That night, we sat in my room again, comparing lies like idiots.

“Okay,” Oliver said. “We were watching TV. I confessed.”

“Friends,” I said. “The show we were watching.”

“Good. And we haven’t kissed yet.”

“Taking things slow,” I recited.

He laughed. “We sound like we’re writing a bad romance novel.”

I threw a pillow at him. “We are the bad romance novel.”

He caught it, grinning. “Hey, at least we’re consistent.”

I smiled despite myself. “We’re also doomed.”

The next morning, we went full method acting.
His arm around my waist, my fake laugh echoing through the hallways.

“Your hand is sweaty,” I muttered.

“Your hair’s in my mouth.”

“Move your head.”

“I can’t. We have to look natural.”

We probably looked ridiculous. The kind of couple people unfollow on Instagram because they’re too cheesy.

Then Natalie appeared, eyes sharp as a hawk’s.

“You guys look like you’re trying too hard,” she said.

I leaned my head against Oliver’s shoulder. “We’re just in the honeymoon phase. You know how it is.”

Oliver nodded. “Can’t keep our hands off each other.”

I wanted to die.

Natalie studied us. “Funny. You didn’t act like this at the party.”

“Nobody knew about us then,” I said quickly. “It’s different now.”

“Right,” she said. “Well, I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Lunch?” Oliver’s voice cracked.

“I’ll sit with you guys,” she said sweetly. “I want to get to know you better as a couple.”

The way she said “as a couple” made me want to scream.

When she walked away, I exhaled. “We’re doomed.”

“Utterly doomed,” Oliver agreed.

Lunch was worse.

She sat right across from us, interrogating us like an FBI agent with a grudge.

“What show were you watching when you confessed?”

“Friends,” we said in unison.

“First date?”

“The movies.”

“Have you said ‘I love you’ yet?”

“No.”

“But you’ve kissed, right?”

I wanted to crawl under the table.

“We’re not into PDA,” Oliver said.

“I’m not asking about PDA,” she said. “I’m asking if you’ve kissed at all.”

“That’s personal,” I muttered.

“Unless you haven’t,” she said, eyes gleaming.

“We’ve kissed,” Oliver said firmly. “We just don’t talk about it.”

She leaned back, unsatisfied but temporarily silenced.

When the bell finally rang, I wanted to cheer.

We’d survived—for now.

Part 2 – When Pretending Starts to Feel Too Real

Two days passed before things started to spiral again.
I thought we were finally safe—that maybe Natalie had lost interest or found a new hobby like making someone else’s life miserable. But of course not.

I was on my way to the bathroom after last period when I heard her voice.
That laugh. That sharp, high-pitched one that sounded like a fire alarm in human form.
And then a deeper voice answering.

Oliver.

I froze behind the corner and peeked around it.
He was backed against the lockers. Natalie was standing way too close, one hand on his chest, the other sliding down his arm.

“You can drop the act,” she said, smiling like a cat. “I know you’re not into Lexi. You’re using her to make me jealous.”

Oliver looked cornered, eyes darting around like he was searching for an exit.
“I’m not using anyone,” he said, trying to move sideways. “Lexi and I are together. For real.”

She leaned closer. “Come on. You don’t have to pretend. You and I would make sense. You’d never have to fake anything with me.”

I should have stepped in, but I couldn’t move. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion.

Oliver’s jaw tightened. “Natalie, listen to me. I’m not interested in you. I never was. And even if Lexi and I weren’t together, my answer would still be no.”

Her smile cracked. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” His voice was firm now. “You need to stop this—stop cornering me, stop interrogating Lexi, stop trying to come between us.”

“So you’re really choosing her over me?”

“Every single time.”

Something in his tone made my chest ache.

“Lexi’s the most important person in my life,” he said, voice low but steady. “She knows every stupid thing about me and still sticks around. She makes everything lighter. I can’t imagine my life without her.”

My breath caught.

“I haven’t told her I love her yet because we’re taking things slow,” he continued, “but I do. I love her. All of her. The way she overthinks, the way she tries to hide when she’s hurt, the way she cares so much it scares her.”

The hallway started to blur. He sounded so sure, so raw, that for a second I forgot it was supposed to be fake.

Natalie finally stepped back, eyes hard. “You’re making a mistake.”

“No, I’m not.”

She stalked away, heels clicking like gunshots on the tile.
Oliver leaned against the lockers, eyes closed, exhaling like he’d just run a marathon. Then he walked off in the opposite direction.

I stayed hidden, my heart racing.
What the hell had that been?

He’d sounded so real. Not like someone faking a story—like someone confessing.

When the final bell rang, I met him by his locker.
He looked tired, but when he saw me, his shoulders dropped in relief. “Natalie cornered me again,” he said, shoving books into his bag.

“I heard.”

He glanced at me. “You heard?”

