and immediately veer away like we're contagious.

"I'm so over this place," I mutter, watching them walk away.

"Come on," Anika protests, "it's only been two weeks."

"I don't know about you but I don't belong here, Anika." The admission feels like surrender. "I can't even hook up without becoming a stereotype."

"You got that right."

The deep voice behind me makes me spin around. A guy stands there tall and devastatingly handsome, also clearly South Asian. Everything about him screams confidence, from his perfect bone structure to the way he occupies space like he owns it.

"Excuse me?" I manage.

"Just agreeing with you." His gaze sweeps over my baggy jeans and oversized hoodie. It is my armor against a world that wanted me to be something I wasn't. "Nice baseball cap, by the way."

"What would you know about not fitting in?" I shoot back, hating how defensive I sound. "You're gorgeous enough to get any girl you want. Or guy, no judgment. What I'm trying to say is nobody stereotypes guys like you."

"So you think I'm gorgeous?" His smirk is infuriating and magnetic at the same time.

"I think you're gorgeous," Anika says bluntly, making me want to disappear into the ground.

"Thanks, but I was talking to Sita."

I freeze. "How do you know my name?"

"Biology class. Professor Henderson's torture chamber? You sit three rows ahead of me, usually."

Biology had over a hundred students. He'd noticed me? The thought sends an unwelcome flutter through my stomach.

"Well, this has been fascinating," I say, tugging Anika toward the exit. "But we're leaving."

"Wait." He steps closer, and I catch a whiff of his cologne. It smells annoyingly appealing. "I thought you were rushing Kappa."

The assumption stings. Of course, he'd think that. Sweet, compliant Desi girl trying to squeeze into the perfect sorority mold.

"I was thinking about it," I admit. "But let's be real, I don't exactly fit their aesthetic."

Something shifts in his expression. Something like recognition and understanding. "I was going to say that the Kappa's would finally have some flavor in this bland house. Too bad you're giving up so easily."

The challenge in his voice makes my temper flare. "They can't handle our flavor. And judging by your attitude, neither can you."

I stalk off before he can respond, dragging Anika behind me.

"Wait!" he calls. "I'm Krish, by the way. In case you want to find me later."

I don't look back, but his name echoes in my head like a song I can't shake.

The next morning, Greek Row buzzes with recruitment energy. I've been awake since five, replaying last night's conversation with Krish and hating myself for caring what some random guy thinks.

"Hey, I'm sorry about last night," I told Anika as we navigate the chaos of hopeful pledges and flying flyers.

"For what? That was the most entertainment I've had all week. Though I wouldn't have minded getting that cute Desi boy's name." Anika winks.

"Yeah, I don't remember what it was." The lie comes easily.

We pass each house's presentation like window shopping for identities. Kappa emphasizes "class values," which is code for trust funds and tennis courts. Alpha pushes academic excellence. Delta showcases their craft obsessions. Every option requires folding myself into someone else's origami.

The frat houses blur together in a haze of beer pong and toxic masculinity until we reach the Sigma house.

"Gaming tournaments, movie marathons, zero dress code," Anika reads from their flyer. "Finally, our people."

These guys look comfortable in their own skin, more interested in high scores than impressing anyone. No pressure to perform Femininity or conform to anyone's expectations.

But something else catches my attention. Through the open door, I spot familiar dark hair and broad shoulders. Krish stands inside, laughing with a group of Sigma brothers like he belongs there.

Of course he does. Guys like him belong everywhere.

"You know what's crazy?" I say, an idea forming. "For us to actually fit in somewhere, we'd probably have to join a frat."

Anika stops walking, " Are you thinking what I think you're thinking about?"

"Depends. Are you thinking we dress as guys and rush Sigma?"

"That's exactly what I'm thinking!" She grins. "But seriously, can we get expelled?"

I consider this. "For rushing a frat as girls? They'll get so much bad press, they'll probably give us awards instead."

A gust of wind places a Sigma flyer directly in my hands.

"Okay, universe," I mutter. "Message received."

That evening, transformation feels like putting on battle armor. Years of rejecting feminine expectations pay off. We already have the clothes and attitude. The facial hair requires YouTube tutorials and prayers, but we manage something convincing.

"Remember," I tell Anika as we approach Sigma house, "deep voices, wide stances, and if anyone asks, we're from out of state."

"Got it. And if we see your boy?"

"Krish is not my boy," I say with conviction. "And hopefully our disguises are good enough that he won't recognize us."

Sigma house welcomes us with cold beer and easy acceptance. A guy named Devonte gives us the rundown while I try to keep my voice low and my hands from shaking.

"Fair warning," he says, "we don't get many pledges since Gamma hoovers up everyone with a pulse. But we've got the best gaming setup on campus."

I'm mid-sip when I spot him across the room. Krish looks perfectly at home among the Sigma brothers, and for a terrifying moment, I think he'll recognize me and blow our cover.

Our eyes meet briefly. He tilts his head with mild curiosity before returning to his conversation.

Thank God. The disguise works.

"First challenge," Devonte announces, "beat me at Grand Turismo."

