ALEX'S POV
"Lara, we need to talk."
I stopped walking.
Of all the things I wanted to deal with that evening, Lara was at the very bottom of the list.
I turned around slowly.
She stood a few feet away, nervously clutching the strap of her handbag. She looked different from the last time I'd seen her. Perhaps it was the guilt written all over her face, or perhaps I simply didn't care enough to notice her anymore.
Either way, I wasn't interested.
"What do you want, Lara?"
She flinched at my tone.
"Can you at least talk to me properly?"
I let out a humorless laugh.
"Properly? You want me to talk to you properly?"
"Alex, please. Not here."
"Then where? Should I book us a private room so you can explain how you managed to cheat on me with Peter?"
Her face immediately fell.
"Don't bring Peter into this."
I stared at her.
For a moment, I genuinely couldn't believe what I'd just heard.
"Don't bring Peter into this?" I repeated. "Are you serious right now?"
"That's not what I meant."
"Then what the hell did you mean?"
A couple of students passing by glanced in our direction. I couldn't care less.
I'd spent weeks trying to put everything behind me. I'd buried the anger, ignored the questions, and convinced myself that I was better off without either of them in my life.
And now Lara was standing in front of me, asking me to behave as though she hadn't been the reason I'd spent so many nights questioning my own judgment.
"What do you want from me?" I demanded.
She swallowed.
"I just wanted to talk."
"About what? The weather?"
"Alex!"
"What?" I snapped. "You came here. You wanted to talk. I'm listening. So say whatever you came to say and let me get on with my life."
She looked down at her hands.
"I'm sorry."
I went still for a moment.
Then I laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
Because I couldn't believe that after everything, those were the words she'd chosen.
"You're sorry?"
"Yes."
"Wonderful. Does that make everything better?"
"No, I know it doesn't—"
"Then what exactly am I supposed to do with your apology, Lara?"
She looked up, her eyes already glistening.
"I don't know. I just thought you deserved to hear it from me."
I folded my arms.
"Should I be grateful?"
"No."
"Good. Because I'm not."
She lowered her gaze again.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
I should have walked away. I knew that.
But some part of me wanted to hear what she had to say. Not because I wanted her back, but because there were still questions I had never bothered asking.
Questions that probably wouldn't change anything.
Still, I wanted answers.
"Why?" I asked.
She looked up.
"What?"
"Why did you do it?"
Her lips parted, but no answer came.
I shook my head.
"That's what I thought."
"Alex, I—"
"No, seriously. I'd like to know. Was I not good enough? Did you get bored? Or did you just enjoy watching me make a fool of myself while you were sneaking around with Peter?"
"That's not fair!"
I stared at her in disbelief.
"Not fair?"
She immediately went quiet.
I took a step closer, my anger rising again.
"You cheated on me, Lara. And you did it with Peter, of all people. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was?"
She wiped at her eyes.
"I never wanted to humiliate you."
"But you did!"
My voice echoed through the corridor.
"I don't care what you intended to do. I care about what you actually did. You knew exactly what was going to happen if I found out, and you still went ahead with it."
"I know."
"No, I don't think you do."
I ran a hand through my hair, trying to calm myself down.
The worst part wasn't even that she'd chosen Peter.
Peter and I had never been friends.
We were rivals long before Lara entered the picture. We competed over everything, from university events to academic achievements, and neither of us had ever been particularly good at hiding our dislike for the other.
I'd never trusted him.
But I'd trusted Lara.
And somehow, that was what hurt the most.
"I never thought you'd do something like that," I admitted, my voice quieter now. "Not you."
Her expression crumpled.
"I'm sorry."
I looked away.
There it was again.
The same apology, repeated as though saying it enough times might somehow erase the past.
"I loved you," I said. "I genuinely thought we had something real."
"We did."
"Then why wasn't it enough for you to keep your promises?"
She shook her head helplessly.
"I don't have an excuse."
"At least we're finally agreeing on something."
She pressed her lips together, fighting back tears.
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
But guilt wasn't the same as regret, and regret wasn't the same as repairing the damage.
She could spend the rest of her life feeling terrible about what she'd done. That was her burden to carry.
It wasn't my responsibility to make her feel better.
"I didn't come here expecting you to forgive me," she said eventually. "I know I don't deserve that."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because I couldn't keep pretending that what I did was okay."
