This Was Supposed to Be Pretend
The first mistake was thinking Friday would arrive like any other day.
Rafi woke to a sky the color of unsent messages–grey, thick, heavy at the edges–as if the weather itself had been holding something back. Bayview’s corridor fans pushed warm air in slow pulses, and the sunlight that usually slid into his room through the thin curtains seemed to have second thoughts.
He lay still for a moment, listening.
Somewhere down the hallway, someone laughed too loudly. A kettle clicked. A door shut. The world continued with its small domestic noises like nothing was about to happen.
But Rafi’s phone was already awake.
It lay on his desk beside his laptop, screen lit with a calendar block he had tried not to stare at all week.
FRIDAY – 7:00 PM
Japanese Society Dinner x SADRO Donor Presence
A hybrid event–Haruka’s doing, Dr. Koh’s blessing, the university’s obsession with mingling wrapped in the harmless packaging of culture. Japanese Society dinner held at Rutherford Hall’s Level 6 Donor Gallery, because donors preferred polished rooms, not student canteens.
Rafi had seen the email chain.
An opportunity to celebrate international community while strengthening alumni engagement.
Words that sounded warm.
Meaning that felt cold.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Dr. Elaine Koh, sent at 6:58 a.m. like she expected him to be awake.
Dr. Koh: Rafael. Reminder for tonight: polished, discreet, gracious. Keep your personal matters invisible. See you at 6:30 for pre-brief in RH L6.
Personal matters.
Invisible.
Rafi stared at the text until his jaw tightened.
Invisible was an interesting choice of word for someone whose face had been on StamfordSpills three times this week.
He set the phone down and sat on the edge of the bed.
His room was clean–too clean, the way rooms looked when someone lived in them like a schedule. Textbooks stacked neatly. A folded spare shirt draped over his chair. His umbrella propped against the wall like a quiet guard.
He inhaled.
This was supposed to be a simple arrangement.
Proof for her.
Stability for him.
A lie built with rules.
No sleepovers.
No real confessions.
Contact only when needed.
And yet, this week, he’d found himself waiting at MRT entrances, memorizing the sound of her laugh, feeling something sharp and unhelpful when another man offered her “coffee” like it was mentorship.
Jealousy doesn’t count.
He’d said it like a joke.
It didn’t feel like one.
Rafi stood, showered, and dressed for the day like normal–campus-smart, clean lines, nothing that asked for attention. He attended class. He answered questions. He ran through a Cyber Defense Society drill with his juniors and corrected their log parsing like his mind wasn’t elsewhere.
At noon, he received a message from Mika.
Mika: Haruka sent dress code. “Semi-formal.” But donors. So maybe formal.
Rafi stared at it.
Semi-formal was a trap. Formal enough to impress donors, casual enough to look effortless.
He typed back.
Formal. Safer.
A pause.
Mika: Okay. I’m nervous.
Rafi’s throat tightened.
He typed, then deleted.
Typed again.
We plan. Stick to simple answers. I’ll handle pressure.
He hit send before he could soften it into something that sounded like comfort.
Because comfort wasn’t his skill.
Containment was.
At 5:45 p.m., he returned to Bayview, changed into a suit, and stared at his reflection.
The suit wasn’t expensive, but it fit. Navy, tailored enough to look deliberate. White shirt. Dark tie. Clean shoes. He had bought it with the Rutherford-Lee dinner in mind, the kind of purchase you made when you couldn’t afford to look uncertain.
He adjusted his tie, fingers careful.
In the mirror, he looked older.
Not because the suit transformed him into someone glamorous.
Because it made him look like someone who had learned early that adulthood was performance.
His phone buzzed.
Priya.
Priya: Mika is stress-cleaning the room like she’s about to be arrested. Come get her. Also she forgot to eat. I will slap both of you if you faint at dinner.
Rafi exhaled slowly.
He grabbed his umbrella out of habit, then paused.
It hadn’t rained in an hour.
The sky still looked like it might.
He slid the umbrella into his bag anyway.
Always.
Block A, Aster, smelled like someone’s instant miso and fabric softener.
Rafi stood outside Mika and Priya’s room for a fraction of a second, hand hovering near the door.
Knocking felt strangely intimate.
Like entering a space he wasn’t supposed to.
But he had agreed to this.
Properly.
He knocked.
Footsteps inside.
The door opened.
Priya appeared first, wearing a black dress that looked like she’d stolen it from a corporate boardroom. Her eyeliner was sharp enough to cut.
She looked Rafi up and down.
“Okay,” she said, approving, “you look like a man who won’t embarrass anyone.”
Rafi blinked. “Thanks.”
Priya stepped aside.
