Chapter Five
Chapter
Five
“You can’t choose who you’re attracted to. You can’t engineer a relationship.”
—Otis Milburn, Sex Education
Harsha might have asked her new fake boyfriend to keep quiet about their arrangement, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t spill the beans to her number one person.
“What the fuck?” Sasha’s topknot bobbed up and down as she laughed outrageously on Harsha’s laptop screen. “You hired your barista to fake-date you?”
“I didn’t have a choice, S. Neha already assumed we were dating.” Harsha almost rolled her eyes at Sasha’s reflection in the mirror as she applied mascara on her lashes. “Plus, he seemed to really need the cash, so I went ahead with it.”
“How much is that in dollars?” Sasha grabbed her phone, hitting a few buttons until her eyes widened. “Six thousand! That’s a lot of money for a fake relationship, H.”
“Yeah, I know.” Harsha returned to the laptop and flattened a crease on the red tank top she was wearing to her shopping trip with Veer. “But it’s not just about Neha’s snarky comments anymore. It’s about my parents finding out I’m single and broke. I just know they’ll try to arrange my wedding to a filthy-rich guy who’ll expect me to stay home and take care of his entire family. For the rest of my life. And trust me, every guy they have in mind for me is that exact type.”
“Which barista is this, by the way?” Sasha asked, then snapped her fingers. “The cute one who’s always teasing you about your order?”
“How do you know he’s cute?” Harsha narrowed her eyes.
“You just told me.” Sasha winked. “Look, be careful,” she added, sighing. “You don’t want this to go south. This is…a big lie; one that involves money.”
Harsha dabbed some sunscreen on her face, nodding. “I know. It’s only for six weeks, and then things will go back to normal. Once I get some space from my family and have a better idea of what to do with my career, Veer and I can part ways. It won’t matter if I’m single again if the rest of my life is figured out. But right now? I need this to get my parents off my back.”
“Makes sense. Anyway, forget about the fake relationship. How’s the business?”
Harsha tried not to groan. She’d barely thought about her freelance photography over the past weekend, thanks to the drama that had taken over her life. She would have to figure something out, and fast, given her depleting bank balance. The secondary account would help her fund all relationship-related expenses, but her pride wouldn’t let her spend that money on anything else.
“Slow,” she finally answered. “But hopefully I’ll find some more leads soon.”
“Hope so.” Sasha rubbed her eyes and yawned. “I should go to bed. It’s almost one a.m. here. Talk later, H.”
“Yep, bye.” Harsha turned off Zoom and shut her laptop. She and Sasha had bonded on the first day of college, when the racist white professor had whispered a slur under his breath after Harsha answered his question out of turn. Sasha called him out in front of the whole class and eventually wound up getting him suspended. Later that day, they met for drinks and ranted about their experiences of being subjected to racism in America. Sasha, having lived her whole life there as a second-generation Korean American, had a lot more to say than Harsha, who’d been there a week. Best-friendship was inevitable. They had each other’s backs through hangovers, finals, or emergencies faked to get out of bad dates.
After graduation, Sasha stayed in Berkeley to get her master’s degree while, after a tearful goodbye, Harsha came home to India to find her calling and live life on her own terms. The twelve-and-a-half-hour time difference sucked, but they managed to squeeze in a few minutes of Zoom every week.
Harsha gave her reflection a quick look and decided to apply another swipe of lipstick. Then she paused, her eyes on the maroon shade. The way Veer had blushed and looked at her mouth for that one millisecond while saying he knew her favorite color was red…
Sighing, she put her makeup bag aside, deciding not to entertain that train of thought, and hailed an auto rickshaw to the nearest metro station. Veer had offered to pick her up and drive them to the mall, but then he would find out she lived in this run-down neighborhood, and that was obviously not an option. When she was in the auto, she pulled up her social media on a whim and posted a scenic photograph from one of her SoCal trips with her friends, adding a caption that said she had limited spots available for photo shoots this month. Hopefully, it would lead to something. Her love life had been dragged through hell—she couldn’t let her career flop too.
Veer followed Harsha reluctantly as she scanned the men’s clothing section at the mall, looking like a woman on a mission. He didn’t mind shopping, but there was really no need for him to change his fashion sense for a short-term relationship, and a fake one at that. Then again, he was Harsha’s puppet for the next few weeks, wasn’the?
