Amara lay sprawled on her bed, one arm covering her eyes as the ceiling fan hummed above her in slow, lazy circles. Her shoes were still on, bag tossed somewhere near the foot of the bed, and her brain was floating somewhere between exhaustion and sleep.
Her phone buzzed on the pillow beside her. Once. Then again.
She groaned, reaching for it without lifting her head.
Kieran Hale:
Are you free this weekend?
She blinked at the message.
Seriously?
She frowned and typed slowly, one thumb tapping at the screen.
Amara:
Why?
She waited.
The reply came faster than she expected.
Kieran:
We're visiting my grandmother.
Her brows drew together.
Amara:
Why? Did something happen?
There was a longer pause this time. When the message came through, it felt colder than the others.
Kieran:
Are you available or not?
She let the phone drop onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling.
Seriously?
No explanation. No softening. Just straight to the point, like this was some kind of business deal. Which—technically—it was.
She had agreed to this. The fake relationship. The pretending. The quiet pretending.
She picked up the phone again, stared at the screen for a long while.
She could say no. She could tell him this wasn't what she signed up for. That it was too real.
But she didn't.
Because a promise was a promise. And part of her… the foolish, curious part… wanted to see what Kieran Hale looked like around the people he cared about.
So she typed back.
Amara:
Okay.
No emoji. No punctuation. Just that.
She hit send, then rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.
While Amara lay motionless on her bed, staring at the ceiling in reluctant surrender to Kieran's text, somewhere across campus, Nia Turner was just trying to get coffee. She hadn't meant to walk into the campus café that day. She just needed coffee. That's it. Basic survival.
She definitely hadn't expected to see him.
Professor Carter.
In line. In a black coat. Reading something on his phone like he wasn't the main character in a very confusing romantic drama unfolding in her life.
Turn around. Leave. Escape. Fake fainting. Anything.
Too late. He looked up.
Their eyes locked.
Carter blinked in clear recognition—and then, to her horror, smiled.
"Miss Turner."
She gave him a tight-lipped smile. "Professor Carter."
He stepped aside in line. "You can go ahead."
"Oh, no, you were here first."
"I insist."
"You're very insistent," she muttered under her breath.
He raised a brow, clearly catching it. "I'm persistent. There's a difference."
Nia shuffled forward, placed her order, and tried to will the floor to open and swallow her whole. While she waited, he stepped closer—just enough for her to notice the faint scent of his cologne.
"Are your studies going well?" he asked, voice casual but eyes annoyingly observant.
Nia blinked. "Oh. Yeah. I mean, mostly. I'm not failing anything. Yet."
He smiled like she just told him the most amusing secret.
"That's encouraging," he said dryly.
Their drinks arrived. Nia reached to grab hers—and of course, fate intervened again.
Her heel snagged on the tile. She lurched forward, arms flailing—and landed against something solid.
Professor Carter caught her, one hand steadying her coffee and the other wrapped lightly around her waist.
For a second, no one moved.
Then he leaned down slightly and said near her ear, "Careful, Miss Turner. That's the second time I've caught you."
Nia's brain short-circuited.
She stumbled back, cheeks blazing. "I—I didn't fall. I mean, not really. That doesn't count."
He handed her back the cup with an infuriatingly calm expression. "Of course. Strictly hypothetical fall."
She turned to storm off, cheeks burning—and then—
"See you in class, Nia," he said, smoothly.
She froze.
As Nia turned around, still gripping her coffee like it had personally betrayed her, she nearly collided with another body.
"Woah, easy there, sunshine."
She looked up—and saw Daniel Rivers. Tall, messy-haired, with a grin that could make anyone feel like they were the only person in the room.
"Daniel," she blinked, stepping back. "Didn't see you."
He chuckled, casually leaning against the wall. "That's what happens when you're too busy swooning into tall, dark, and academic types."
Nia choked on air.
"I was not swooning."
He smirked. "Sure. You just happened to trip, fall into his arms, and gaze up at him like you were in a coffee commercial."
"It was gravity." she muttered.
Daniel leaned in just a little, voice dropping playfully. "I'm starting to feel jealous. What do I have to do to get a dramatic fall and a meet-cute with you?"
Nia rolled her eyes, smiling despite herself. "Try being in the wrong place at the wrong time. That's my specialty."
"Or," Daniel said, stepping just slightly into her space, "you could stop avoiding me and actually say yes to lunch sometime."
She paused—then glanced subtly past him.
Professor Carter hadn't left.
He stood at the pickup counter, waiting for his own drink, back turned—but his head tilted ever so slightly. Just enough that she knew he was listening.
And yet, nothing. No glance. No raised brow. No subtle interruption.
Stone cold. Completely unaffected.
Nia blinked it away.
She turned back to Daniel, smile softer now. "See you around. I have to get back." She walked away.
The next day dragged slower than usual.
Amara sat in her last lecture, her head only half in the room. The professor's words blurred into background noise as she tapped her pen against the edge of her notebook, her mind looping the same thought over and over.
Weekend. Grandma. Fake girlfriend.
She sighed.
When the class finally ended, she packed up slower than usual, reluctant to move. But a promise was a promise—and distractions were welcome.
The photography club meeting was quiet that afternoon. Fewer members had shown up, likely buried in assignments or choosing sleep over creativity. The room smelled faintly of coffee and fresh print paper, a soft hum from an old desktop computer echoing in the background.
Amara lingered by the doorway, considering leaving unnoticed, when a familiar voice caught her off guard.
"Amara! Perfect timing."
She turned—and there was Liana. Always put together, always smiling like she knew something you didn't. With her sash-like student council badge pinned neatly to her shirt, she exuded authority in the most polite way.
Amara offered a small smile. "Hey."
"We've got a task for you," Liana said cheerfully, holding out a DSLR and a sheet of paper.
"Oh, um—actually—" Amara began, gesturing vaguely toward her bag, "I've got a lot on my plate today, and—"
Liana's smile didn't waver. "It's nothing huge. Just a quick assignment for the club bulletin. A few candid campus shots. You're good with that camera, and we're a bit short-handed today."
Amara hesitated.
Liana added, a little too sweetly, "Of course, you're free to say no. But as a council member, I'd have to note who's contributing regularly for the semester report."
A pause.
Amara blinked.
Right. Student council.
"Great," Liana chirped, handing over the camera before Amara could finish weighing her options. "We'll need five to six shots by Friday. Campus life, anything that feels… fresh."
And just like that, Liana spun around to talk to another member, leaving Amara standing there with a camera in one hand and reluctant responsibility in the other.
She looked down at the camera and exhaled. "Fresh," she muttered. "Right."
She stepped outside, the weight of the lens around her neck and a weekend of fake affection ahead. It was going to be a long week.