“I was nearby.” I tried to sound casual. “What did you tell her?”

He gave a short laugh. “Just a bunch of mushy stuff. Had to really lay it on thick so she’d back off. Felt ridiculous saying all that romantic crap about you.” He shook his head. “I almost laughed halfway through.”

My stomach twisted.
He thought it was ridiculous.
He’d made it sound like poetry, and to him it was just another line in the script.

“Yeah,” I managed. “Totally ridiculous.”

We walked out together, but I barely heard a word he said. The words I love her kept echoing in my head, each one hitting harder than the last.

By the time we got to my house, I was drowning in thoughts I didn’t want to have.

“Hey,” he said as we stepped inside. “You okay? You’ve been quiet.”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine.”

I dropped onto my bed. “It’s just… a lot.”

He sat in my desk chair, watching me with that worried look he always got when he thought I was about to cry. “I’m sorry I dragged you into this. I’ll fix it somehow.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said, even though my heart was pounding so hard it felt like his fault. Not in a bad way—just in the way that everything suddenly was about him.

He got up, hesitated, and then sat beside me on the bed. “Come here.”

Before I could protest, his arms were around me.
And just like that, all the air left my lungs.

This wasn’t a staged hug, not like the ones we did at school. This was quiet, warm, real.
His chin brushed the top of my head. His thumb drew tiny circles on my back. His heartbeat hammered against my cheek.

I was supposed to feel comforted. Instead, everything inside me felt like it was catching fire.

I wanted to stay there forever.
And that scared me more than anything.

I pulled back first. “I’m fine, really.”

He looked at me, eyes searching my face. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He didn’t look convinced, but he let it go.

“Want to watch something?” he asked softly.

“Sure.”

We put on some random show, but I didn’t see a second of it. I just sat there next to him, pretending my heart wasn’t doing gymnastics.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was my best friend.

But pretending had started to feel too real.

Five days later, things got worse.

Natalie plopped down across from us at lunch, all smiles. “So, I was thinking we should hang out this weekend. Double date—me and Zayn, you two.”

Zayn.
My stomach flipped.

She said his name like she owned it, her hand resting possessively on his arm.

Zayn looked as uncomfortable as I felt. “Uh, sure,” he said.

“Tomorrow night. Bowling. Seven.” She stood, grinning. “It’ll be fun.”

Oliver waited until she was gone to groan. “She’s actually trying to kill me.”

I barely heard him. My head was spinning.
Zayn—the guy who’d rejected me—was going to be there. With Natalie. While I pretended to date Oliver.

“Are you okay with this?” Oliver asked.

“Yeah,” I lied.

Bowling Night

I changed outfits three times before settling on jeans and a sweater. The car ride was silent. Every now and then, Oliver’s hand would twitch like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t.

Natalie and Zayn were already there when we arrived. She waved like we were her favorite people in the world.

“Hey guys!” she said. “This is going to be so fun.”

Zayn gave me a small, polite smile. “Hey, Lexi. Oliver.”

I managed a nod.

The awkwardness was thick enough to spread on toast.

Oliver went first. His bowling ball rolled straight into the gutter.

I laughed. “Nice one.”

“Shut up,” he said, grinning.

He tried again—another gutter ball.
“Iconic,” I said. “Truly inspiring.”

He turned, took a dramatic bow. “Thank you, thank you. I’m here all night.”

Natalie rolled her eyes. Zayn chuckled. “Tough break, man.”

When it was my turn, I knocked down six pins. “Better than you,” I teased.

Oliver smirked. “Low bar, Lex.”

For a while, it felt like old times.
We teased, laughed, stole each other’s fries. For a few minutes, I forgot about Natalie and Zayn entirely.

Then I high-fived Oliver after a strike, and our fingers tangled together. We didn’t pull away.

Halfway through the game, Zayn asked, “Lexi, can we talk outside?”

I froze. Natalie’s eyes lit up like she’d just won a bet.

“Sure,” I said quietly.

We stepped into the cold night air. My breath came out in clouds.

“What’s really going on?” Zayn asked.

“What do you mean?”

He gave me that steady look that used to make me melt. “You and Oliver. You’re not together.”

“Yes, we are.”

“No, you’re not. I saw it happen at the party. He panicked about something, grabbed you, and suddenly you’re his girlfriend. It doesn’t add up.”

“Why do you even care?” I asked.

“Because I’m trying to understand,” he said, stepping closer. “Did you even like me? Or was I just a distraction until Oliver needed you?”

My heart twisted. “I did like you. For years.”

“Then how did you move on so fast?” His voice was sharper now. “Two minutes after I said no, you were helping him.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“Right,” Zayn said bitterly. “Your best friend. The one you drop everything for.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It is. You’d always choose him, wouldn’t you?”

I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know. Because the truth terrified me.

