The air in Diya's apartment was thick with anticipation, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath. She paced the living room, her bare feet padding softly against the hardwood floor. Rudra sat on the couch, watching her with a mix of amusement and mild concern.

"Diya, if you keep this up, you're going to wear a hole in the floor," he said, setting his cup of chai on the coffee table.

She stopped mid-stride, shooting him a glare. "You're entirely too calm about this, Rudra. Do you realize what we're about to do?"

"Sign a piece of paper and temporarily appease our meddling families? Yes, I'm aware," he replied, leaning back lazily. "You're the one turning it into a Bollywood thriller."

Diya threw up her hands. "That's because it is a Bollywood thriller! Who does this? Who agrees to a fake marriage with their childhood friend just to get their parents off their back?"

"Apparently, we do," he said with a smirk.

She groaned and sank into the armchair across from him. "This is crazy. Completely insane."

"Maybe," he admitted, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "But it's also brilliant. Think about it, Diya-no more awkward setups, no more family guilt trips. We get to hit pause on all the nonsense and just live our lives."

She stared at him, her mind torn between logic and the tempting allure of his words. "And what happens when this whole thing blows up in our faces? When they realize it's all a sham? And one of us find true love ?"

"We'll deal with that if it happens," he said simply.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. Despite her better judgment, a small part of her was starting to see the appeal. Rudra had a way of making even the most ludicrous ideas seem plausible, almost reasonable.

"Okay," she said finally, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her. "I'm in."

Rudra's grin was immediate, wide and infectious. "That's my girl."

"But," she added quickly, holding up a finger, "we need ground rules. Clear boundaries."

"Agreed," he said, nodding solemnly. "Let's hear them."

An hour later, the coffee table was littered with notepads, half-eaten biscuits, and two mugs of cold chai. Diya tapped her pen against her chin, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Rule number one," she began, scribbling in bold letters. "No physical affection unless absolutely necessary."

"Define 'absolutely necessary,'" Rudra said, raising an eyebrow.

She shot him a pointed look. "If we're in public and need to sell the act, fine. But no unnecessary hand-holding, hugging, or..." She trailed off, her cheeks flushing.

"Got it," he said, smirking. "No PDA unless the situation demands it."

"Exactly." She underlined the rule for emphasis. "Rule number two: We keep our personal lives separate. No prying, no interfering."

"Fair enough," Rudra said, jotting it down on his notepad as well.

"Rule number three," Diya continued, her tone firm. "This arrangement is temporary. Six months, tops."

"Six months?" he asked, feigning disappointment. "What if I enjoy being your fake husband?"

She rolled her eyes. "Trust me, you won't."

He chuckled but didn't argue.

As the list grew, so did their banter, filling the room with a warmth that neither had anticipated. By the time they finished, the initial tension had melted away, replaced by an odd sense of camaraderie.

"Anything else?" Rudra asked, leaning back with a satisfied sigh.

Diya glanced at the list, then at him. "Just one more thing."

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"No falling in love," she said, her voice light but her eyes serious.

For a moment, he didn't respond, his gaze locking with hers. Then, he broke into a grin. "Deal. Love is overrated anyway."

She smiled, relieved. If they were going to pull this off, they needed to be on the same page.

---

The next hurdle was telling their families. Diya and Rudra decided to break the news to their respective parents separately, hoping to minimize the fallout.

Diya went first.

"Are you feeling okay?" her mother asked, eyeing her suspiciously as she pushed a plate of samosas toward her. "You've been awfully quiet today."

"I'm fine, Ma," Diya said, taking a deep breath. "Actually, I have something to tell you."

Her mother's eyes lit up with anticipation, and Diya immediately regretted her phrasing.

"It's about my relationship status," she said carefully.

"Finally!" her mother exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "I knew that nice boy from last week would call you back!"

"No, Ma, it's not Akash," Diya said quickly. "It's Rudra."

Her mother froze, her expression shifting from joy to confusion. "Rudra? As in *Rudra Roy*? Your childhood friend?"

"Yes," Diya said, steeling herself. "We've been...seeing each other for a while now, and we've decided to get married."

The silence that followed was deafening.

"Married?" her mother repeated, her voice rising with each syllable. "Without telling us? Without introducing him properly? What kind of girl does that?"

"It just...happened," Diya lied, knowing full well her mother wouldn't buy it.

"I need to call your father," her mother said, already reaching for her phone.

Diya groaned. This was going to be a long night.

---

Meanwhile, Rudra was having his own version of the conversation with his parents.

"Rudra, are you drunk?" his father asked, his tone flat.

"No, Dad," Rudra said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm serious. Diya and I have decided to get married."

His mother, who had been quietly sipping tea, suddenly choked. "Diya Singh? That skinny little girl who used to beat you at cricket?"

"Yes," Rudra said, suppressing a smile. "But she's not skinny anymore. And she doesn't play cricket."

His father shook his head, muttering something under his breath about impulsive decisions.

"Do her parents know?" his mother asked.

"Yes," he lied. "They're thrilled."

"Well," his father said after a long pause, "if this is what you want, who are we to argue?"

Rudra exhaled, relieved. Phase one of their plan was complete.

---

To solidify their story, Diya and Rudra agreed to stage a public proposal. The chosen location? The same café where they'd hatched their plan.

Diya arrived first, her nerves jangling as she scanned the small crowd. She spotted Rudra near the counter, holding a bouquet of sunflowers-her favorite, though she couldn't remember ever telling him that.

"You're late," he teased as she approached.

"You're ridiculous," she shot back, eyeing the bouquet.

"Ready?" he asked, his tone light but his eyes searching hers for any hint of doubt.

She nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Let's get this over with."

He took her hand and led her to the center of the café. Conversations hushed, and all eyes turned to them.

"Diya Singh," he began, dropping to one knee with a flourish that would have made any Bollywood hero proud. "You've been my best friend, my confidante, and my partner in crime. Will you do me the honor of being my wife?"

Diya stared at him, her heart pounding-not from love, but from the weight of what they were doing. She forced a smile and nodded. "Yes, Rudra. I will."

The café erupted in applause, and as Rudra slipped a simple silver ring onto her finger, Diya couldn't help but wonder what they'd just set in motion.

---

Leave your Vote and comments.. Because I need to know what you feel about the story.

Intresting?

List of Ongoing Stories.

1) Sunn Yaara (RagLak)
2) Falling For my Wife (RagLak)(os) ✓
3) The Twist of Fate (TeZain)

Niha🖤