Anika and I exchange grins. We've been dominating racing games since middle school. While Anika needed a few attempts to find her rhythm, I destroyed Devonte's best time on my first try,

"Damn," he says with genuine respect. "You've got skills. But here's the thing, every initiate has to complete our final tradition." His grin turns a little wicked. "Jump in the pool. Naked. You've got 10 mins to jump or find someone willing to do it for you, and trust me, we're not cheap."

My blood turns to slush. Anika shoots me a look of pure panic. This definitely wasn't in our half-formed plan.

We move fast, desperately negotiating with Sigma brothers who want everything from semester-long homework help to pet adoption care. Nothing reasonable. Nothing possible.

"This is hopeless," Anika whispers as Devonte calls five minutes.

"Let's split up," I suggest. "Maybe they're more likely to help just one pledge."

I head upstairs, checking empty bedrooms for anyone desperate enough to freeze for strangers. I'm about to admit defeat when someone grabs my arm and pulls me into a linen closet.

I nearly scream until a familiar voice says, "Need some help?"

The light flicks on, revealing Krish in all his knowing-smirk glory.

"It's you," I breathe, my cheeks flaming.

"It's me, but who are you?" He studies my face with unsettling intensity. "What's with the disguise? And don't say you're just a really feminine-looking guy, because we both know that's not true."

My heart hammers against my ribs. "How did you..." I trail off.

"Your eyes," he says simply. "And the way you hold your shoulders when you're nervous. Plus, you ask questions in Biology the same way you beat Devonte at racing, like you're proving something."

Caught. Completely, utterly caught.

"It started as a joke," I admit, exhaustion hitting me like a wave. "But I actually love it here. These guys don't care if I'm girly enough or Indian enough or any kind of enough. They just want someone who can level up with them."

Something shifts in his expression. "I get that more than you know."

"Do you?" The question comes out sharper than intended. "Because from where I'm standing, you fit in everywhere."

He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You think being the perfect Desi boy is easy? I can't have a serious girlfriend because my family wants to arrange my marriage. I can't be too American because then I'm forgetting my culture. I can't be too traditional because then I'm backwards. Every choice I make disappoints someone."

The raw honesty in his voice catches me off guard. This isn't the confident guy from the party, this is someone just as lost as I am.

"I'll jump in the pool for you," he says quietly. "But I need a favor in return."

My stomach drops. "I'm not doing any sexual favors."

"God, no." He looks horrified. "My parents raised me better than that. I need you to be my girlfriend. Fake girlfriend," he adds quickly. "Just until my family backs off about settling down and my friends stop setting me up with random girls."

I stare at him. "You want me to pretend to date you?"

"I know it sounds crazy. But you seem like someone who understands not fitting into people's expectations. We can help each other navigate this mess."

The irony isn't lost on me. Here I am, disguised as a boy to join a fraternity, being asked to fake-date someone to solve both our problems.

"I don't even know your last name," I point out.

"Patel. Krish Patel. Like Chris with a 'sh' and the most common Indian surname ever."

Despite everything, I almost smile. "I know how to pronounce Desi names."

"I was hoping you'd say that." He grins, and warmth spreads through my chest like hot chocolate on a cold day.

Something rustles in the corner and I yelp, instinctively moving closer to him. He smells like pine and clean laundry, and it makes my brain short-circuit.

"Just a towel falling," he says, steadying me with hands that are warm and solid. "You okay?"

I look up to answer, but our faces are suddenly inches apart. His eyes drop to my lips, and the air between us crackles with electricity I definitely didn't sign up for.

My heart pounds as I lean closer, drawn by something deeper than logic—

"There you are!"

Anika's fake-deep voice shatters the moment like glass as she opens the door. I jump back, nearly taking out a shelf of linens.

"Sorry," she whispers, recognizing Krish. "Was I interrupting something?"

"Everything okay up there?" Devonte calls. "Thought I heard a girl screaming."

"All good!" I manage in my most convincing guy voice. "Krish volunteered to take the plunge for both of us. I got excited."

Devonte raises an eyebrow but seems to buy it. Krish is already pulling off his shirt, revealing a torso that belongs in a museum, not a suburban bathroom.

I try very hard not to stare. I fail spectacularly.

He jumps into the freezing pool twice—naked as promised—while I study ceiling tiles like they contain the secrets of the universe. When he climbs out, water streaming down golden skin, something in my chest performs gymnastics that defy physics.

"Congratulations," Devonte says, looking genuinely surprised. "You've done the impossible."

As the evening winds down, Krish catches my arm near the door.

"So," he says quietly. "Fake girlfriend?"

I look around Sigma house—at guys who accepted us without question, who cared about our skills rather than our packaging. For the first time since arriving at Stonehaven, I feel the possibility of belonging somewhere.

"Yeah," I say, ignoring how his smile makes my stomach flutter. "I can do fake girlfriend."

Walking back to the dorm, Anika nudges me.

"That chemistry was definitely not fake."

I pull my cap lower. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

But as I replay the almost-kiss in that tiny closet, the way he said my name like it meant something, I wonder if I'm about to discover what belonging really feels like.

And it might not be anything like what I expected.