Chapter Four: The Line Between Pretend And Possible

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The morning sunlight spilled gently into the kitchen, casting a golden glow on the wooden table where Aira sat, sipping her coffee. The house was quiet, the kind of calm that only came before everyone else stirred awake. She liked mornings like this—soft, slow, and filled with possibility.

But this morning, her thoughts weren't calm.

They were filled with **him**.

Imran Carter had always been charming, but in the past two days, he had proven himself far more dangerous. He had slipped into her world like he'd never left, saying all the right things, smiling in all the right moments, holding her hand like he meant it. It was too easy. Too real.

And that terrified her.

She looked up just as he entered the kitchen, hair still messy from sleep, wearing one of her dad's old sweatshirts like it belonged to him. He gave her that sleepy smile—the kind that made her stomach flip—and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Morning," he said, his voice rough with sleep.

"Morning," she replied, trying to sound casual.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, just sipping coffee and watching the world outside the window. Birds chirped in the garden. A cat darted across the lawn. The air felt… different today. Heavier.

Imran was the first to break the silence.

"Hey. I was thinking," he began, stirring sugar into his cup. "We've been doing this pretend thing for two days, right?"

She nodded slowly.

"So… has it felt fake to you?"

Aira blinked. "What?"

"I mean—don't freak out," he added quickly, holding up his hands. "I just… I don't know. Last night, when we were talking on the porch, it didn't feel fake. Not to me."

She stared at him.

He wasn't teasing. His voice was soft. His expression sincere.

Aira looked away. "We said we wouldn't blur the lines."

"I know. And I'm not saying this *is* real. I just—" He paused, searching for the words. "I just want to be honest. If we're going to keep pretending, I think we should admit when things start feeling like more than just acting."

She set her cup down. "Are you saying you have feelings for me, Imran?"

He met her eyes. "I'm saying… I might."

Aira's heart thudded.

This wasn't part of the plan. They had rules. Boundaries. Agreements. But now…

"I don't know what I feel," she admitted. "This whole thing started as a lie. And now, I'm not sure what's real anymore."

Imran leaned forward slightly. "Maybe that's something worth figuring out. Together."

Before she could respond, the sound of a car door slammed outside.

Aira frowned, standing. "That's strange. No one was supposed to visit today."

She walked to the front window and peeked out.

And nearly choked on her own breath.

Standing in the driveway, suitcase in hand and wearing a coat far too fashionable for Maplebridge, was **Elliot**—her *ex*.

Imran came to stand beside her. "Who's that?"

She took a step back from the window. "My ex-boyfriend."

"Wait—*the* Elliot?"

"The one and only."

Imran blinked. "Did you *invite* him?"

"No!" she whispered harshly. "We haven't talked in almost a year."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

Aira grabbed Imran's sleeve. "Okay. Okay. New plan. You are my boyfriend. My *very real* boyfriend. We're *very* happy. No cracks. No awkwardness. You've known about Elliot. You are not threatened. You are calm and confident and—"

"Devastatingly handsome?"

She gave him a look.

"Got it," he said.

Aira took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Elliot," she greeted, forcing a polite smile.

He grinned in that too-perfect way that used to make her heart flutter—and now only made her stomach twist. "Hey, Aira. Surprise."

"What are you doing here?"

"I was visiting a client two towns over. Figured I'd stop by. Say hello."

Imran stepped forward, sliding his arm around her waist with natural ease. "Hi. I'm Imran. Aira's boyfriend."

There was a beat of silence.

Elliot's smile faltered for just a second. "Boyfriend, huh? That's… new."

Aira leaned into Imran just slightly. "We've been together for a few months now."

"Hmm," Elliot said, his eyes flicking between them. "Interesting."

Aira gestured toward the door. "Well, thanks for dropping by. But we were just heading out, actually."

"Mind if I come in for a second?" Elliot asked, already stepping past her before she could answer.

Imran's hand tightened around her waist.

She forced a smile. "Sure. Why not?"

They sat in the living room, the tension thick enough to cut.

"So," Elliot said, crossing one leg over the other, "how did you two meet?"

"In university," Aira replied smoothly. "We reconnected recently."

Elliot's gaze flicked to Imran. "She always did like a project."

Imran's jaw tensed, but he didn't rise to the bait. "Actually, she's the impressive one. I just try to keep up."

Aira glanced at him, surprised at the softness in his tone.

Elliot leaned back. "Well, if you're happy, Aira…"

"I am," she said quickly. Then, without thinking, she reached for Imran's hand and added, "Very."

Their fingers laced together.

Imran gave her a gentle squeeze.

After a few more strained minutes, Elliot stood. "I should go."

"I'll walk you out," Aira offered.

Outside, he turned to her. "He's not what I pictured for you."

"That's okay," she said, chin high. "You're not what I pictured for *me*, either."

Elliot gave a soft, almost sad smile. "You've changed."

She smiled back. "Maybe I just found someone who lets me be myself."

When she walked back into the house, Imran was still standing in the living room, arms crossed.

"Well," he said. "That was… something."

"Something I never want to repeat," Aira muttered.

He gave her a soft look. "You were amazing."

She let out a long breath. "So were you."

Then, without meaning to, she took a step closer. He didn't move. He just stood there, watching her, like he could see through every layer of her defenses.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For protecting me. Even in the act."

His voice was gentle. "Who says it's just an act anymore?"

She didn't know how to respond to that.

All she knew was that her heart was doing things it wasn't supposed to do—not for someone who was supposed to be pretend.

But maybe, just maybe… something real was beginning to bloom beneath the surface.

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