“This one…” Harsha grabbed a burgundy collared shirt from the rack, thrusting it into Veer’s chest. “And this one…” A blue shirt. “Ooh, these!” A forest-green V-neck shirt and two more collared shirts.
“What’s with all the color?” he mumbled, struggling to hold on to the shirts now piling up in his arms. “Am I the lead in a children’s show?”
Harsha laughed and guided him to the changing room, one hand on his shoulder. “Trust me, these shirts will look great on you.”
The attendant showed Veer to one of the empty rooms. He closed the curtain behind him just as Harsha yelled, “Show me each one!”
Scoffing, Veer took off his Chandler Bing quote T-shirt and tried on the new shirts, which were his dress code for the duration of their relationship. They’d already finished shopping for the anniversary party earlier today: a blue saree for her and a simple black suit for him with a tie that matched.
Veer’s fingers fumbled as he buttoned up the burgundy shirt, his mind going to the split-second glimpse he’d gotten of Harsha in the dressing room, her saree wrapped around that snug blouse and her slender hips, before the attendant had asked Veer to turn around to face the front. He couldn’t shake off the visual of the soft and creamy skin of her bare waist, couldn’t stop wondering how it would feel to touch—
His phone buzzed.
Harsha:
All good in there?
She was such a control freak. Cursing, he put the phone aside and focused on getting dressed, then checked himself out in the mirror, his hands in his pockets. Damn. That color really did suit him. He rolled up the sleeves to his elbows and stepped out of the room, doing a slow turn for Harsha, who was standing right outside. “What do you think?”
Her plush red lips parted, her eyes moving from his forearms to the collar, where he’d left the top button undone.
“Harsha?” he prodded.
She cleared her throat, finally looking him in the eye. “Yeah, I like it. Let’s take a selfie.” Before he could protest, she opened her camera app and sidled up beside him. “Say cheese!” He smiled, and she pressed her cheek to his. Veer stiffened when he caught a whiff of something deliciously fruity—strawberries?—but before he could figure it out, she pulled away, tapping on her phone. “I’m posting this to Instagram. Could you try on the next shirt?”
He rolled his eyes and closed the door behind him.
The green V-neck shirt was actually a great look on him, but the remaining three shirts were the same style as the first collared shirt. Veer wouldn’t let Harsha turn him into a Ken doll that she could play with as she pleased. He snapped a quick mirror selfie in the V-neck, then changed back into his T-shirt and headed out.
Harsha was typing on her phone, a grin on her face, and she looked up when he approached. She frowned at the five new shirts draped over his left arm. “What happened?”
“They’re all the same size and the same brand. I’m sure they’ll fit.” He checked the price tag of one—four thousand rupees for a boring collared shirt?—and laughed in her face. “Please tell me you’re paying.”
She took the shirts from his grasp, sighing. “I am.” They headed to the checkout. Harsha handed a card to the cashier, then gasped and gestured wildly for him to stop before he could enter it into the machine. “Wait, sorry, please use this instead.”
Veer raised a brow when she held up a different card. Of course, she must have had a billion credit cards at her disposal. Weirdly, though, she kept her gaze on the card machine until it approved the transaction, and only then did she exhale, as if she were scared something would go wrong. She took the card back with shaking fingers and handed the large shopping bag to Veer. Her chest was still rising and falling.
He opened his mouth to ask her what was up, then shut it. It wasn’t his business. She’d paid. That was all that mattered.
They went down to the basement parking lot. Veer shoved the large shopping bag into the back seat of his secondhand car and sat behind the wheel. “Can I drop you home?” he asked.
Harsha shook her head. “Just the metro station. I’ll take the train.”
He jutted his head to the front window, where dark clouds thundered over them. “It’s going to rain.”
“I’ll be fine,” she replied testily.
“All right, then,” Veer said. As he drove, a message from the Barista Bitches group chat popped up on the car screen, linked to his phone.
Raunak:
Brooo that cute girl who smiled at you last month is back! Get here asap
Veer hit the X button and apologized weakly. “Sorry, you didn’t need to see that.”
Harsha hesitated, then said, “You should tell them we’re dating.”
His fingers tightened on the wheel as he turned left. “Excuse me?”
