Kunal Deshmukh
Part 1 — Placards and Proposals
Arjun Mehta had never imagined that life as a broke engineering student would lead him to standing in the arrivals terminal of the city airport, clutching a glossy white placard with names written in bold black marker. He wasn’t even supposed to be here. His real job was to fix malfunctioning printers in his hostel and build circuits for his classmates in exchange for Maggi packets, but when his college senior told him about this “easy money gig” at the airport—just hold a sign, smile politely, and hand over the passenger to the right chauffeur—Arjun jumped at it. “Five hundred rupees a shift,” his senior had said, “you just stand around looking official.” Standing official was one thing; sweating buckets in a polyester shirt that didn’t fit was another. Arjun adjusted his spectacles for the tenth time, glancing at the row of other men with placards around him. Some were professional, holding iPads with glowing digital names. Others, like him, clutched flimsy cardboard. His sign read “Welcome, Mr. Johnson,” in one hand and, thanks to the airport supervisor’s mix-up, another read “Welcome, My Love” in cursive hearts. Arjun had rolled his eyes when he saw it. Apparently some NRI was planning a filmy proposal for his fiancée right at the arrival gate, and Arjun had been told to hold the sign until the “romantic fool” appeared. He prayed no one looked too closely at him; he already felt like an unpaid extra in a bad Bollywood film.
Flights landed, crowds spilled out, the chorus of announcements echoed overhead, and Arjun fought yawns as he craned his neck for “Mr. Johnson.” That’s when it happened. A woman in a pale blue kurta and ripped jeans, hair loose from travel, dragging a heavy suitcase behind her, froze mid-step the moment her eyes met his placard. Her expression changed in an instant—from exhaustion to shock to wide-eyed recognition. Before Arjun could process it, she rushed toward him, dropped her bag, and said breathlessly, “You came.” Arjun blinked. He opened his mouth to say, “No, I’m not—” but her arms had already wrapped around him in a hug that smelled faintly of lavender and long flights. “I can’t believe you actually showed up,” she whispered, her voice shaky with relief. Arjun’s mind screamed in alarm. This wasn’t part of the job description. He wasn’t trained for strangers hugging him at Terminal 3. He tried to stammer something about a misunderstanding, but then her eyes lifted to his placard. “Welcome, My Love,” it declared, with a fat red heart dotting the i. She gasped softly, tears welling up. “You even wrote this? Oh my God, after all our chats, after everything—we’re finally meeting.”
Chats? Meeting? Arjun’s brain went blank. He wanted to blurt out the truth—that he was just a broke engineering kid holding someone else’s sign—but something about her trembling hands clutching his sleeves stopped him. Around them, people were already smiling knowingly, whispering “so sweet” as if they were part of a love story montage. Arjun, king of awkwardness, stood frozen, his ears burning. “Uh… hi,” he managed, his voice squeaking. She laughed nervously, brushing her hair back. “Hi. I’m Riya. You must be Arjun.” He almost fainted. She knew his name. No, wait—that was his actual name. Did she mean him, or did she mean some other Arjun? There were millions of Arjuns in India. Fate clearly had a twisted sense of humor. “Yeah… Arjun,” he said, scratching his head. “That’s… me.” She smiled like the world had just settled into place.
They stood there for a moment, traffic of passengers flowing around them, her suitcase abandoned at their feet, his sign burning in his hand like evidence of a crime. Riya’s eyes sparkled, nervous but hopeful. “I thought maybe you’d chicken out, you know? After months of talking, I kept thinking—what if he never shows?” Arjun’s throat went dry. Months of talking? She thought he was her online boyfriend. This was the real-life version of being mistaken for someone else in a movie, except it wasn’t funny when your actual paycheck depended on not screwing up. “No, no, I… I didn’t chicken out,” he stammered. “I… came.” Brilliant. Shakespeare would have been proud of that dialogue.
Riya laughed, covering her mouth. “You’re exactly as awkward as in texts.” She bent to grab her suitcase, struggling with the handle, and Arjun instinctively helped. They started walking together toward the café near the waiting area, her chatting nervously, him nodding like a bobblehead. Every step he expected someone to appear and expose him—Mr. Johnson, the real “My Love,” the furious NRI—but nothing happened. The lie stretched itself thin like chewing gum, and somehow he was too scared and too curious to snap it.