Mika was inside, standing near her bed with a dress hanging from her hands like she wasn’t sure it deserved to touch her skin.
She looked up.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
She wasn’t wearing the dress yet, but she was dressed in preparation–hair half pinned back, soft makeup that made her eyes look larger and more tired at the same time. She wore a simple blouse and trousers, but the tension in her posture made it feel like she was already on stage.
“Rafi,” she said.
Her voice was soft.
Not because she was shy.
Because she was holding herself together.
Rafi nodded. “Ready?”
Mika glanced down at the dress.
“Not yet,” she admitted.
Priya rolled her eyes and pushed past Rafi into the room.
“She’s been staring at that dress for thirty minutes,” Priya announced. “Like it will either save her or betray her. Mika, put it on. Rafi, sit. No, don’t sit on the bed. Sit on the chair. Respectful.”
Rafi blinked, then obeyed.
He sat on the chair by the desk, posture straight, hands folded loosely as if he was waiting for an interview.
Mika disappeared into the bathroom with the dress.
Priya leaned against the wall, arms crossed.
“You’re tense,” Priya said to Rafi.
Rafi’s jaw tightened. “I’m fine.”
Priya made a face. “Fine is your default. Try another word.”
Rafi stared.
Priya shrugged. “I’m serious. Tonight is not just ‘fake dating.’ It’s donors. It’s Haruka’s power games. It’s Chloe’s drama. If you look like you’re holding your breath, people will smell it.”
Rafi exhaled slowly.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
Priya’s expression softened a fraction.
“Be steady,” she said. “Not icy. Steady. Mika needs steady.”
Rafi’s chest tightened.
He didn’t know how to be steady without being controlled.
But he understood what Priya meant.
The bathroom door opened.
Mika stepped out.
For a second, the room went quiet.
The dress was dark–midnight blue, simple lines, sleeved, modest but elegant. It wasn’t flashy. It didn’t beg for attention. It made her look composed, intentional.
Her hair was pinned half up, soft strands framing her face. She wore small earrings that caught the light when she moved.
She looked like someone who belonged in a donor gallery.
And like someone who didn’t want to.
Rafi’s throat tightened.
He stood.
Not because he planned to.
Because his body reacted.
Mika’s eyes met his.
For a moment, the air felt too thin.
Priya broke it.
“Okay,” Priya said briskly, stepping closer to Mika and straightening a stray strand of hair. “You look like you have your life together. Good. That’s what your parents and donors like.”
Mika’s cheeks warmed. “Priya…”
Priya softened. “And you look beautiful. Not for them. For you.”
Mika swallowed.
Her eyes flicked briefly to Rafi.
Rafi forced himself to speak, voice steady.
“You look… good,” he said.
The word good sounded too small.
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
She looked down.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
He added, quieter, “Proper.”
Mika blinked, then let out a small breath that might have been a laugh.
“Proper,” she repeated.
Rafi’s mouth twitched.
Priya clapped once.
“Okay. Enough. You two are going to make me sick,” Priya said. “Time. Go before Haruka starts posting ‘where are you’ like a mother.”
Mika’s fingers tightened around her clutch.
Rafi glanced at the window.
The sky outside had darkened.
Rain was a matter of minutes.
He reached for his bag.
The umbrella handle sat inside like reassurance.
Mika noticed his movement.
“Rain?” she asked softly.
Rafi nodded. “Always.”
They left the room.
Priya followed them into the corridor like a general escorting soldiers to battle.
At the lift, Priya turned to Rafi.
“One more thing,” she said.
Rafi blinked.
Priya’s eyes sharpened.
“If Haruka corners Mika with questions, you answer first,” she said. “Don’t let Mika do it alone. She will try to be polite until she breaks.”
Mika’s cheeks warmed. “Priya–”
Priya held up a hand. “I’m not being dramatic. I’m being accurate.”
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
He nodded once.
Priya turned to Mika.
“And you,” Priya added, voice softer, “if you feel like you’re drowning, squeeze his sleeve. He’ll notice. He notices everything.”
Mika’s cheeks flushed.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
He didn’t know what to do with being described like that.
The lift doors opened.
They stepped in.
Priya pressed the ground floor button and leaned back with a sigh.
“Okay,” she muttered. “Go. Be stable. Be boring. Be in love later.”
Mika’s face turned red.
Rafi’s jaw clenched.
“Priya,” Mika hissed.
Priya smirked. “What? I didn’t say now.”
Rafi stared at the lift doors as if they were the only safe thing to look at.
Rain met them at the Bayview entrance.
Not a full storm yet–just the first drops, testing, scattering on the pavement like coins.
Rafi opened his umbrella with a practiced flick.
The canopy bloomed above them.
Mika stepped under.