I studied her face.
For the first time since she'd approached me, she wasn't trying to defend herself.
She wasn't asking me to understand her.
She simply looked ashamed.
And I believed that she felt guilty.
But that didn't mean I was ready to make things easier for her.
"Fine," I said. "You've apologized. I've heard you. Can we leave it at that?"
She nodded slowly.
Then, after a moment, she asked, "Do you hate me?"
I almost laughed.
"What difference would my answer make?"
"It would make a difference to me."
"Well, that's unfortunate, because your feelings aren't something I can worry about right now."
She flinched.
I knew my words were harsh.
I also knew that if I softened them, she'd mistake my kindness for an invitation to keep talking.
And I wasn't ready for that.
"I don't spend my days thinking about you, Lara," I continued. "I'm not sitting around waiting for you to come back. Whatever we had is over."
"I understand."
"Do you?"
She nodded again.
"I know I hurt you. I know I can't undo it. I just wanted you to know that I'm sorry."
I exhaled slowly.
"Then I've heard you. That's all I can give you."
She looked as though she wanted to say something else, but eventually, she stepped back.
"Take care of yourself, Alex."
I gave her a humorless smile.
"I've been doing that."
She turned and walked away.
This time, I didn't watch her leave.
I simply turned around and headed toward the parking lot.
I wasn't relieved.
I wasn't happy.
I was just tired of carrying anger that had nowhere to go.
Maybe one day I'd remember Lara without feeling that familiar sting of betrayal.
But that day wasn't today.
And I had no intention of pretending otherwise.
---
My phone vibrated as I reached the parking lot.
A message from Natasha.
Natasha: Did you get home?
I stared at the screen.
Then I glanced at the time.
It was getting late.
A small smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.
Of course she'd ask that question and then pretend she wasn't worried.
I typed my reply.
Me: Not yet.
Her response came almost immediately.
Natasha: Then why are you replying to messages instead of going home?
I shook my head.
There she was.
The most irritating person I'd ever met.
And somehow, the person I wanted to talk to after having the worst conversation of my week.
Me: Because someone is keeping me occupied.
Natasha: Go home, Alex.
Me: Are you worried about me?
The typing indicator appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
I could practically imagine her sitting on her bed, frowning at her phone and trying to come up with a reply that wouldn't give her away.
Finally, her message arrived.
Natasha: I'm worried about the university's general peace if you keep wandering around.
I laughed.
Actually laughed.
For the first time that evening, the tension in my chest eased a little.
Me: Wow. Such concern. I'm touched.
Natasha: Don't get emotional. It's embarrassing.
Me: Too late. I'm crying.
Natasha: Go home before I block you.
Me: You'd miss me.
Natasha: I'd celebrate.
I couldn't stop smiling.
It was ridiculous.
A few minutes ago, I'd been standing in a corridor, trying not to lose my temper over the past.
Now I was standing in a parking lot, grinning at my phone because Natasha had threatened to block me.
My life had officially become a joke.
And somehow, I wasn't complaining.
Then another message arrived.
Natasha: Seriously, though. Text me when you get home. It's late.
My smile softened.
I stared at those words longer than necessary.
She cared enough to ask.
Maybe she was simply being considerate because we were pretending to be together.
Maybe she would have said the same thing to anyone.
But for one reckless moment, I let myself imagine that she might have been worried about me for a reason that had nothing to do with our arrangement.
I typed my reply.
Me: Yes, ma'am.
Natasha: DON'T CALL ME THAT.
I laughed again.
Me: Goodnight, fake girlfriend.
Her response came almost immediately.
Natasha: Goodnight, idiot.
I slipped my phone into my pocket and got into my car.
For the first time that day, I didn't feel like thinking about Lara anymore.
Instead, I found myself wondering what Natasha was doing.
Was she studying?
Watching something on her phone?
Talking to Lisa?
Or was she lying in bed, staring at the ceiling the way I sometimes did when I couldn't get something out of my head?
I frowned.
Why was I thinking about her so much?
It wasn't as though we'd been dating for months. Our arrangement was still relatively new.
We'd agreed to fake a relationship because we both wanted to make other people jealous.
She wanted Peter to regret losing her.
I wanted Lara to realize that I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life mourning what she'd done.
Simple.
