Arjun sat on his hostel bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it creaked through another humid Mumbai night. His phone lay beside him, open to the Rent-A-Date website, the cursor blinking in the "Book Again" form. It had been three days since the Brew & Bliss date, three days since Kiara's blue kurti disappeared into the evening, and three days since he'd felt like his life was a Bollywood movie stuck on a cliffhanger.
Vikram, sprawled on the floor with a half-eaten plate of Maggi, was no help. "Bro, just book her again!" he said, waving his fork like a conductor. "You're obsessed. I saw you checking her Insta, like, ten times today."
"I wasn't checking her Insta," Arjun lied, shoving his glasses up his nose. Okay, maybe he'd scrolled through Kiara's profile—@KiaraVibes, all artsy café pics and cryptic captions like "Chasing chai and chaos." No selfies, no hints of her "job." Just enough to make him curious and frustrated.
"You're hopeless," Vikram said, grinning. "Riya's still posting sad songs on her Stories, by the way. You won. Why're you moping?"
Arjun didn't answer. He *had* won—Riya's jealousy was obvious, her WhatsApp status now a string of heartbreak emojis. But instead of feeling triumphant, he felt… empty. All he could think about was Kiara's laugh, the way her fingers brushed his, and that flicker of something real when she'd said their date was "different." Was it just part of her act? Or had Nisha's jab about "half the college" been right?
He typed "coffee date" into the booking form, then deleted it. Typed it again. Hovered over "submit." *What am I even doing?* He didn't need another fake date. He didn't even care about Riya anymore. So why was he itching to see Kiara again?
---
Across the city, in a tiny Andheri flat packed with psychology textbooks and fairy lights, Kiara Malhotra stared at her phone, the Rent-A-Date app open to Arjun's booking request from Saturday. She hadn't accepted another client since, which was a problem—her uni fees were due next week, and her bank account was screaming louder than the autos outside her window.
She flopped onto her bed, her roommate's Bollywood playlist blaring through the thin walls. "Get it together, Kiara," she muttered to herself. Arjun was just a client. A sweet, awkward, surprisingly charming client, but still a client. She'd done dozens of these gigs—fake dates, fake fiancée roles at family functions, even a fake breakup to help a guy dodge an arranged marriage. It was acting, nothing more. So why had she almost told him the truth at the café? Why had Nisha's taunt hit so hard?
Her phone buzzed with a new notification: *New Booking Request – Arjun Tiwari, Coffee Date, Friday, 5 p.m.* Her heart did a stupid little jump. She opened the request, expecting another "make my ex jealous" note, but the special instructions box was blank. Just… a date. No agenda.
Kiara groaned, tossing her phone onto the pillow. "Why does he have to be so… *him*?" She'd meant what she said—Arjun was different. Most clients wanted her to play a trophy girlfriend, all giggles and selfies. Arjun just wanted to be seen, to feel like he mattered. And when he'd looked at her, all nervous and genuine, she'd felt seen too. That was dangerous.
Her roommate, Priya, poked her head in, holding a steaming mug of chai. "Still daydreaming about that nerdy guy from Saturday?" she teased, her hoop earrings glinting.
"I'm not daydreaming," Kiara snapped, sitting up. "He's just a client."
"Uh-huh. That's why you've been checking your phone like it's a UPSC result." Priya smirked, handing her the chai. "You like him, don't you?"
"He's a client," Kiara repeated, but her voice lacked conviction. She sipped the chai, the ginger burning her throat. "It's just… he's not like the others. He's sweet. And he doesn't know it."
Priya raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like trouble. You gonna take the booking?"
Kiara hesitated. She needed the money, but another date with Arjun felt like stepping onto a slippery slope. What if she started liking him for real? She'd built her whole "rent-a-date" gig on keeping things professional, on never letting feelings creep in. But Arjun's shy smile and that impulsive "Can I book you again?" had cracked her armor.
"I'll decide tomorrow," she said, dodging Priya's knowing look.
---
Friday evening, Arjun stood outside The Chai Corner, a cozy café near VJTI that was less pretentious than Brew & Bliss. No fairy lights, just mismatched chairs, a chalkboard menu, and the smell of filter coffee and vada pav. He'd picked it because it felt more like him—and, if he was honest, because he hoped Kiara would like it too. His phone said 4:55 p.m. He adjusted his glasses, smoothed his (slightly less boring) green shirt, and prayed he wouldn't trip over his own feet.
When Kiara arrived, she was in a yellow anarkali top and jeans, her hair loose and catching the golden hour light. Arjun's breath caught. She looked like she'd stepped out of a college fest poster, effortless and radiant.
"Hey, you," she said, smiling as she approached. "Nice choice. This place screams 'Arjun vibes.'"
He laughed, nerves easing. "Yeah, less Instagram, more… me. You okay with it?"
"More than okay," she said, her eyes softening. "Let's grab a table."
They settled by a window, the street outside buzzing with evening traffic. Kiara ordered a masala chai, Arjun stuck with his usual cold coffee, and for a moment, it felt like a real date. No Riya, no Vikram, no Nisha. Just them.
"So," Kiara said, stirring her chai, "no 'make my ex jealous' this time. What's the deal? Practicing for the real thing?"
Arjun's face heated up. "I… just wanted to hang out. You were fun last time. And, uh, I figured you could use the cash." He cringed. *Smooth, Arjun. Real smooth.*
Kiara's laugh was warm, not mocking. "Honest, huh? I like that. But you don't have to save my bank account. I'm doing fine."
He nodded, unsure how to respond. "I just… didn't want it to end like that. With Nisha and all. You seemed… upset."
Her smile faltered, and she looked out the window, her fingers tightening around her cup. "Nisha's a pain, but she's not wrong. This job—it's a lot of people, a lot of stories. Sometimes it's hard to keep track of what's real."
Arjun's heart thudded. "Was any of it real? With me, I mean."
Kiara's eyes met his, and for a moment, she didn't look like the confident "rent-a-date" pro. She looked like a girl who was just as lost as he was. "You're asking dangerous questions, Arjun Tiwari."
Before he could press further, the café door swung open, and Vikram burst in, dragging a familiar figure—Riya. "Yo, Arjun!" he called, oblivious to the mood. "Look who I found outside! Thought we could all hang!"
Riya's eyes widened, taking in Arjun and Kiara. "You're… still with her?" she asked, her voice sharp but shaky.
Kiara's professional mask snapped back on. She leaned toward Arjun, her hand brushing his arm. "Oh, hi! Riya, right? Arjun's told me so much about you." Her smile was sugar-sweet, but her eyes were steel.
Arjun's stomach churned. Vikram's grin was clueless, Riya looked ready to explode, and Kiara was playing her role again. But as her hand lingered on his arm, her thumb grazing his skin, he wondered if this was still just a performance—or if they were both falling into something neither could fake.