The WhatsApp notification glowed on Arjun's phone screen like a tiny bomb: *"We're done, Arjun. Sorry, but I need someone… more exciting."*
He stared at it, sprawled on his hostel bed, the ceiling fan creaking above him like it was mocking his life. *Exciting?* What did that even mean? Was it because he'd spent their last date explaining the physics of roller coasters instead of, well, flirting? Or because he'd tripped over a pothole on their way to the movie?
Arjun Tiwari, third-year engineering student at Mumbai's VJTI, was not built for excitement. He was built for late-night coding, Maggi runs at 2 a.m., and overanalyzing everything. But Riya, his girlfriend of three months, had apparently wanted a Bollywood hero, not a guy who owned six identical black T-shirts.
"Bro, stop sulking," said Vikram, his roommate, tossing a half-eaten packet of Parle-G onto the bed. "Riya dumped you. Big deal. Half the college is single. Move on!" Vikram, with his gelled hair and self-proclaimed "ladies' man" status, was the kind of guy who thought every problem could be solved with a gym selfie.
"Easy for you to say," Arjun muttered, shoving his glasses up his nose. "You've got girls messaging you at midnight. I can't even talk to a barista without sweating."
Vikram grinned, scrolling through his phone. "You need a rebound, dost. Something to make Riya regret dumping you. Show her you're not some… nerdy loser."
"I *am* a nerdy loser," Arjun said, but the words stung. He didn't want to be the guy who got dumped for being "boring." He wanted Riya to see him with someone new, someone confident, someone who'd make her jealous enough to realize what she'd lost.
That's when Vikram, scrolling through some shady corner of the internet, sat up like he'd discovered the theory of relativity. "Yo, check this out!" He shoved his phone in Arjun's face. The screen showed a sleek website with a tagline in bold: *"Rent-A-Date: Your Perfect Partner, Just a Click Away!"*
Arjun squinted. "What is this? An escort service?"
"No, no, no!" Vikram laughed. "It's like… Uber for fake girlfriends. You hire someone to go on a date with you, act all lovey-dovey, and boom—your ex cries into her cold coffee. It's trending, bro. People do it for parties, weddings, even Instagram clout."
Arjun's first instinct was to laugh it off. Rent a girlfriend? That was the kind of thing desperate weirdos did, not him. But then he pictured Riya's smug face, her new "exciting" boyfriend probably flexing in some Andheri café. He imagined walking in with a girl who'd make heads turn, someone who'd make Riya choke on her overpriced latte.
"Fine," he said, grabbing the phone. "But if this backfires, I'm blaming you."
---
The website was suspiciously easy to navigate. A few clicks, a dropdown menu for "date type" (coffee date, movie night, college fest), and a payment page that made Arjun wince. ₹2,000 for two hours? That was half his monthly pocket money. But desperation was a great motivator.
He picked "coffee date" at Brew & Bliss, a hipster café near college where Riya hung out every weekend. The site promised a "customized experience" with a "verified companion." Arjun filled out a form, typing "make my ex jealous" in the special requests box, then hit submit before he could overthink it.
The confirmation email arrived instantly: *"Your date is booked for Saturday, 4 p.m. Meet Kiara Malhotra at Brew & Bliss. Be yourself, but maybe a little cooler. 😉"*
Kiara Malhotra. The name sounded like it belonged to a movie star, not someone you paid to fake-flirt with you. Arjun's stomach did a nervous flip. What had he done?
---
Saturday afternoon, Arjun stood outside Brew & Bliss, sweating through his best (and only) blue shirt. The café's glass windows reflected his anxious face—glasses slightly crooked, hair refusing to stay flat. He checked his phone: 3:58 p.m. Two minutes to go.
He scanned the crowd. Couples laughed over iced coffees, a group of girls took selfies with pastel macarons, and somewhere inside, he knew Riya was probably there, posting Stories with her new guy. Arjun's heart raced. What if this Kiara was late? Or worse, what if she was… weird? Like, aunty-in-a-saree weird?
His phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number: *"Blue shirt, nervous vibes? I'm here. Blue kurti, outside the café. 😎"*
Arjun's head snapped up. There she was, leaning against a streetlamp, scrolling through her phone like she owned the place. Kiara Malhotra was tall, with wavy hair that caught the Mumbai sunlight, wearing a sleeveless blue kurti and jeans that looked effortlessly cool. She glanced up, caught his eye, and flashed a smile that made his brain short-circuit.
"Arjun, right?" she called, walking over with a confidence that made every passerby stare. "You're cuter than your profile pic. Ready to make your ex jealous?"
He blinked, mouth dry. "Uh… y-yeah. I mean, yes. Hi."
Kiara laughed, a sound like wind chimes on a breezy day. "Relax, you're not defusing a bomb. Rule one of fake dating: act like you're having fun. Rule two: let me do the heavy lifting." She winked, looping her arm through his like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Let's go break some hearts."
As they stepped into the café, Arjun's nerves screamed, *This is a terrible idea.* But with Kiara's arm in his, her perfume faintly floral and her smile dangerously charming, he couldn't help but think: maybe terrible ideas were the best kind.