Convenient.
Temporary.
At least, that's what it had been supposed to be.
But lately, things hadn't felt quite so simple.
I noticed when Natasha was unusually quiet.
I remembered the little things she told me.
I found myself checking my phone to see whether she'd messaged me.
And whenever she smiled at me, I had to remind myself that we were only pretending.
The worst part?
I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to keep pretending.
I started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.
Then Lara's question returned to my mind.
What if she's just using you too?
My fingers tightened around the steering wheel.
Natasha had been honest with me from the beginning.
She'd told me why she wanted this arrangement. She'd admitted that she wanted Peter to feel jealous.
I'd agreed because I had my own reasons.
Neither of us had promised to fall in love.
Neither of us had promised to make the other person a priority.
And neither of us had promised that our feelings wouldn't change.
So why was I suddenly afraid that hers might not?
I didn't want to be another person Natasha used to make Peter jealous.
I didn't want to be the temporary solution to her heartbreak.
And I definitely didn't want to discover that I'd developed feelings for someone who was still waiting for another guy to come back.
I exhaled sharply.
"Get a grip, Alex."
I was overthinking.
That was all.
Natasha was fun to be around. She made me laugh. She challenged me in ways other people didn't.
Of course I enjoyed talking to her.
That didn't automatically mean I was falling for her.
Right?
---
By the time I reached home, I had convinced myself that I was being ridiculous.
I parked the car, grabbed my bag, and checked my phone before heading inside.
There was another message from Natasha.
Natasha: Home?
I smiled.
Me: Just arrived.
Natasha: Finally.
Me: Missed me that much?
Natasha: I was preparing a missing-person poster.
Me: Make sure you use my good picture.
Natasha: I'll use the one where you look stupid.
Me: So all of them?
Natasha: Glad you understand.
I shook my head, grinning.
Then I typed something before I could overthink it.
Me: Thanks for checking on me.
This time, her reply took longer.
When it finally arrived, it was surprisingly simple.
Natasha: You're welcome.
I stared at the message.
No joke.
No insult.
No attempt to hide behind sarcasm.
Just two words.
And somehow, those two words made me feel warmer than they should have.
I typed another message.
Me: Goodnight, Natasha.
Natasha: Goodnight, Alex.
I put my phone down.
For several seconds, I sat there in silence.
Then I picked it up again.
I wanted to message her.
I wanted to ask what she was doing, whether she'd eaten dinner, whether her day had been as exhausting as mine.
I wanted to hear her complain about something insignificant.
I wanted to make her laugh.
And I had absolutely no idea when that had become so important to me.
I dropped the phone onto my bed and covered my face with my hands.
This was bad.
Really bad.
Because Lara was right about one thing.
I had entered this relationship for selfish reasons.
I hadn't expected anything real to come out of it.
But now, when I imagined Natasha deciding that she'd had enough and wanted to end our arrangement, something inside me resisted the thought.
I didn't want her to leave.
I wanted more time with her.
More ridiculous arguments.
More late-night messages.
More mornings where she pretended not to look for me and then got annoyed when I noticed.
I wanted things that had never been part of our agreement.
And that was precisely the problem.
Because Natasha hadn't promised me anything beyond a fake relationship.
She hadn't promised to choose me over Peter.
She hadn't promised to fall for me.
And I had no right to ask her for something she had never offered.
I lay back on my bed and stared at the ceiling.
Maybe Lara's betrayal had made me afraid of trusting someone again.
Maybe I was confusing Natasha's kindness with something deeper because I wanted to believe that this time, things could be different.
Or maybe, just maybe, I was beginning to fall for the one girl I had absolutely no intention of falling for.
I turned onto my side and reached for my phone.
Natasha's last message was still on the screen.
Goodnight, Alex.
I smiled faintly.
Then I locked the screen.
I wasn't going to make the mistake of rushing into something I didn't understand.
For now, I'd keep things as they were.
I'd tease her.
I'd annoy her.
I'd pretend that every stupid message was just part of the act.
And I'd try very hard not to notice how much I looked forward to hearing from her.
Because the truth was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
Lara had been my past.
Peter had been my rival.
But Natasha?
She was becoming the one person I couldn't stop thinking about.
And for the first time since this ridiculous arrangement had begun, I was genuinely afraid of how our story might end.