They didn't shake hands.
Ananya noticed that first.
After the café emptied and the noise softened into background hum, they sat across from each other with the quiet awareness that something had already been decided. Not celebrated. Not confirmed. Just… accepted.
She broke the silence. "If we're doing this, I need clarity."
He nodded. "So do I."
She pulled her chair in closer, posture straightening. "Rules. Proper ones."
"Agreed."
"No pretending in private," she said. "I don't want confusion."
"That works for me."
"No questions about my past," she continued. "And I won't ask about yours."
A pause. Then, "Fair."
She glanced at him. "And if either of us feels uncomfortable—"
"We stop," he finished. "Immediately."
That answer came too easily. It unsettled her, but she didn't say why.
She exhaled. "Public appearances only when necessary. No unnecessary displays."
"No holding hands unless it's expected," he said.
"No pet names."
"Definitely no pet names."
That almost made her smile. Almost.
She reached for her coffee, already cold. "Money," she said, hating herself a little for how calm she sounded. "How does that work?"
"I'll transfer it monthly," he replied. "Same date. No delays."
"No control," she added. "You don't get to tell me where to go, who to talk to, or how to live."
"I'm not interested in control," he said. "I'm interested in predictability."
She studied him. "You talk like someone who's been disappointed before."
He didn't respond.
She let that pass.
"Okay," she said finally. "One last thing."
"Yes?"
"I don't like being lied to."
He met her gaze. "Then we'll limit what we share."
That wasn't reassuring—but it was honest.
They sat back, the weight of their agreement settling between them.
"Then we're done here," she said.
"Almost."
She frowned. "Almost?"
"There's one practical issue," he said. "If we're going to appear together, people will ask questions."
"Let them."
"They'll ask your name," he continued. "And mine."
She froze.
That hadn't occurred to her. Not properly.
She swallowed. "Right."
He watched her carefully. "You're Ananya."
Her breath caught. "How do you—"
"You signed the document at work," he said calmly. "Your name was visible."
She relaxed a fraction. "And you are?"
He hesitated.
Just long enough for her to notice.
Then he said, "Aarav."
The name settled into the space between them.
Aarav.
It fit him more than she expected. Simple. Grounded. No sharp edges.
She nodded once. "Okay, Aarav."
Something shifted in his expression at the sound of it. Not discomfort. Awareness.
"Now," he said, "we should leave together."
She stiffened. "Now?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because it's believable," he replied. "And because someone from my office is here."
As if summoned, a woman near the counter glanced in their direction, eyes lingering for half a second too long.
Ananya's pulse quickened. "You planned this."
"I anticipated it."
She stood slowly, heart pounding. "You could've warned me."
"You would've overthought it."
She hated that he was probably right.
He didn't offer his arm. Didn't touch her. He simply waited until she stepped beside him.
They walked toward the exit together.
The door opened with a soft chime. Cool evening air rushed in, grounding her.
Outside, the city moved around them—cars, voices, the ordinary rhythm of people living their lives without negotiating six-month arrangements in cafés.
She became acutely aware of their proximity.
Too close. Too natural.
"Relax," he said under his breath. "You look like you're about to bolt."
"I might," she murmured back.
"That would complicate things."
They stopped near the curb.
The woman from inside exited moments later, phone in hand. She glanced over, curiosity unmistakable.
Aarav turned slightly toward Ananya. Not touching. Just… angled.
"Dinner?" he asked, loud enough to be overheard.
Ananya's mind blanked for half a second.
Then she caught on.
"Yes," she said, forcing steadiness into her voice. "I'm starving."
He smiled faintly.
The woman slowed, clearly listening now.
Aarav checked his watch. "We're late."
"We'll manage," Ananya replied.
They exchanged a look that felt rehearsed even though it wasn't.
The woman passed them, interest satisfied.
Only when she disappeared down the street did Ananya release the breath she'd been holding.
"That," she said quietly, "was manipulative."
"That," he replied, "was effective."
She turned to face him. "You could've warned me."
"I'll try to next time."
She crossed her arms. "You didn't even ask if I was okay with that."
"You agreed to public appearances."
"Yes. Not ambushes."
A pause.
"You're right," he said. "That was my mistake."
The apology caught her off guard.
"Don't make a habit of it," she said.
"I don't."
They stood there, the city filling the silence.
"This doesn't mean we actually have dinner," she said.
"Of course not."
"Good."
He hesitated. "But it would help."
She narrowed her eyes. "Help what?"
"Consistency," he said. "If we're seen together once, we'll likely be seen again."
She considered it. Logic versus instinct.
"Fine," she said at last. "But this is not a date."
"I wouldn't insult you by calling it one."
She snorted. "You're bad at reassurance."
"I'm precise," he corrected.
They walked toward the restaurant down the street, neither reaching for the other.
Not yet.
As they entered, Ananya caught their reflection in the glass.
They looked… convincing.
That realization sent a strange chill through her.
This was supposed to be simple.
Predictable.
Temporary.
She glanced at Aarav as the host approached.
"Table for two?" the host asked.
"Yes," Aarav replied smoothly.
Ananya nodded, playing her part.
As they followed the host inside, one thought echoed in her mind, louder than the rest:
This is how it starts.