By the time they sat down at a corner table with paper cups of coffee, Arjun’s heart had staged a full marathon inside his chest. Riya was telling him about her flight, about the turbulence, about how she’d convinced herself he wouldn’t actually be here. “But when I saw you,” she said softly, “it just felt… right.” Arjun stared at his coffee, wishing it would swallow him whole. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He was just the guy with the wrong placard. And yet, looking at her nervous smile, he found himself nodding, found himself saying things like, “Yeah, I wanted to surprise you.” Lies. Big fat ridiculous lies. But they spilled out as if someone else was speaking through him.
At that exact moment, his phone buzzed. It was his airport supervisor. Arjun panicked, silenced the call, and shoved the phone back in his pocket. He prayed she hadn’t noticed. Riya was too busy looking at him with eyes that believed every word. For a broke engineering kid who barely managed to pass his exams, who spent more time fixing hostel geysers than living his own life, it was terrifying and intoxicating to be mistaken for someone’s dream.
And so, Arjun Mehta, part-time placard boy, accidental lover, sat in an airport café with a stranger who thought he was her online boyfriend—and for the first time in months, he didn’t feel like a background character in someone else’s story. He felt like the lead, even if it was all built on a misunderstanding.
Part 2 — The Pretend Boyfriend
Arjun had never been a good liar. Back in school, when he told his teacher that the dog ate his homework, he had drawn teeth marks on the notebook to make it look convincing, only to have his mother called in for questioning. Even in college, he once lied about being sick to skip class, and was caught playing gully cricket with his friends right outside the professor’s flat. But today, sitting in the bustling café at the airport with Riya staring at him like he was the hero of her life, he felt his lies flowing smoother than ever. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was the fear of being exposed. Or maybe, deep down, a small reckless part of him wanted to know what it felt like to be wanted—even if it was for the wrong reasons.
“So,” Riya said, sipping her coffee, “are you always this quiet in person, or are you just nervous because we’re finally meeting?”
Arjun’s brain scrambled for a safe response. He had no reference point—he didn’t know what “her Arjun” was supposed to be like. He decided honesty wrapped in vagueness was the safest bet. “A little nervous,” he admitted, rubbing his neck. “I mean, we’ve talked so much online, but… real life is different, na?”
Her eyes softened instantly, and she smiled in a way that made his stomach twist. “Exactly. I kept telling myself not to expect too much, that maybe it wouldn’t feel the same… but it does. You feel the same.”
Arjun nodded furiously, as though agreeing with her could buy him more time. Inside, he was screaming. He couldn’t keep this charade up for long. Any minute now the real guy could show up and punch him in the face. He gulped down his coffee and tried to steer the conversation somewhere harmless. “So… how was the flight?”
“Long,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And boring. I kept staring at the empty seat beside me, imagining you were sitting there. I even saved you the bread roll.” She laughed and pushed a packet of stale airplane bread across the table toward him. Arjun took it like it was a wedding gift. “Thanks,” he mumbled, clutching the roll as though it might explode.
Then came the danger zone. “By the way,” Riya leaned closer, lowering her voice, “you didn’t tell me what you told your parents. Did you tell them about me yet?”
Arjun froze mid-bite of the bread roll. Parents? About her? His mind raced through possible answers, each more disastrous than the last. Finally he blurted, “Not yet… but soon. Very soon. They’ll… love you.”
Her smile faltered for just a second, and guilt stabbed his chest. But she nodded. “Okay. One step at a time, right?”
Arjun exhaled in relief. He could survive this. One step at a time indeed.
But fate had other plans.
His phone buzzed again—this time not just once, but continuously, like an angry hornet. He fumbled to silence it, but Riya leaned over and saw the screen light up: Boss Calling. Her eyes widened. “Wait, your boss? You didn’t tell me you had a job here!”
Arjun’s mind, already juggling lies like flaming swords, threw another into the air. “Yeah, just part-time, nothing serious. I didn’t want to bore you with it.”
“Bore me? That’s adorable!” she laughed. “What do you do?”