Priya, with her own small umbrella, waved them off like she was sending a couple into a wedding.
“Don’t die,” Priya called.
Mika groaned. “Priya!”
Rafi’s mouth twitched.
They walked toward the MRT.
The rain thickened by the time they reached the station.
Under the shelter, people clustered, shaking umbrellas, checking hair in phone screens.
Mika stood close to Rafi, her shoulder brushing his arm.
He told himself it was the crowd.
He told himself it meant nothing.
The train arrived.
They stepped inside.
The carriage was crowded with commuters heading to dinners, events, Friday escapes. The air smelled faintly of wet fabric and perfume.
Rafi positioned himself between Mika and the press of bodies.
Mika stood close enough that her breath warmed his shoulder.
He stared at the route map overhead.
City Hall.
Bugis.
Bras Basah.
It was a short ride to campus.
But tonight, every station felt like a step toward a cliff.
Mika spoke softly.
“Do I look okay?” she asked.
Rafi blinked.
The question wasn’t about the dress.
It was about being seen.
He swallowed.
“Yes,” he said.
Then, because he remembered Priya’s instruction–steady, not icy–he added, quieter, “You look… safe.”
Mika froze.
Her eyes flicked to his.
Safe.
The word was intimate in a way he hadn’t intended.
Mika’s throat bobbed.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
He didn’t deflect.
He nodded once.
The train swayed.
Mika’s hand slipped slightly on the pole.
Instinct moved Rafi’s hand toward her waist, hovering, ready.
He stopped himself.
Not yet.
Only when needed.
The carriage slowed.
They exited.
The rain greeted them like a curtain.
Rafi opened his umbrella again.
Mika stepped under.
They walked across campus toward Rutherford Hall.
The Skybridge glowed warm against the grey.
Rutherford Hall’s entrance was bright, polished, almost sterile.
Inside, the air-conditioning hit them immediately–cold, dry, expensive.
Mika shivered.
Rafi noticed.
He didn’t comment.
He simply angled his body slightly closer, a quiet barrier against cold air.
They took the lift to Level 6.
As the doors opened, sound spilled out–soft chatter, clink of glasses, the faint hum of instrumental music.
The Donor Gallery was a room designed to look like generosity.
Warm lighting.
Orchid arrangements.
White tablecloths.
Framed photos of alumni shaking hands with donors.
And people–so many people–moving with careful smiles.
Haruka stood near the entrance, dressed in a pale dress that looked delicate but felt sharp. She wore her Japanese Society President badge like a crown.
Her smile widened when she saw Mika.
“Mika-chan!” Haruka exclaimed, stepping forward.
Mika’s posture tightened.
She smiled politely.
“Haruka,” she said.
Haruka’s gaze flicked to Rafi.
“Rafi-kun,” she said, voice sweet.
Rafi nodded once.
Haruka’s eyes glittered.
“You came,” she said.
Rafi kept his face neutral.
“We said we would,” he replied.
Haruka laughed lightly.
“Good,” she said. “Tonight is important. Donors, alumni, sponsors… it’s a lot.”
Her gaze lingered on Mika.
“But you look beautiful,” Haruka added.
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
Haruka leaned in closer to Mika, voice lowering.
“I posted a little story earlier,” she whispered. “People are excited.”
Mika froze.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
Haruka looked at Rafi with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.
“Just a little,” she said. “Nothing rude.”
Rafi didn’t respond.
He could feel the trap.
If he reacted, he would look guilty.
If he didn’t, Haruka would keep pushing.
Haruka stepped back.
“Enjoy,” she said brightly. “Please mingle. Mr. Rutherford is here. Dr. Koh too.”
Rafi’s stomach tightened.
He glanced across the room.
Dr. Elaine Koh stood near the center, speaking to a cluster of donors. She looked perfectly at home.
And there–near the sponsor table, holding a glass of sparkling water like it was champagne–stood Chloe Lim.
Her blazer was fitted. Her lipstick impeccable.
Her gaze was already on Rafi.
Then it slid to Mika.
Then it sharpened.
Rafi’s jaw clenched.
Mika’s posture stiffened beside him.
Haruka watched the exchange with interest.
Then she clapped lightly.
“Attention!” Haruka called, voice bright. “Welcome everyone!”
The room quieted.
Haruka launched into a speech about community, about culture, about bridging worlds–words that sounded kind but were built for optics.
Rafi barely listened.
His body was alert.
He could feel eyes.
Donor eyes.
Sponsor eyes.
Haruka’s eyes.
Chloe’s eyes.
And somewhere, invisible but present, StamfordSpills waiting like a hungry mouth.
When Haruka finished, applause rose.
The mingling resumed.