Zayn ran a hand through his hair. “If I’d said yes that night, if I’d asked you out, and then Oliver showed up panicking—would you have still helped him?”

The question hit like a punch.
Because the answer was yes.
I would have.

And that realization made me sick.

“It doesn’t matter,” I said finally.

“It matters to me,” he said quietly. “Because it tells me everything.”

“You rejected me,” I snapped. “You don’t get to be jealous now.”

He stared at me, speechless.

The door opened behind us. Oliver stood there, looking furious. “We’re leaving.”

I didn’t argue. I walked past Zayn and got in the car.

Oliver didn’t speak until we were halfway home.
“Natalie wouldn’t stop touching me,” he said, gripping the wheel. “What did he want?”

“He knows we’re faking.”

“Of course he does. He saw it happen.”

“He… also asked why I agreed to help you.”

“And?”

“And he asked if my feelings for him were ever real.”

Oliver’s head turned slightly. “Your feelings?”

My throat tightened. “I liked Zayn. I confessed that night. He said no.”

Oliver’s hands clenched the steering wheel. “You never told me that.”

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Right.” His voice was clipped.

We pulled up to my house. He didn’t look at me.

“At least now I know why tonight was weird for you,” he muttered.

I didn’t answer. Because I didn’t know what to say.

The next week crawled by.
Natalie finally found someone else to obsess over—a guy from the soccer team—which meant freedom was finally in sight.

“One more week,” Oliver said, walking beside me between classes. “Then we stage the breakup and we’re done.”

“Thank God,” I said. “I’m so tired of pretending.”

“Same. No offense.”

“None taken. You’re a terrible fake boyfriend.”

“You’re worse.”

We were still laughing when Natalie appeared out of nowhere, blocking our path.

“Hey, lovebirds,” she said. “Can I talk to you both?”

Oliver’s hand found mine automatically. “We’re late for class.”

“This won’t take long.”

She crossed her arms. “I’ve been watching you two for weeks, and I’ve realized something.”

My stomach dropped.

“You’ve never kissed. Not once. Not at the party, not here, not anywhere.”

“We don’t like PDA,” I said.

“Right,” she said. “Then prove it.”

“What?” Oliver asked.

“Kiss her,” Natalie said simply. “Right now.”

The hallway fell silent.

People were staring.

If we didn’t, she’d win. If we did, I didn’t know what would happen to me.

Oliver looked at me. His eyes weren’t panicked like mine—they were calm, steady.

“You want proof?” he said.

Before I could think, his hand was on my cheek. “It’s okay,” he whispered.

Then he kissed me.

The world disappeared.

It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t fake. It was soft and warm and terrifying in the best way. His fingers slid into my hair. My heart was beating so fast I thought I’d pass out.

When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless.

“There,” he said roughly. “Happy?”

Natalie’s smirk faltered. “I… guess you’re together after all.”

She walked away. The crowd scattered.

But Oliver and I didn’t move.

We just stood there, still holding each other, both of us too scared to admit what that kiss had just done.

That week was torture.
Every accidental touch felt loaded. Every glance lingered too long. Every moment alone felt like standing on the edge of something huge.

I couldn’t stop replaying the kiss—how his hand felt on my face, how he whispered it’s okay, how the world had gone quiet.

I knew what it meant.
I just didn’t want to admit it.

Because admitting it meant risking everything.

Part 3 – When the Lie Becomes the Truth

I couldn’t take it anymore.
Every time I closed my eyes, I felt that kiss. The warmth, the electricity, the way everything else vanished.
It was supposed to be fake.
It was supposed to be proof.
But I’d never felt anything more real in my life.

I didn’t sleep for three nights. I kept replaying everything—how his hand had trembled slightly against my cheek, how he’d whispered it’s okay, how his breath had mixed with mine like we’d been holding that moment in for years.

And the worst part?
He looked at me differently now.

Every time our eyes met in the hallway, every time he smiled, every time he brushed his hand against mine, something in his gaze had changed. Softer. Warmer. Like he was seeing me in a way he never had before.

It was driving me insane.

By Friday morning, I’d made a decision.
We had to end this.

If I didn’t stop it now, I was going to lose him completely—because falling for your best friend? That’s the kind of thing you don’t come back from.

So I did the scariest thing I’d done in a long time: I showed up at his house before school.

My hands were shaking when I knocked.
Oliver opened the door, hair messy, eyes tired but brightening when he saw me. “Hey,” he said softly. “Didn’t expect you this early.”

“We need to talk,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, stepping aside. “We do.”

I walked in before I could lose my nerve. His room smelled like detergent and the faint hint of his cologne, and that stupid smell made my stomach twist.

I couldn’t look at him when I spoke. “We need to talk about the breakup.”

He froze. “What?”

“Our fake breakup,” I clarified, even though the word fake felt wrong now. “We should plan how to do it. Announce it casually at lunch or something. Say we’re still friends. Make it mutual.”

