almost real, almost fake.

He was getting increasingly frustrated with how every girl seemed to be attached to him, always following him around and making everything feel like an act. It was like he couldn’t get a moment to himself. So, he came up with a plan—a way to get some space and avoid the constant attention. He decided to ask a girl who wasn’t head over heels for him to pretend to date him. That way, the crowd would finally leave him alone. After thinking it over for a while, he spotted you. You were different from the others, and after a little convincing, you agreed to help him out.

Two months later.

We were in his dorm again, like usual, just hanging out. He was lying back against the bed frame, his feet propped up as he smoked and read, his usual routine when he needed to unwind. I was sprawled out on the floor, lying on my stomach, completely absorbed in my phone. The room was quiet, except for the soft rustling of pages and the occasional puff of smoke as he exhaled. Despite how casual everything had become, it still felt weirdly normal—like this whole fake dating thing wasn’t so fake anymore.