Nia slammed the door to their dorm room open with a groan loud enough to wake the dead. Amara looked up from her desk, where she'd been halfheartedly scrolling through her camera roll, trying to focus on anything but her growing to-restaurant.
"I take it the dinner didn't go well?" she asked, raising a brow.
Nia threw herself dramatically onto her bed. "That man was a walking red flag wrapped in cologne."
"Oh no," Amara said, biting back a smile.
"I swear, ten minutes into the dinner, he was already talking about his 'ideal housewife' and how girls these days are too ambitious for their own good." Nia made air quotes, then mimicked strangling the air. "I nearly dumped my drink on him."
"Nearly?"
"I said nearly. I wasn't about to waste my favorite mocktail on that loser."
Amara chuckled. "Well, at least now you know."
Nia sighed, flopping back on her pillow. "You should've seen his face when I left mid-dessert. Men like that don't expect you to walk away."
"Good for you," Amara said, tossing a pillow at her. "No one messes with Nia Malik."
"Damn right."
Later that afternoon, Amara received a message from her father — short, clipped, and urgent. "Come home. Need to discuss something."
She didn't want to go, but the pit in her stomach told her she had to. By the time she reached her neighborhood, the sky had already turned a dull gray. As she stepped through the rusted gate, her stepmother's voice cut through the silence like a whip.
"You think you can pretend like everything is fine?"
Amara froze.
"Do you know who came to the house today? The loan sharks!" her stepmother hissed, her voice shrill. "Threatening me — me — because your father's hiding."
Amara barely had time to open her mouth before a stinging slap landed across her cheek. The impact echoed louder than her gasp.
Tears welled up instantly, but she refused to let them fall. Not here. Not in front of her.
"You useless girl," the woman snarled. "All this 'college' and 'scholarship' — what's the point if we're drowning in debt?"
Amara stood there, numb, until she could finally slip out of the house unnoticed. She didn't know how far she walked or how long it had been before her legs gave out near the university park.
Meanwhile, on the other side of campus, Kieran sat on the grass with a few of his department mates, listening half-heartedly to a conversation about internship placements and final-year projects.
A girl passing by laughed too loudly, drawing attention to her group of friends who'd been eyeing him all evening.
Kieran ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Just as he was about to stand and head back, something in the distance caught his eye.
At the far end of the park, barely illuminated by the flickering lamppost, sat a girl curled up on a bench, her shoulders trembling.
Amara.
He frowned. Was she crying?
His friends were still talking when he quietly got up and began walking away.
He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her. As he got closer, he could hear the soft, broken sobs — raw and painful.
He hesitated for a second. Then sat on the opposite end of the bench.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
Amara looked up, startled. Her eyes were red, face tear-streaked, the makeup she'd put on that morning barely clinging to her skin now.
"What kind of question is that?" she snapped, wiping her face furiously. "Does this look like I'm okay?"
"Fair point."
She glared at him, but he didn't budge.
"Why do people do that?" she muttered. "Say the most useless things when someone's clearly breaking down?"
"I guess... people don't know what else to say."
"Well, don't say anything."
He nodded, leaning back on the bench, letting the silence grow.
After a few minutes, she spoke again, her voice quieter this time. "Sorry. I didn't mean to lash out." She looked at him — really looked — and for a moment, the wall she'd built cracked a little.
"Everything's just… falling apart," she whispered.
Kieran didn't respond, just stood up. He glanced around and leaned in slightly.
"Everyone's staring," he muttered. "Let's get out of here."
Amara hesitated, wiping the last of her tears. With a careful, uncertain glance at him, she stood and followed quietly—her steps slow but steady—as he led the way toward a nearby restaurant.
Too tired to protest, she followed.
They ended up at a small restaurant near campus — one of those cozy places with warm lighting, worn-out wooden booths, and the smell of butter and herbs hanging thick in the air.
Kieran ordered for both of them and sat back, observing her as she slumped into the booth.
When the food arrived, Amara didn't waste a second.
She dove into the pasta like she hadn't seen food in days — which wasn't too far from the truth. Her fork scraped the plate as she twisted spaghetti around it with mechanical hunger, barely taking a breath between bites.
Kieran watched, bemused.
So simple, he thought. A moment ago, she looked like the world had ended — and now here she was, wolfing down dinner like it was the first meal she'd had in a week.
"Women are so simple," he mumbled under his breath, more amused than judgmental.
Amara caught the look he gave her and narrowed her eyes mid-bite.
"What?"
Kieran smirked. "Nothing. Just... eat."
She scowled, still chewing, then focused back on her plate.
Amara leaned back in her seat, finally satisfied as she wiped her lips with a napkin. The warmth from the food still lingered on her skin, calming her nerves just a little. She glanced across the table at Kieran, who had barely touched his food but hadn't taken his eyes off her either. She caught his eyes for a second and then looked away, tapping her fingers lightly against her glass. "Can I ask you something?"
He raised an eyebrow, giving a small nod.
"Why are you even asking me to be in a fake relationship?" she asked, her voice light, almost teasing, but the question held genuine curiosity. "I mean… you're Kieran Hale. You're literally surrounded by girls all the time."
Kieran didn't flinch. His reply was flat, honest. "I don't want to be in a relationship."
Amara's brows pulled together slightly. She didn't say anything right away, unsure how to respond to that kind of simplicity.
After a pause, Kieran continued, quieter this time. "My grandma's weak. She keeps asking to meet my girlfriend. I thought if I had someone like you—someone who isn't fake or trying to actually be in a relationship—it would be easier."
Amara blinked. "So... you bring your girlfriend to your grandma?"
Kieran nodded once.
She tilted her head. "Okay. So you're asking me to go on, what? One date? To meet your grandma?"
Kieran's expression didn't shift. "It can't just end with one dinner date."
Amara leaned in a little, skeptical. "Why not?"
There was a flicker in his eyes—like he wanted to say more, but stopped himself. "Just leave it," he muttered.
She narrowed her eyes. "See, that's the problem. If you can't even be honest about why, how am I supposed to agree to this? A fake relationship is still a relationship, Kieran. And I don't even know you."
He didn't speak.
"I mean, what if you turn out to be a terrible person?" she added with a slight scoff.
Still, silence.
Kieran's eyes didn't waver, but he didn't argue either.
Amara stared at him for another moment, waiting for something more—an explanation, a defense, anything.
But all she got was that same unreadable calm.