He didn’t say anything. I kept talking, the words spilling out too fast. “We should wait a few days so it doesn’t look suspicious. Maybe Wednesday. That’ll make it believable.”

“Lexi.” His voice cracked a little.

“We just have to be careful not to contradict each other when people ask why—”

“Lexi, stop.”

I stopped.

He was staring at me with this look that made my chest ache—something between heartbreak and disbelief.

“Did that kiss mean nothing to you?” he asked quietly.

My entire world went still.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out.

“Because it meant something to me,” he continued, his voice breaking. “It meant everything to me.”

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening.
He wasn’t supposed to say that. He was supposed to agree this was fake, that it was all an act.

“Oliver,” I whispered.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice trembling now. “Don’t tell me it didn’t mean anything. Don’t pretend you didn’t feel it too.”

He took a step closer. His hands were shaking. “When Natalie cornered me that day and I told her how I felt about you, I wasn’t acting. I meant every word. You are the most important person in my life. You are the one I’d choose every single time.”

My heart was pounding so loud I could barely hear him.

“I didn’t say those things because I had to,” he said. “I said them because they’re true.”

“Stop,” I whispered, my voice cracking.

“I can’t,” he said. “Not anymore.”

He took another step closer. His eyes were red, like he’d been holding this in for too long. “Do you have any idea what this past month has been like for me? Pretending to be your boyfriend when all I wanted was for it to be real? Holding your hand and knowing I’d have to let go? Kissing you and realizing I might not ever get to do it again?”

I was crying before I even realized it.

“I’ve been in love with you for a long time, Lexi,” he said softly. “Long before this fake relationship started. Long before you even looked at me like I might be more than your best friend.”

“Stop,” I said again, but it came out as a sob.

“I can’t stop loving you just because you’re scared.”

“That’s not fair,” I choked out. “You can’t just drop that on me and expect me to—”

“To what?” His voice rose, raw, desperate. “Pretend it didn’t happen? Pretend you didn’t feel it? Because I saw the way you looked at me after that kiss. You felt it too.”

My tears came faster now. “That’s why we need to end this. Because it did mean something, Oliver. Because if we keep pretending, I’m going to lose you for real.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” he said, stepping closer.

“Yes, I will!” I cried. “If we try this and it doesn’t work, we won’t go back to normal. I can’t risk that. You’re my best friend. You’re the one constant in my life. I can’t lose you.”

His hands reached for mine, holding them tight. “Then don’t lose me. Don’t walk away. Just… tell me the truth. Tell me how you feel.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know what I feel.”

“Then tell me what you felt when I kissed you.”

My heart stuttered.

He looked at me with so much hope it hurt. “Please, Lexi. Tell me you felt something. Tell me this wasn’t all pretend.”

I opened my mouth—and for the first time, I stopped lying.

“Of course I felt something,” I said, tears spilling down my cheeks. “How could I not? You’re you.”

He let out a shaky laugh, like he’d been holding his breath for weeks.

“Then don’t end it,” he said softly. “Don’t break up with me.”

“Oliver…”

“Please.” His voice broke. “Please don’t do this.”

I stared at him, at the boy who’d been my safe place for so long, the one who made me laugh when I wanted to cry, the one who’d always been there even when I didn’t deserve it.

And I realized something.
I’d been in love with him for a long time too.
I’d just been too afraid to name it.

He took another step toward me, slowly, like I was something fragile. His hands came up to my face, thumbs brushing my tears away.

“I love you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m in love with you. And I don’t want to fake it anymore.”

Something in me broke open.

I reached up, grabbed his shirt, and kissed him.

This time, there was no audience. No Natalie. No lies.
Just us.

His hands slid around my waist, pulling me closer, and I melted into him. The kiss was soft at first, then desperate, full of all the things we hadn’t said for years.

When we finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine.

“Say something,” he whispered.

I laughed through my tears. “You talk too much.”

He smiled. “So that’s a yes?”

“It’s a yes.”

We stayed like that for a long time, just holding each other, the weight of weeks—years—lifting off our shoulders.

Eventually, he leaned back enough to look at me. “So, how do we tell people?”

I smiled, wiping my eyes. “Maybe we don’t. Not yet. Let’s just… keep it to ourselves for a while.”

He nodded. “Our little secret.”

I laughed. “God, we’re still lying.”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning. “But this time, it’s about something real.”

The next morning, when he picked me up for school, he was grinning like an idiot.

“What?” I asked, blushing already.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just can’t believe I get to call you mine.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re disgusting.”

“You love it.”

I did.

We walked through the halls hand in hand, same as before—but everything felt different.
Every touch, every smile, every glance carried the secret only we knew.

And for once, pretending didn’t hurt anymore.

Because the lie had finally become the truth.