Kiara should’ve known better.

She should’ve known not to answer her phone at home. Not in front of her mother, who had the hearing power of a spy satellite and the dramatic range of a daily soap actress.

But no — she picked up, right in the middle of the living room, and said the one sentence that would ruin her week:

> “Babe, I’m working late at the café. Don’t wait up.”

Silence.

Her mother’s neck swiveled slowly from the television like a horror movie twist. “Who was that?”

Kiara froze. “Uh. No one. Just… uh… a customer.”

“Since when do you call customers babe?”

Kiara did what every self-respecting nineteen-year-old would do when caught in a lie.

She doubled down.

“Okay, fine. It’s… my boyfriend.”

Another silence. The tension in the air could be sliced with a butter knife.

Her mother’s voice dropped to scandal-whisper level. “You have a boyfriend?!”

“Yes,” Kiara said too quickly. “He’s… older. Very mature. Works in tech. Doesn't party. Responsible. The type you'd approve of.”

She was rambling now. Dangerous territory.

“Name?” her mom asked.

And her fate was sealed.

“…Aryan,” she blurted. “Aryan Kapoor.”

---

The next day at Brew & Buns, Kiara was pacing behind the counter like a caffeinated chicken.

“He’s going to kill me,” she muttered.

Nisha blinked. “Who?”

“Aryan. I kind of… told my mom we’re dating. Accidentally.”

“That’s not an accident, Kiara. That’s a legally questionable lie.”

“You weren’t there. She was looking at me like I’m some tragedy in a kurti. It just came out.”

As if summoned by the universe’s sense of humor, Aryan walked in.

Black shirt. Blacker coffee. Darkest expression yet.

Kiara took a deep breath. This was it.

“Hey,” she said, walking over awkwardly.

Aryan looked up. “What did I do now?”

“Okay. So. Funny story…” she started, voice cracking like a radio with bad signal.

His brows rose. “Oh no.”

“I may have accidentally told my mom you’re my boyfriend.”

Pause.

Blink.

Another blink.

“I’m sorry, what?” Aryan said flatly.

“It just slipped out! And now she wants to meet you and you don’t have to do anything really except maybe pretend to—don’t walk away—wait—Aryan, come on!”

He turned around slowly, hands in pockets, eyes locked on hers. “You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?”

“…Yes. Just once. To save my dignity and avoid being married off to Rohan Uncle’s son's cousin who's in ‘real estate’ but smells like regret.”

Aryan stared at her.

Kiara gave him the most desperate, dramatic look in her arsenal. Puppy eyes. Tilted head. A small, helpless sigh.

He rubbed his forehead. “Kiara, I came to this town for peace.”

“And I came to this café for minimum wage, yet here we are.”

He looked at her for a long moment, then exhaled in defeat.

“Fine.”

She blinked. “Wait. Really?”

“One time. That’s it. You owe me three coffees and one emergency exit plan if this goes horribly wrong.”

Kiara beamed. “Done. I’ll even throw in a muffin.”

Aryan narrowed his eyes. “I don’t eat muffins.”

“Too bad, muffin-top. You're already in.”

---