Arjun’s mouth moved before his brain could stop it. “I… uh… help people… at the airport. Like, customer care. You know, guiding people, welcoming them.”
Which wasn’t entirely untrue, except he left out the detail about holding placards like a human Google Maps pin.
“That’s so sweet,” Riya said, clasping her hands. “You’re always helping people.”
Arjun smiled weakly, silently apologizing to the real Arjun—wherever he was—for borrowing his halo.
Before he could breathe, she added, “By the way, do you remember the silly nickname you gave me on chat?”
If Arjun’s heart had been running before, now it leapt off a cliff. Nickname? What nickname? He had no idea. He stalled. “Of course… but I want to hear you say it first.”
She giggled. “You’re so bad. Fine. Miss Universe with messy hair.”
Arjun let out a shaky laugh of relief, pretending it had been his plan all along. “Exactly. That’s you.”
Just then, the café’s speaker announced that Flight 672—the one Riya had mentioned as her connection—was delayed by two hours. She groaned. “Ugh, typical. More time to kill. But I’m not complaining, at least I get to spend it with you.”
Arjun almost choked on his coffee. Two more hours? How was he going to survive two more hours of this masquerade?
They walked around the terminal, her chatting freely, him nodding and throwing in vague, non-committal lines like “Yeah, totally,” or “That was crazy.” At the bookstore, she picked up a cheesy romance novel and teased, “This is exactly our story.” Arjun laughed nervously, praying lightning would strike him down before the universe punished him. At the duty-free shop, she sprayed perfume on his wrist, saying, “This will smell perfect on you.” He sneezed so violently that a security guard gave him suspicious looks.
And through it all, despite the panic, despite the lies, Arjun noticed something strange. He was… enjoying himself. Riya’s laugh was infectious, her stories ridiculous and charming, and every time she looked at him with trust in her eyes, something inside him melted and reformed into a braver version of himself.
He was living someone else’s life, yes—but for the first time in years, he didn’t feel like broke, invisible Arjun Mehta. He felt like someone worthy of being looked at like that.
Still, reality loomed like an approaching storm. Any second now, the truth could crash down—an announcement, a real boyfriend, a phone call, anything. Arjun swallowed hard and told himself he’d come clean soon. Just not yet.
Because in that moment, walking through the terminal with Riya’s arm brushing against his, laughing over overpriced chocolates and silly souvenirs, he wanted to stay her “airport boyfriend” just a little longer.
Part 3 — Terminal Trouble
By the third hour of pretending, Arjun felt like he was juggling flaming swords while riding a bicycle through a minefield. Riya clung happily to his arm as they strolled through the shiny terminals, and every time she smiled at him he forgot for a second that this entire relationship was built on a misunderstanding. But then his phone buzzed again, and the illusion shattered.
The caller ID screamed Supervisor. Arjun knew he couldn’t avoid it forever. If he didn’t answer, he risked being thrown off the gig permanently. If he did, Riya might hear something that would unravel the entire charade. He quickly pressed decline, shoving the phone deep into his pocket. Riya noticed, of course. “You’re popular today,” she teased. “Girlfriends calling?”
Arjun almost tripped over his own shoelace. “What? No, no! Just… work.”
She smirked. “Relax, I was kidding. But tell me honestly, how strict is your boss? You’ve been ignoring calls all day.”
Arjun forced a laugh. “Oh, you know… boss types. Always nagging. Nothing I can’t handle.” Inside, his stomach churned. At this very moment, his supervisor was probably pacing near the arrival gates, furious that one placard boy had vanished into thin air.
As if to confirm his fears, an announcement echoed overhead: “Attention, passengers arriving on Flight 448. Please look for your chauffeurs near Gate C.” Arjun’s heart stopped. That was his assignment—Mr. Johnson from London, whose name card was probably still abandoned at the café. He imagined an elderly white man searching desperately, while his boss spotted the missing sign and connected the dots. Arjun felt sweat dripping down his back.
Meanwhile, Riya tugged him toward a souvenir shop. “Come on, help me pick something for my sister.” She held up two options: a miniature Taj Mahal snow globe and a tacky ‘I Love India’ T-shirt. “Which one would you choose?”