Rafi turned slightly toward Mika.
“We keep it simple,” he murmured.
Mika nodded.
Her face was calm.
But her fingers tightened around her clutch.
Rafi scanned the room.
He spotted Mr. Rutherford.
He spotted Dr. Koh.
He spotted an NCSB recruiter he recognized from the internship fair.
He swallowed.
This wasn’t just cultural dinner.
It was networking.
It was evaluation.
It was a room full of people who decided futures with smiles.
Mika’s voice was small.
“Where do we start?” she asked.
Rafi exhaled slowly.
“Dr. Koh,” he said.
Mika’s eyes widened.
Rafi met her gaze.
“If we start there,” he said quietly, “everything else feels easier.”
Mika swallowed.
She nodded.
They moved.
As they walked toward Dr. Koh, Rafi felt the room’s attention shift subtly.
People glanced.
Not long.
But long enough.
Mika’s pace slowed.
Rafi sensed her hesitation.
He remembered Priya’s instruction.
If she’s drowning, squeeze his sleeve.
He didn’t wait for it.
He placed his hand at Mika’s back.
A steady, gentle contact.
Not possessive.
Anchoring.
Mika’s breath caught.
Her posture loosened slightly.
They reached Dr. Koh.
Dr. Koh turned, smile sharp and polished.
“Rafael,” she said.
Her gaze flicked to Mika.
“And you are…?”
Mika bowed her head slightly.
“Mika Nakamura,” she said. “Strategic Communications.”
Dr. Koh’s smile widened.
“Ah,” she said. “International student. Japanese Society. I’ve heard your name.”
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
He didn’t like that Mika was already a story.
Dr. Koh’s gaze returned to Rafi.
“And this is your…” she began.
Rafi answered before the sentence could trap Mika.
“My girlfriend,” he said.
The word landed solid.
Dr. Koh’s eyes sharpened.
Then she smiled.
“Lovely,” she said, as if she had just checked a box.
Mr. Rutherford turned toward them.
His smile was warm.
“Ah, Rafael,” he said. “Good to see you.”
Rafi nodded. “Sir.”
Mr. Rutherford’s gaze slid to Mika.
“And you must be the famous girlfriend,” he said, chuckling lightly.
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
She forced a polite smile.
“Nice to meet you,” she said.
Mr. Rutherford nodded. “Good. Good. We like young people who are… grounded.”
Grounded.
The word tasted like stability.
Rafi’s jaw clenched.
Dr. Koh tilted her head.
“Mika, how are you finding Singapore?” she asked.
Mika smiled politely.
“It’s… good,” she said.
Rafi felt her tension.
Good.
Her default.
Dr. Koh’s eyes held hers.
“Good,” Dr. Koh repeated, as if tasting it. “And your plans after exchange?”
Mika’s fingers tightened around her clutch.
“I’m applying for internships,” she said. “Kintsugi PR Studio invited me for a portfolio review.”
Dr. Koh’s brows lifted.
“Ah,” she said. “Impressive.”
Mr. Rutherford nodded.
“Smart girl,” he said.
Mika’s smile tightened.
Rafi watched her.
She was doing it–answering, smiling, performing stability.
He should have felt satisfied.
Instead, he felt protective.
Like the room’s evaluation was touching her skin.
Dr. Koh turned to Rafi.
“And you,” she said, voice sweet. “How are your… personal matters?”
Rafi’s jaw clenched.
The question sounded casual.
It wasn’t.
He held Dr. Koh’s gaze.
“Managed,” he said.
Dr. Koh’s smile sharpened.
“Good,” she said. “Keep it that way.”
The cluster of donors drifted away.
Dr. Koh moved on to greet another group.
Mr. Rutherford lingered a moment.
He looked at Rafi, then at Mika.
“Take care of each other,” he said.
Then he walked away.
Rafi exhaled slowly.
Mika’s shoulders dropped slightly.
“That was…” she began.
Rafi nodded. “A test.”
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
“I hate tests,” she whispered.
Rafi glanced at her.
His hand was still at her back.
He removed it.
Private restraint.
Mika’s eyes flicked to the movement.
Something like disappointment flashed.
It was so quick Rafi almost convinced himself he imagined it.
He cleared his throat.
“Food,” he said. “We eat. We look normal.”
Mika nodded quickly, grateful for something practical.
They moved toward the buffet.
Sushi, of course.
And satay skewers arranged like cultural diplomacy.
Little bowls of miso soup beside trays of laksa.
A room designed to say: we can mix everything and call it harmony.
Mika picked up a plate.
Her hands were steady.
But her eyes darted around.
Haruka was watching from across the room.
Chloe stood near the sponsor table.
