Chapter Five: A Heart On The Adge

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The morning after Elliot's unexpected visit, the house buzzed with whispers.

Aira could hear her aunt talking to her mom in the kitchen, snippets of "tall, dark and handsome" and "did you *see* the way he looked at her?" drifting down the hallway like gossip wrapped in sugar.

She groaned and pulled the covers over her head.

This was exactly why she'd sworn never to bring a boyfriend—real or fake—home again.

Unfortunately, she'd broken that rule with someone who was *too* good at pretending.

When she finally made it down for breakfast, the dining table was already full. Imran sat comfortably beside her dad, talking about football like he'd been part of the family for years. Aira paused in the doorway, just watching him.

How did he do that? How did he look like he belonged everywhere he went?

As if sensing her, Imran turned and smiled. "There you are. Morning, sleepyhead."

Aira narrowed her eyes. "You're chipper."

He patted the seat beside him. "Come sit before your cousins finish the cinnamon rolls."

She slid into the chair, still half-annoyed that he fit in so easily.

Her dad passed her a plate. "Imran tells me he's working on a design app. Says it could help small businesses manage logos and branding without hiring big agencies."

Aira blinked. "You never told me that."

Imran shrugged, sipping his coffee. "You never asked."

She frowned. "We've known each other for years, and you've never once mentioned designing apps."

"You've never asked what I do *when I'm not pretending to date you*," he teased softly.

Her cheeks warmed. But beneath the joke, something stirred.

After breakfast, they took a walk through the quiet streets of Maplebridge. The sky was overcast, clouds heavy with the promise of spring rain. Children played near the community library. A couple of elderly ladies waved at Aira.

"Everyone here knows you," Imran said, watching her wave back.

"I grew up here. It's small enough that everyone remembers when you scraped your knee in third grade or cried during your piano recital."

"And now they all think you're in love."

She looked at him sharply. "That's not funny."

"I'm not joking," he said, turning serious. "They *believe* it. Because we look like it."

"Imran…"

"I meant what I said yesterday," he continued, voice soft. "This doesn't feel fake to me. Not anymore."

Her heart skipped. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?"

"Because this is temporary."

"Only if we want it to be."

She stopped walking, turning to face him. "This was your idea too. You *agreed* we'd pretend for one weekend."

He held her gaze. "People change their minds."

"Not like this."

"Exactly like this."

Silence hung between them, heavy and uncertain.

Then Imran stepped closer. "Tell me you haven't thought about it, Aira. About what this could be if we stopped pretending."

Her voice wavered. "It would be a mess."

"But a beautiful one."

She looked away, throat tight. "You don't know what you're asking."

"I'm asking for a chance. A real one."

He reached out slowly, brushing his fingers gently against hers. The touch was featherlight—but it was enough to send a shiver through her.

Before she could answer, a sudden voice called out behind them.

"Aira?"

She turned—and her heart dropped.

It was *her mother*, standing with a surprised smile and *Mrs. Davies*, the local florist, beside her.

"I didn't mean to interrupt," her mom said cheerfully. "We were just picking out some table pieces for tomorrow's family lunch."

Mrs. Davies winked. "Don't mind me. I was young and in love once too."

Aira felt her face flush.

Imran only smiled and slipped his hand naturally into hers. "We were just heading back, actually."

They said their goodbyes and continued walking, hands still clasped together. She didn't pull away.

Not yet.

Because somehow, for all the confusion and fear clouding her mind… her heart was beginning to whisper something terrifying.

She might already be falling for him.

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