Maya hadn’t planned it. The words came out in a rush, halfway between desperation and defiance, as they stood outside the small Italian restaurant downtown. Inside, warm lights glowed and laughter spilled onto the sidewalk. Through the window, she could already see her family gathering around the long table they had reserved weeks ago.
“Just for tonight,” she said quickly, gripping the strap of her bag. “Please.”
Ethan blinked at her, clearly caught off guard. They had been coworkers for almost a year, friendly but distant, sharing coffee breaks and polite conversations. He knew about her family only in fragments—enough to understand that nights like this came with pressure.
“Play your partner,” he repeated slowly.
“Yes,” Maya said. “My parents. My aunts. Everyone. They won’t stop asking why I’m still alone. I just need… a buffer. Someone to stand next to me so they stop looking at me like I’ve failed at life.”
Ethan hesitated. He wasn’t impulsive by nature. He liked structure, boundaries, clear expectations. This was none of those things. And yet, when he looked at Maya—at the tightness around her eyes, the way she tried to joke her way out of discomfort—something softened in him.
“One night,” he said finally. “And we’re very clear it’s pretend.”
Maya exhaled in relief so strong it almost made her laugh. “Absolutely pretend.”
They walked inside together.
The effect was immediate. Conversations paused. Heads turned. Her mother’s eyes widened, then filled with something like triumph. Her father stood to shake Ethan’s hand. Chairs were rearranged. Space was made for him at Maya’s side as if he had always belonged there.
“This is Ethan,” Maya said, forcing calm into her voice. “My partner.”
The word felt strange and heavy, but Ethan didn’t flinch. He smiled, polite and composed, and answered questions with ease. Where he worked. Where he grew up. How they met. He played the role effortlessly, never overselling it, never hesitating. When Maya stumbled over a detail, he picked it up smoothly, as though they had rehearsed.
At some point, without thinking, his hand found the small of her back.
Maya stiffened for half a second, then relaxed. The touch wasn’t possessive or performative. It was steady. Grounding. And to her surprise, it made the noise in her head quiet down.
Dinner unfolded with wine and stories. Her aunt made knowing comments. Her cousins exchanged glances. Maya braced herself for embarrassment, but it never came. Ethan deflected intrusive questions with humor. He listened when her grandmother spoke. He laughed at the right moments. He treated Maya like someone worth choosing, not someone in need of defending.
She hadn’t realized how much she needed that.
When dessert arrived, her mother leaned across the table and smiled at her in a way Maya hadn’t seen in years. “I’m so happy for you,” she said softly.
Maya swallowed. “Me too,” she replied, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure if she was lying.
After dinner, they stepped back into the cool night air. The restaurant door closed behind them, sealing off the performance. Maya let out a shaky laugh.
“I owe you,” she said. “Big time.”
Ethan shrugged. “You don’t owe me anything.”
They walked a few blocks in silence. The city hummed around them, indifferent and alive. Maya expected the spell to break, expected the awkwardness to rush in now that the role was over.
“I mean,” he said carefully, “I know tonight started as pretend. But nothing about how I felt standing next to you felt fake.”
Maya’s heart skipped. She searched his face for irony, for retreat. There was none.
“I don’t want to cross a line you don’t want crossed,” he continued. “But I’d regret it if I didn’t say something.”
For the first time that night, Maya didn’t feel watched, judged, or measured. She felt seen.
“I asked you to play my partner,” she said quietly. “I didn’t expect you to make me feel like I deserved one.”
Ethan smiled, soft and uncertain. “Maybe you always did.”
They didn’t kiss then. They didn’t rush. They stood there for a long moment, letting the truth settle between them. When they finally said goodnight, it was with the promise of coffee the next day, and then another, and then something that grew without pretending.
Weeks later, when Maya’s mother asked how Ethan was doing, Maya answered honestly.
“He’s not playing anything,” she said. “He chose me.”
And that was the night everything changed—not because she asked someone to pretend, but because someone stayed when pretending was no longer necessary.