And near Chloe–Adrian.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
Adrian had somehow found his way into this room too, blazer sharp, smile easy, talking to Chloe like they were old friends.
Of course.
People like Adrian flowed toward influence like water.
Mika noticed too.
Her cheeks warmed.
“He’s here,” she murmured.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
“I see,” he said.
Mika’s voice was soft. “He’s talking to Chloe.”
Rafi’s stomach twisted.
He didn’t like the picture.
He didn’t like that Chloe and Adrian could combine into something sharp.
He forced himself to keep his tone calm.
“Eat,” he said.
Mika blinked.
Then she nodded.
They filled plates.
They sat at a table near the edge of the room.
Not too central.
Not hiding.
Just… present.
Mika took a bite of sushi.
She chewed slowly.
Her gaze kept flicking around.
Rafi ate too, but he barely tasted anything.
His nerves were alert.
He could feel the room shifting.
Like a tide pulling.
A laugh sounded nearby.
Chloe approached.
Her smile was smooth.
“Rafi,” she greeted.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
“Chloe,” he replied.
Chloe’s gaze slid to Mika.
“Mika,” Chloe said, as if tasting the name. “You look… appropriate.”
Appropriate.
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
“Thank you,” she replied politely.
Chloe smiled wider.
“So,” Chloe said lightly, “Haruka tells me you two are serious.”
Mika froze.
Rafi’s jaw clenched.
Chloe’s eyes gleamed.
“Isn’t it fast?” she continued, still light. “Last week and now you’re at donor dinner.”
Mika’s fingers tightened around her chopsticks.
Rafi felt the tension.
He kept his face neutral.
“We didn’t announce,” he said calmly. “We kept it private.”
Chloe’s smile sharpened.
“Private,” she repeated. “And yet… so many photos.”
Mika’s cheeks went pale.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
Chloe leaned slightly closer, voice lowering.
“Be careful,” she murmured. “Donors don’t like mess.”
Rafi’s throat tightened.
“Thank you,” he said, clipped.
Chloe’s gaze flicked to Mika.
“And you,” Chloe added, voice sweet, “don’t let people use you for optics.”
Mika blinked.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
Chloe’s smile widened.
“Or use other people,” she added softly.
The implication landed like poison.
Mika’s cheeks warmed with shame.
Rafi’s jaw clenched.
He stood.
Not abruptly.
Deliberately.
Chloe’s eyes widened slightly.
Rafi kept his voice calm.
“Chloe,” he said, “this is not the place.”
Chloe smiled. “I’m only being helpful.”
Rafi held her gaze.
“Then be helpful somewhere else,” he said.
The words were polite.
But they were firm.
Chloe’s smile faltered.
Then she recovered.
“Okay,” she said sweetly. “Enjoy your dinner.”
She walked away.
Adrian drifted with her, like a shadow.
Rafi sat back down.
Mika stared at her plate.
Her hands trembled slightly.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
He leaned forward.
“Mika,” he murmured.
She looked up.
Her eyes were bright with something she was trying not to let spill.
“I’m sorry,” she began.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
“Stop,” he said.
Mika blinked.
Rafi’s voice softened, low.
“You’re not using me,” he said.
Mika’s breath caught.
Rafi continued, carefully.
“And I’m not using you,” he added. “We agreed. Mutual.”
Mika’s lips pressed together.
“But she makes it sound…” Mika whispered.
Rafi’s jaw clenched.
“Chloe makes everything sound like a weapon,” he said.
Mika stared.
Rafi exhaled slowly.
“She wants you to doubt,” he added. “Don’t.”
Mika’s throat bobbed.
She nodded.
But her eyes remained tired.
Across the room, Haruka’s laughter rose.
She was approaching.
Rafi felt it like a shift in air.
Haruka reached their table, smile bright.
“Mika-chan,” she said. “You’re quiet.”
Mika forced a smile.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Haruka’s eyes sharpened.
“Fine,” Haruka repeated, amused. “Everyone is fine at donor dinners.”
Haruka’s gaze slid to Rafi.
“Rafi-kun, you’re doing well,” she said. “Very stable.”
Stable.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
Haruka leaned closer to Mika.
“Mika-chan,” Haruka murmured, “your father messaged my mother.”
Mika froze.
Her face went pale.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
Haruka’s smile remained sweet.
“He asked if it’s real,” Haruka said softly.
Mika’s throat tightened.
Rafi’s jaw clenched.
This was the knife.
Haruka had reached across the sea.
Haruka had turned their lie into family conversation.
Rafi stood.
Haruka blinked, surprised.
“Haruka,” Rafi said calmly.
Haruka’s smile tightened. “Yes?”
Rafi held her gaze.
“Don’t involve her parents through yours,” he said.