“They’ll see our Instagram posts eventually. Besides, I’m always around Sunstag. It’ll be good practice for the real thing. Why don’t you make something up using the relationship history document and tell them we got together after we met at that bar?”
Veer nodded slowly, knowing she had a point. “All right. I’ll tell them today before my shift ends. Will you be at Sunstag?”
“I should be there until evening,” she confirmed as the metro station loomed before them. “I guess I’ll see you then…babe.”
The strangled sound that escaped his mouth was a half-laugh, half-groan. “See you, babygirl,” he answered, slowing the car, then he bit his lip. Where had that come from?
Harsha wrinkled her nose and got out of the car. “Veer, do not call me—or anyone—‘babygirl’ ever again.”
“Noted.” He gave her a small salute, then pulled back onto the road after she entered the metro station. As he drove home, he tried to plan a speech in his head that could convince his best friends—who knew him better than anyone else—that he had miraculously caught feelings for Harsha only days after their fallout.
When nothing came to mind, he slammed his palm against the wheel. Ugh. This fake relationship was definitely going to be the death of him.
That evening, Harsha clicked through some photos she had taken outside the coffee shop a few hours ago. Cold-emailing potential clients hadn’t worked so far, but perhaps she’d have better luck selling stock photos of misty pictures of traffic lights and cars whizzing by during a light drizzle? The Pinterest girlies would eat up the blurry and hazy aesthetic. Plus, posting a handful of them on Instagram might get her more followers.
Harsha transferred the photos to her laptop and gave them a closer look. There were a few shots in particular she loved, including one of a foggy, raindrop-soaked car window with a barely-there silhouette of the passenger inside. The driver had scowled when he noticed her, but it was totally worth it.
She’d just gotten down to editing when her phone buzzed with a video call notification. She smiled at the name on her screen: Aunt Pinky . They hadn’t talked since before Harsha ran into Neha at the bar.
Still grinning, Harsha adjusted the volume on her AirPods and hit the green icon. “Hi, Auntie,” she said, waving with her other hand. “How’s the anniversary party prep going?”
Aunt Pinky was lounging on the resplendent four-seater couch in her and Uncle Madhu’s million-dollar bungalow that sat atop Pali Hill, Bandra. She huffed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Don’t ask, Harshu,” she said, using her nickname. “Your uncle is hell-bent on Alia and Ranbir attending, but they’ve both got ad shoots in two different cities that day. He’s stomping around the balcony right now, trying to convince them to fly back in time.”
Harsha held back a laugh. She’d grown up knowing how far Uncle Madhu’s influence went in the film industry, but it was still weird to hear Aunt Pinky refer to Bollywood’s biggest celebrities on a first-name basis. “Good luck to him. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Aunt Pinky’s forehead wrinkled. “You’re a guest at the party, beta, and I know how anxious you must be about it all.”
“Why, uh, why would I be anxious?” she stammered out. She’d posted her first-ever selfie with Veer on Instagram after the shopping spree, “hard-launching” their relationship, and most of her friends and family had liked the picture. Sasha had left a comment saying love you both #couplegoals . Had Aunt Pinky gone through Veer’s tagged profile and sensed that something was amiss? Shit.
“Because you’re meeting your parents for the first time since moving back from California,” Aunt Pinky said, her eyebrow quirked as if to imply, Isn’t that obvious?
“Oh, right,” Harsha said, relieved.
“I know it feels scary having to see them after so long, but I promise I’ll try to ease the tension.”
“Thank you, Auntie.” Harsha’s shoulders sank as she smiled. Aunt Pinky was as kindhearted as Neha was evil, which was saying something. Maybe it was because her aunt had grown up poor, then married rich after a chance encounter with Uncle Madhu during the torrential Mumbai rains decades ago. Her humility and compassion had stayed intact, unlike Maa, whose marriage to Harsha’s father had basically been a joint venture between both of their industrialist families.
“And I can’t wait to meet Veer.” Aunt Pinky beamed, pressing her hand to her chest. “You look so good together. He seems like a nice guy.”
Swallowing back her guilt at lying to one of her favorite people, Harsha said, “He is.”
“He’s cute too.” Aunt Pinky winked. “Not as cute as you, of course, but who is?”
