You're getting engaged tomorrow."

Those words keep echoing in my head like a broken alarm clock I can't shut off.

Right now, I’m standing near a bridge—outside the city, where no one can bother me. Everything around me is calm. Peaceful, even. But inside? It’s chaos. A full-blown hurricane of anger, confusion, and the urge to scream into the void.

I look down at the flowing water. I'm standing right at the edge. If someone saw me like this, they’d probably think I was about to jump.

Which, for the record, I’m not.

I’m not that dramatic. Okay, maybe a little. But not that much.

Just because my family wants to marry me off to a stranger—someone whose name I don’t even know?

What were they thinking? Seriously?

“Oh, hey Yohan, this is my friend's daughter. You're supposed to marry her because, guess what? She loves you. And your opinion? Not required. We’re your parents. Parents always do what’s best for their kids, right? [Typical Indian Parents] Now be a good boy and sign away your life and freedom.”

I sigh loudly, rubbing my temples. “Why can’t they just let me live the way I want?

I don't want their version of a "perfect life." I want out. Out of this suffocating house. Out of their endless expectations. Maybe… if I do something really outrageous, they’ll finally give up on me. Maybe they’ll disown me. And for once, I’ll get to live on my own terms. But the marriage.....

No. Nope. That isn’t happening. I’m not marrying some stranger just because they said so. I need a plan—and fast. It’s midnight. That gives me…what, six, seven hours before my life is hijacked?"

I’m deep in thought, when suddenly—A hand grabs my arm. Firm. Unrelenting.

Before I can react, I’m yanked back from the edge.

I stumble, and when I lift my head—I see him.

Two steel-grey eyes, sharp and unreadable, lock onto mine.

His face is made of edges—strong jaw, sculpted cheekbones, the kind of bone structure that says "I ruin people for fun." His expression? Calm. Controlled. Dangerous.

"What the hell were you trying to do?" he asks, voice low and clipped.

I blink. “Huh?”

I just looked at his perfect face and my brain short-circuits. Not because of his question or anything —but because suddenly, a completely chaotic idea hits me like lightning.

Not the weather kind. The chaotic, impulsive, "I-have-a-terrible-idea" kind.

"Will you be my boyfriend?" I blurt.

He blinks. Once. Twice. A third time.

And then just stares at me like I’ve escaped a mental hospital.

Yes, I’m insane. But he doesn't need to know the full extent yet.

"What… did you just say?” he asks slowly, as if confirming I wasn’t joking. His eyes narrow, unimpressed.

“I said, will you be my boyfriend?” I repeat, dead serious.

He narrows his eyes. “Are you gay?"

…Okay, that was not the yes or no I was hoping for.

“No,” I say, trying not to roll my eyes.

"But I need a fake boyfriend. Just until the marriage nonsense dies down. Where my parents thinks that marrying your son to a complete stranger and it doesn't matter if he know the name of the girl or not.  This all is completely normal to them.

But if I show up with a guy—especially one like you—my family will lose it. They’ll freak out. Maybe even disown me.” I pause, hopeful. “Which is the goal."

He stares at me like I’ve grown two heads.

“…You want your family to disown you?”

“Desperately,” I deadpan.

“And you, sir, look like the kind of man who could make it happen just by breathing near me.”

He smirks.A slow, dangerous smirk that makes my stomach flip.

His jaw ticks. “Hmm..... interesting so what exactly do you mean by fake boyfriend? What I have to do?”

"Pretend boyfriend. Temporary boyfriend. Emotional support boyfriend with a ‘do not marry me off to someone else’ clause.”

Silence.

He just keeps staring at me.

“…You’re insane,” he finally mutters.

“Possibly. But also desperate. Please?”

He exhales, long and slow. “So let me get this straight—you’re asking me, a stranger you met at midnight on a bridge, to pretend to be your boyfriend because your family’s forcing you into an arranged marriage and you wanted to get disowned by your family?"

I nod. “Yes. See? It makes sense when you say it out loud.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s literally the plot of a C-grade soap opera.”

“And yet here we are,” I say with a weak smile. “So? You in?”

He studies me like I’m a puzzle he didn’t ask for but suddenly wants to solve.

“You really think showing up with me will get you disowned?” he asks, amused.

I nod. “One look at you and they’ll lose their minds. And The look, the attitude, the vibe—you scream ‘bad decision.’ No offense.”

“None taken.” That smirk widens. “You’re not wrong.”

Then He steps closer.

Too close.

Like I can feel the heat radiating off his body kind of close.

He tilts his head, eyes scanning my face with the precision of someone used to getting under people’s skin. “What’s in it for me?”

Oh. Crap. I hadn’t thought that far.

“Um… the satisfaction of saving a poor innocent soul from a forced marriage and finally he can be free from his family?"

He lets out the softest, most judgmental laugh I’ve ever heard. “Try again.”

I try not to panic. “I can cook. I think. I mean, I haven’t burned toast in a week. That’s improvement, right?”

He doesn’t smile. Not really. But there’s the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

“Alright,” he says finally, voice like dark velvet. “Let’s play.”

I blink. “Wait—what?”

“I’ll be your boyfriend,” he repeats casually, like we’re just discussing the weather. “But on my terms.”

“Terms? What kind of terms?”

He leans in, so close his breath fans against my cheek. I forget how to breathe.

"The kind where you hold my hand in front of your family,” he says, low and husky. “Smile like you’re madly in love. Let me kiss you when they’re watching.”

My eyes widen. “Kiss me? Why do you want to do that? We are not actually a couple we just have to pretend. And you just have to meet them ones. After that they’ll disown me. So there's no way we are doing that."

He didn't say anything and leans closer again.

“So?” he asks, offering me his hand. “Do we have a deal?”

Did he not hear what I say or he just ignore what I said?

I look at his hand, then up at his face. Cold eyes, sharp jawline, the danger in his smirk.

This man definitely screams bad decision.

I take his hand anyway.

"Deal.”

His smirk widens. “Congratulations. You made a deal with the devil, darling.”

I swear I forget how knees work for a second.

"Now,” he says, pulling back with a wicked glint in his eyes, “what’s your name, drama king?”

“Yohan, Yohan Bedi.” I mumble, still recovering.

He gives a small nod. “Sarvansh. Sarvansh Malhotra.”

“Cool. So, uh… boyfriend?”

He slips a hand into mine, smooth and possessive. “Fake boyfriend,” he corrects.

But the way his thumb traces lazy circles on my skin?

There’s nothing fake about that.