The words were quiet.
But they landed like steel.
Haruka’s eyes widened slightly.
Her smile faltered.
Then she recovered.
“I was only helping,” Haruka said, voice sweet.
Rafi didn’t blink.
“No,” he said. “You’re testing.”
Haruka froze.
The room around them seemed to quiet, as if nearby ears had leaned in.
Mika’s breath caught.
Haruka’s smile sharpened, defensive.
“You’re rude,” Haruka whispered.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
“I’m clear,” he corrected.
Haruka’s eyes flashed.
Rafi’s voice remained calm.
“If Mika wants her parents to know something,” he said, “she will tell them. Not you.”
Haruka’s cheeks warmed.
Her eyes flicked to Mika.
Mika stared at Rafi, shocked.
Haruka’s smile returned, brittle.
“Okay,” she said softly. “I understand.”
Her gaze held Rafi’s.
But her eyes said: You just made yourself an enemy.
Haruka turned and walked away.
The room resumed its chatter.
But something had shifted.
Mika stared at Rafi.
Her eyes were wide.
“You…” she whispered.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
He sat back down.
His hands were steady.
His pulse was not.
“I didn’t like that,” he said simply.
Mika swallowed.
“She told her mother,” Mika whispered, voice shaking. “And her mother told my father. That means…”
That means the lie is no longer contained.
That means family knows.
That means expectation grows.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
He leaned forward.
“Look at me,” he said.
Mika blinked.
Her gaze lifted to his.
Rafi’s voice was low.
“We decide the narrative,” he said. “Not Haruka. Not Chloe. Not StamfordSpills.”
Mika’s breath caught.
Rafi continued.
“Tonight,” he said, “we leave this room looking united.”
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
United.
The word felt like a vow.
Across the room, Dr. Koh’s laugh rose. She was watching.
Rafi felt it.
He turned slightly.
Dr. Koh’s gaze met his.
And then, like a knife sliding in silk, Chloe’s voice cut.
“Dr. Koh,” Chloe said loudly enough to carry. “Should we be concerned about candidates making… messy headlines?”
The room’s energy shifted.
A few heads turned.
Rafi’s stomach dropped.
Dr. Koh’s smile remained polite.
“Of course not,” Dr. Koh said lightly. “Young people are young.”
Young.
Not serious.
Not stable.
Rafi’s jaw clenched.
Chloe’s smile sharpened.
“I just worry,” Chloe continued, voice sweet, “because donors invest in stability. Not… drama.”
Drama.
Chloe’s gaze flicked to Mika.
Then back.
Mika’s cheeks went pale.
Rafi felt something in his chest snap.
Not rage.
A decision.
He stood.
The movement drew attention.
He didn’t raise his voice.
He didn’t smile.
He simply spoke, calm and clear.
“Chloe,” Rafi said.
Chloe turned, surprised.
Rafi’s gaze held hers.
“You’re right,” he said. “Donors invest in stability. That’s why they shouldn’t be fed drama.”
The room went quieter.
Chloe’s smile faltered.
Rafi continued, voice even.
“If you have concerns,” he said, “you can speak to me privately. Not perform them here.”
Chloe’s cheeks warmed.
Her eyes flashed.
Dr. Koh’s smile tightened.
Mr. Rutherford looked interested.
Rafi’s pulse hammered.
Mika’s breath caught.
Rafi’s voice softened slightly–not for Chloe.
For the room.
“For the donors,” he continued, “I want to be clear. My personal life is not a spectacle. Mika is not a spectacle. We’re here to support the university community. That’s it.”
He paused.
He could feel every eye.
He could feel Dr. Koh’s expectation.
He could feel Mika’s fear.
He could feel the internet waiting.
Rafi swallowed.
Then he did the thing that wasn’t planned.
He turned toward Mika.
He reached down.
He took her hand.
Mika froze.
Her fingers were cold.
Rafi’s were warm.
The contact was electric.
He pulled her gently up from her chair.
Mika stood, shock in her eyes.
Rafi didn’t give her time to apologize.
He didn’t give her time to shrink.
He stepped closer.
He felt her breath catch.
And in front of donors and sponsors and Haruka’s sharp eyes and Chloe’s tightening smile, Rafi leaned down and kissed Mika.
It wasn’t a long kiss.
It wasn’t hungry.
It was deliberate.
A statement made with his mouth because words would be twisted.
Mika’s body went still for the first second.
Then her hand tightened on his.
And she kissed him back.
Soft.
Real enough.
The room exhaled.
Someone laughed lightly.
Someone clapped.
The tension shifted–transformed from scandal into romance, from drama into a story donors could approve.
Rafi pulled back.
Mika’s cheeks were pink.
