Chapter Three: Almost Real

---

Maplebridge always had a way of making things feel warmer than they were. Maybe it was the way the trees leaned in like old friends, or how every streetlight flickered with the charm of a place that hadn't changed in decades. But tonight, Aira wasn't admiring the town. She was pacing the narrow hallway outside her childhood bathroom, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach.

"Why am I nervous?" she muttered. "It's not real. It's just pretend. It's just—"

"Talking to yourself again?"

Aira spun around to see Imran leaning against the doorway to the guest room, dressed in sweatpants and a black tee, towel around his neck, hair damp from a shower. He looked far too comfortable. Like he belonged.

"I wasn't talking to myself," she lied.

He grinned. "Sure. Practicing your lines?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Some of us are taking this charade seriously."

"I am taking it seriously," he said, straightening. "In fact, I've been thinking."

"Oh no."

He ignored her. "We need a better backstory. Right now we're just two people 'dating'. That's boring. We need details. Inside jokes. Moments."

"Moments?" Aira crossed her arms. "What kind of moments?"

He stepped closer. "Like… how we met. First impressions. Our first date. Why we like each other. That sort of thing."

Aira blinked. "You've really thought this through."

"You're not the only one with family expecting fireworks, Aira."

Something in his tone made her pause. But before she could ask what he meant, he said, "So. Let's build our story."

Aira raised an eyebrow. "Fine. But nothing cheesy."

"Deal. So, where did we meet?"

"University. It's true, anyway."

He nodded. "Alright. I saw you at the library. You were reading *Pride and Prejudice* and drinking peppermint tea."

"I *hate* peppermint tea."

"Okay, chamomile then. And you had that grumpy-librarian look, but I thought you were gorgeous."

She rolled her eyes. "What about me thought *you* were worth my time?"

He placed a hand dramatically on his chest. "My charm, obviously."

"You were late to every lecture and once fell asleep on your own textbook."

"And you still fell for me."

Aira smirked. "In your dreams, Carter."

They both laughed, and for a moment, it felt natural. Too natural.

Imran lowered his voice. "Okay. First date?"

Aira hesitated. "Hmm. You took me to a bookstore café. We talked about books, then walked by the river. It was... quiet. Nice."

He smiled. "That actually sounds like something I'd do."

"It's something *I* would do."

"Well, it's our story now."

She looked up at him. "What about the moment we knew we liked each other?"

He stepped just a little closer. "That's easy. It was raining. You forgot your umbrella. I gave you mine, even though I hate getting wet."

"You hate getting wet?"

"Passionately."

She tried to hold back a laugh. "And then what?"

"You looked up at me, all surprised. And I realized... I'd give you a hundred umbrellas if it meant seeing you smile."

Aira stared at him. For a second, she forgot to breathe.

He was joking. Probably. But his eyes didn't look like they were joking.

Before she could say anything, her mom's voice echoed from downstairs. "Aira! Imran! Dessert!"

They both blinked, as if waking from a moment neither of them could quite explain.

"Ready to keep pretending?" he asked.

Aira nodded, heart still fluttering.

***

Later that night, after too much strawberry pie and a round of embarrassing childhood stories, Aira walked Imran back to the guest room.

She leaned against the doorway, watching him fluff the pillow.

"You were really good tonight," she said softly. "With everyone. They love you."

He glanced at her. "Yeah? Even your dad? He looked like he was going to quiz me on world politics."

"He does that to *everyone*."

Imran chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You know… this whole fake relationship thing is more fun than I expected."

"That's because you get free food and compliments."

"And your company," he added.

She didn't respond right away.

Instead, she looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers. "You know this ends tomorrow, right?"

"I know."

"No lingering feelings. No mixed signals."

"I know, Aira."

She looked up. "You sure?"

His eyes met hers. "Are you?"

Silence stretched between them like a thread about to snap.

Then she gave a small smile. "Goodnight, Imran."

"Goodnight, Aira."

She walked back to her room, heart pounding. She told herself it was just nerves. Just the thrill of pretending.

But when she closed the door behind her, she touched her lips softly and whispered, "Why does this feel almost real?"

---