Harsha giggled, thinking back to Veer’s reluctant and rare smiles. Her aunt was right. Veer was cute. Not just based on looks, but also when he apologized for Raunak’s text despite his clear disdain for the fake relationship—and her, probably. And the way his jaw clenched when they posed for the selfie, as though he felt the crackling tension in the air too—
“Harshu, are you still here with me?” Aunt Pinky was laughing as she snapped her fingers. “Someone’s smitten.”
“Please, Auntie. We’ve been together just a few months.”
“I fell for your uncle hours after I met him,” she reminded her.
Harsha rolled her eyes, grateful for the blush snaking up her chest and face. It would only make the facade a lot more believable.
The facade.
“I’m going to get back to work, Auntie, but talk to you soon.” She blew her aunt an air kiss and hit End Call, then rested her forehead on the cool wood of the table. There couldn’t be sexual tension between her and Veer. Nope. It was just nerves and anxiety, both of which were warranted given the stakes of their fake relationship.
Veer walked past her with an empty tray in hand, shooting her a nervous smile. “Hey,” she said, but he was already gone. Veer would be done with his shift soon. Had he told his friends yet? She ought to go downstairs and play up the act…right?
Her eyes fell on her empty mug. “If nothing else, I need coffee,” she mumbled to herself, and went downstairs.
The mere thought of lying to his friends about dating Harsha made Veer uneasy, but what terrified him was that they wouldn’t buy it. He waited until his shift was almost over and he was ready to dip out, then pulled his friends away from the counter. “So, I have something to admit.”
“Everything okay?” Deepika’s eyebrows furrowed. “You look a little nauseous.”
“I’m fine.” He scratched the back of his neck, swallowing the bile rising in his throat. “Uh, better than fine, actually. I’ve been…seeing Harsha. Romantically.”
“Wait, what?” Raunak said, as Deepika’s eyes widened. “You and Harsha?!”
Veer bit his lip. “Yeah. We, uh, couldn’t deny the chemistry between us after we met at the bar. I guess all that anger was just…tension.”
Deepika’s mouth split into a wide grin, then she turned to Raunak and held out a hand. “I win.”
Raunak hung his head and rummaged in his wallet until he found a two-hundred–rupee note. “I don’t believe this,” he grumbled, placing the note in her palm.
“Wait, did you bet on my chances with Harsha?” Veer exclaimed. “I don’t even—I mean, I never admitted I liked her.”
“It was obvious to both of us.” Deepika leaned against the wall, smirking. “Raunak just didn’t think you’d ever make a move.”
Veer glared at Raunak, who only threw his hands up as if to say, Can you blame me? Veer’s watch beeped, signaling the end of his shift. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” he said, starting for the exit.
“Not so fast, mister.” Deepika yanked him back by the collar, her lips still wide. “Aren’t you going to say goodbye to your girlfriend ?”
He fiddled with the sleeves of his shirt. “Right, um—” Movement from the counter caught his attention. Veer stifled a groan. It was Harsha.
“Speak of the devil,” Raunak said.
Okay. Showtime, Veer told himself and turned to Harsha. She was in her usual getup—jeans and a tank top with her curly hair falling down her shoulders—but when she smiled nervously at him, biting that plush red lip, Veer lost his train of thought. Goddamn, that shade of red made her gray eyes pop even more.
“Hi,” Harsha said slowly, raising her eyebrow as if to nudge him back to earth.
He tore his gaze away from her mouth and cleared his throat. “Hey, babe . Are you leaving…babe?”
Harsha gave a split-second wrinkle of the nose. Maybe he shouldn’t have said “babe” twice?
“Nope, just getting a refill.”
He snuck a peek at his friends, who were giggling. “Can you take my…girlfriend’s order?” Veer said to Raunak.
“Sure,” he replied as he went behind the counter. “Harsha, you want the usual?”
Harsha nodded, handing him her Sunstag card. Veer quickly pecked Harsha on the cheek, ignoring that fruity scent, and said, “I’ll see you on Saturday, for our date?”
“Can’t wait,” she replied, grinning.
Veer rushed out the door and went straight to his car before his face got any hotter. He leaned against the car door, a sigh of relief escaping his lips.
They bought it. No, crazier still, they had been expecting it. He snorted, wondering when his friends had become so delusional. As though he—a broke barista—and Harsha—daughter of a millionaire—could ever really be together.
The mere idea was preposterous.