Her eyes were wide.
Rafi turned back to the room, voice calm.
“Enjoy the dinner,” he said.
Then he led Mika away.
Not running.
But moving with purpose.
Because if he stayed, his own knees might have betrayed him.
He didn’t take her far.
Just into the corridor outside the Donor Gallery–Rutherford Hall’s Level 6 hallway, quieter, colder, lit in that sterile yellow-white that made every emotion look too obvious.
The moment the door closed behind them, the noise of the room became muffled.
And the silence between them became loud.
Rafi released Mika’s hand.
Mika’s fingers remained curled as if still holding him.
She stared at him.
Her chest rose and fell too fast.
Rafi’s own pulse hammered in his throat.
He swallowed.
Mika spoke first.
“You–” she began.
No sound came.
She tried again.
“You kissed me,” she said.
The statement was flat.
Not accusation.
Not joy.
Just shock.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
“It was necessary,” he said automatically.
Mika’s eyes flashed.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
Rafi froze.
Mika stepped closer.
Her cheeks were still warm.
Her eyes were bright.
“That wasn’t necessary,” she said, voice shaking. “You could have said something. You could have… walked away. You could have…”
She stopped.
Her throat bobbed.
Rafi stared.
He didn’t know how to answer.
Because she was right.
He could have done other things.
But he had chosen that.
Rafi’s voice came out low.
“I didn’t want them to keep touching you,” he said.
Mika blinked.
Rafi’s jaw clenched.
“With words,” he added. “With implications. With… that look.”
Mika’s breath caught.
Rafi exhaled slowly.
“So I ended it,” he said.
Mika stared.
Her voice was barely audible.
“And what about us?” she asked.
Rafi froze.
Us.
The word hit like a door opening.
Rafi’s throat tightened.
“This was supposed to be pretend,” Mika whispered.
Rafi’s chest tightened.
“Yes,” he said.
Mika’s eyes searched his face.
“But you kissed me like…”
She stopped.
Her cheeks warmed further.
Rafi’s breath caught.
Like what?
Like you meant it.
Like you chose it.
Like it was yours.
Rafi’s jaw clenched.
He didn’t know how to say the truth without breaking the rules.
So he did the only thing he could.
He looked away.
The corridor’s cold light made his skin feel too exposed.
He swallowed.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Mika’s eyes widened.
Rafi’s voice tightened.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, more softly. “I didn’t ask. I didn’t… check.”
Mika stared.
Her throat bobbed.
Then she laughed–one short, breathy sound that wasn’t humor.
“Check?” she whispered. “Rafi, if you asked, I would have said no.”
Rafi’s stomach dropped.
Mika’s eyes held his.
“Because it’s pretend,” she continued, voice shaking. “Because we have rules. Because I’m scared.”
Rafi’s chest tightened.
Mika inhaled.
“But when you did it…” she whispered, “…I didn’t want to stop.”
Rafi went still.
The confession landed like electricity.
Mika’s cheeks turned red.
She looked down immediately, embarrassed.
Rafi’s throat went dry.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t speak.
Because if he spoke, he might say the wrong thing.
He might say the true thing.
And truth was dangerous.
A door opened behind them.
Footsteps.
Dr. Koh’s voice, clipped.
“Rafael.”
Rafi turned.
Dr. Koh stood at the corridor entrance, expression controlled.
Her gaze flicked to Mika.
Then back to Rafi.
She smiled politely.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
“Yes,” he said.
Dr. Koh’s eyes sharpened.
“That was… a choice,” she said softly.
Rafi held her gaze.
“It diffused the room,” he replied.
Dr. Koh’s smile tightened.
“It created a story,” she corrected.
Rafi’s throat tightened.
“A better story than Chloe’s,” he said.
Dr. Koh’s eyes flashed.
She lowered her voice.
“Be careful,” she said. “Donors like romance. But they like control more.”
Rafi’s jaw clenched.
Dr. Koh’s gaze flicked to Mika.
“Mika,” she said, voice smoother, “thank you for supporting Rafael tonight. We appreciate… stability.”
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
She nodded politely.
“Thank you,” Mika said softly.
Dr. Koh smiled.
Then her eyes returned to Rafi.
“Come back,” she said. “Smile. Mingle. Don’t disappear.”
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
“I’ll return,” he said.
Dr. Koh’s gaze lingered, sharp.
Then she turned and walked away.
The corridor fell quiet again.
Mika exhaled.
Her shoulders trembled.
Rafi stepped closer instinctively.
He stopped.
Touch would be too much.
Mika looked up.
Her eyes were bright with emotion she hadn’t named.
“You kissed me,” she whispered again, softer.
Rafi’s throat tightened.
