All Chapters of What We Pretended To Be : Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

I don’t know how long I stay like that.Phone in my hand. Screen dimming, lighting up, dimming again.The photo doesn’t change.I do.A little.I zoom in again, slower this time. Like I might catch something I missed earlier if I don’t rush it.I don’t.He’s still there.Slightly behind everyone. Not trying to be seen. Not part of the noise.Just—looking at me.Not in passing.Not by accident.I shift, pulling my knees closer, pressing my chin against them.“That’s not real,” I say, quiet enough that it almost doesn’t count.But it is.Lily’s messages sit under it like evidence I didn’t ask for.He wasn’t pretending back then.I press my lips together.Then the next one.And if this keeps going… it’s going to be very hard for him to pretend now.I lock my phone.Immediately unlock it again.Open the photo.Close it.My head falls back against the headboard with a soft thud.This is stupid.We’re pretending.That’s the whole point.A clean arrangement. A solution.The tea. The lunch.

Maria:Noah is already there when I arrive.He always is. Same seat, same posture—like he’s been waiting long enough to settle into it.I slide into the chair across from him.“Hi.”“Hey.”We smile. It lands, but something slips through it.He looks at me a second longer than usual.“You look tired.”“I didn’t sleep much.”“Because of me?”I shake my head. “Just… a lot.”He nods, but it’s not agreement. More like he’s placing that somewhere he’ll come back to.We order. Routine does most of the talking. It helps, for a minute.Then it doesn’t.He leans back slightly, eyes still on me.“You pause now.”I frown. “What?”“When you answer things. You stop first.”I almost deny it. Almost.Instead, I reach for my glass, take a sip I don’t need.“I’ve always done that.”“No.” A small shake of his head. “Not like this.”I don’t argue again. I can’t. The silence stretches just enough to say he’s right.“It’s just… a lot going on,” I say, and even to me it sounds like something I pulled off a

Daniel: “Why wouldn’t I?” It comes out clean. Easy. Like it belongs there. Maria doesn’t answer right away. I can feel her eyes on the side of my face, searching for something I’m not ready to give. I keep my gaze fixed on the road, fingers steady on the wheel. It’s easier this way. If I look at her too long, I might say something that breaks the version of this I’ve been maintaining. The car stays quiet after that. Not tense. Just… aware. The low hum of the engine fills the space while streetlights slide across the dashboard in slow gold streaks. She shifts once in her seat, like she’s about to speak, then decides against it. Good. Silence is manageable. I drop her off at her building. She murmurs a soft goodnight, already halfway out the door. I nod. Wait until she closes it behind her. Then I pull away. I don’t look back. — But the drive home feels longer than it should. The pause keeps replaying. That single second where she didn’t move. Didn’t stop me. Didn’t pull a

Maria: Daniel doesn’t text.He calls.I’m halfway through brushing my hair when my phone lights up, his name cutting through everything else. For a second, I just stare at it, like maybe it’ll stop on its own.It doesn’t.“Hello?”“We have a shoot today.”No greeting. No build-up.I pause, brush still in my hand. “We what?”“A campaign. My mother’s brand.”I sit down slowly.“That’s not funny.”“It’s not.”A beat.“She signed us.”Something in his voice—flat, controlled—tells me this wasn’t his idea either.“Without asking?” I say.“Yes.”I let out a quiet breath, pressing my fingers against my temple.“Of course she did.”He doesn’t respond to that. He doesn’t need to.“My mom agreed, didn’t she?” I ask, even though I already know the answer.“Yes.”I close my eyes briefly.Right.That tracks.“When?” I ask.“An hour.”That’s it. No room to argue. No space to process.The call ends, and for a moment, I just sit there, brush still in my hand, hair half done, like I’ve been paused mid

Daniel:I don’t check my phone when I wake up.That part is intentional.There’s a rhythm to my mornings — quiet, ordered, predictable. If I start letting small things interrupt it, everything else follows. I’ve learned that the hard way.So I get up. Shower. Dress. Coffee.Same sequence. Same pace.Everything where it should be.—I check it anyway.Not immediately. Not impulsively.Just before I leave.One glance.No reply.I don’t open the message. There’s nothing new to see.I set the phone down, pick up my keys, and walk out.That should be enough.—The office is already in motion when I arrive.It always is.People moving with purpose, voices layered over each other, decisions being made before I even step into the room. It’s easier here. There’s structure. Outcomes. Things that respond when you push them.Marcus is waiting in my office.Of course he is.“You’ve seen it?” he asks.“I’ve seen enough.”He drops a file on the table anyway. I don’t reach for it immediately.“Campai