“I know,” he replied.
Mika’s fingers curled around her clutch.
“Now what?” she asked.
Rafi stared at her.
He didn’t know.
He only knew the room was still waiting.
The internet was still hungry.
Haruka was still watching.
Chloe was still plotting.
And under all of it, something in his chest had shifted.
He had chosen Mika publicly.
Not just as proof.
As a statement.
Rafi swallowed.
“We go back,” he said. “We finish the night. We don’t give them gaps to fill.”
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
She nodded slowly.
Then she stepped closer, just enough for her voice to be private.
“Rafi,” she whispered, “I’m shaking.”
Rafi’s chest tightened.
He looked at her hands.
They were trembling, small.
He didn’t think.
He took her hand again.
This time, not for the room.
For her.
Mika froze.
Then her fingers tightened around his.
Rafi’s voice was low.
“Breathe,” he said.
Mika’s breath caught.
Then she inhaled.
Slow.
Shaky.
She exhaled.
Her shoulders loosened.
Rafi kept holding.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t romantic.
It was grounding.
And it felt, terrifyingly, like something he wanted to keep doing.
They walked back into the Donor Gallery hand in hand.
The room noticed.
Of course it did.
A few smiles widened.
A donor laughed warmly.
Haruka’s eyes gleamed like she had just won something.
Chloe’s smile tightened like a blade.
Rafi kept his face calm.
Mika kept her posture composed.
They mingled.
They smiled.
They answered questions with rehearsed simplicity.
How did you meet?
Cultural Night.
How long?
A week.
What do you study?
Cybersecurity.
Strategic communications.
Are you happy in Singapore?
Yes.
Good.
Proper.
Rafi felt the night stretch.
He felt his energy drain.
But he didn’t let it show.
Manage it.
At 9:45, Haruka took the mic again and announced group photos.
Mika stiffened.
Rafi felt it.
He squeezed her hand lightly.
Mika’s breath steadied.
They posed.
Haruka stood near them like she belonged.
Chloe stood on the other side, smile bright.
Flash.
In that flash, Rafi knew the photo would be online within minutes.
He could already see the caption.
power couple confirmed.
At 10:10, Dr. Koh approached again, smile polite.
“Good work,” she said.
Rafi nodded.
Her gaze flicked to their joined hands.
Then away.
“Discreet,” she reminded softly.
Rafi’s jaw tightened.
He released Mika’s hand.
Private restraint.
The cold air rushed into the gap.
Mika’s fingers curled reflexively, then relaxed.
Her face didn’t change.
But Rafi felt the loss like a bruise.
At 10:30, the event began to thin.
Donors left.
Sponsors gathered gifts.
Haruka floated, collecting praise.
Chloe lingered, speaking to Mr. Rutherford.
Rafi turned to Mika.
“We can go,” he murmured.
Mika nodded.
Her eyes were tired.
They left Rutherford Hall together.
Outside, rain had returned–steady drizzle, campus lights glowing in it like soft fire.
Rafi opened his umbrella.
Mika stepped under.
They walked in silence toward the MRT.
Under the umbrella, the air felt different.
Like their bodies remembered the kiss.
Like their hands remembered holding.
Mika’s voice broke the silence.
“We didn’t plan that,” she whispered.
Rafi’s throat tightened.
“No,” he admitted.
Mika’s cheeks warmed.
“And now…” she began.
Rafi swallowed.
“Now people will talk,” he said.
Mika exhaled.
Her phone buzzed.
She looked.
Her face went pale.
“What?” Rafi asked.
Mika’s voice was barely audible.
“My father,” she whispered. “He saw the photo.”
She held the phone up.
A message.
Papa: If he kisses you in public, then he must have intentions. When will he meet us properly?
Rafi’s stomach dropped.
Intentions.
Meet properly.
The lie had just grown teeth.
Mika’s hands trembled.
Rafi stared at the rain.
He felt the world pressing.
He felt the consequences of his choice.
He felt, beneath it all, the terrible truth:
He didn’t regret the kiss.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Dr. Koh.
Dr. Koh: Rafael. We need to discuss optics. Tomorrow, 10 AM. No excuses.
Rafi’s jaw clenched.
Manage it.
Discreet.
Polished.
He looked at Mika.
Under the umbrella, her eyes were bright, frightened, soft.
She whispered, voice trembling:
“This was supposed to be pretend.”
Rafi’s throat tightened.
He didn’t know how to reassure her.
He only knew how to stay.
So he angled the umbrella to cover her more.
He stepped closer.
And he said, quietly, like an oath he wasn’t ready to understand:
“Then we pretend well.”
But even as the words left his mouth, he knew.
The rain wasn’t the only thing falling.
So were their rules.