Arjun stared blankly. His brain was calculating escape routes, not fashion advice. “Uh… both?” he blurted.
She laughed. “You’re terrible at this.” She tossed the T-shirt into her basket and looped her arm through his. For the hundredth time, Arjun marveled at how easily she touched him, how naturally she assumed he was hers. A tiny dangerous voice in his head whispered: maybe she should be.
They reached the food court, where Riya insisted on treating him. “It’s our first official date,” she said, grinning. Arjun wanted to protest, but his stomach growled louder than his conscience. They ended up with a ridiculous spread—burgers, fries, pani puri, even a giant tub of popcorn “just because.” They sat in the corner, eating and talking like two college kids killing time before a movie.
That’s when disaster struck.
“Arjun!” a voice boomed behind him.
He nearly choked on his burger. Slowly, he turned around to see his supervisor—a tall, broad man with a permanent frown—storming toward their table. “Where the hell have you been? Do you think this is a joke? Mr. Johnson has been waiting thirty minutes!”
Riya froze, wide-eyed. “You know him?” she asked.
Arjun’s brain spun faster than a washing machine. He leapt to his feet, blocking the supervisor’s path. “Sir! Hi! I was just… helping a passenger. She… uh… needed guidance.”
“Guidance?” the man barked. “You’re eating burgers in the food court!”
Riya quickly stood too, sliding her hand into Arjun’s like a shield. “Excuse me,” she said politely but firmly. “He was helping me. I’m new here, and honestly, I would’ve been completely lost without him. Is that how you treat your employees—shouting at them for doing their job?”
The supervisor blinked, momentarily thrown off. Arjun gaped at her, amazed at how smoothly she’d defended him. “Ma’am, with respect,” the man muttered, clearly embarrassed in front of a passenger, “he still had responsibilities—”
“And he fulfilled them,” Riya interrupted. “Now, if you don’t mind, we’d like to finish our meal in peace.”
The supervisor’s face twitched, torn between anger and diplomacy. Finally, he muttered something about “last warning” and stalked off.
Arjun collapsed back into his seat, his legs shaking. Riya beamed at him. “See? I told you, you worry too much. I’ve got your back.”
He stared at her, guilt gnawing at his insides. She wasn’t supposed to have his back. She wasn’t supposed to defend him like that. But instead of confessing, he forced a smile. “Thanks. You… saved me.”
Riya winked. “That’s what girlfriends are for, right?”
The word girlfriend echoed in his skull like a drum. He wanted to shout the truth, to end the madness. But when she leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief, and asked, “So what’s next on our airport date?”—the truth dissolved on his tongue.
He had no idea how much longer he could keep this up. But one thing was certain: his “airport boyfriend” act had just entered dangerous turbulence.
Part 4 — Duty-Free Drama
Riya had the determined glint of someone who had just decided she was going to make memories out of every corner of the airport. After burgers and fries had vanished between them, she tugged Arjun by the hand and marched toward the glittering maze of duty-free shops like a general leading her soldier. “Come on,” she said, her voice bubbling with excitement. “If we’re stuck here for another hour, you owe me some window shopping. And don’t think you can escape, Mr. Shy.”
Arjun followed, his feet dragging but his pulse racing. He could already imagine the catastrophe waiting to happen. The duty-free area was a war zone for his nerves—too many perfumes, too many shiny bottles, too many opportunities to expose that he was not, in fact, the man she thought he was. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, rehearsing lines like an actor about to bomb a stage. Smile. Nod. Say vague things. Pretend you know stuff.
The first shop was perfume heaven. Riya lifted one bottle after another, spritzing strips of paper and waving them dramatically under his nose. “This one’s Paris in spring,” she declared, holding a bottle shaped like a crystal teardrop. “And this one’s bold, like midnight.”
Arjun sneezed so loudly at the second spray that a saleslady gave him a death glare. Riya giggled. “Oh my God, you’re allergic to romance!”
“No, no,” Arjun stammered, eyes watering. “I just… have a sensitive nose.” He tried to add something boyfriend-like. “But on you, it smells… perfect.”
That seemed to do the trick. Riya’s smile widened, and she dabbed a drop on her wrist, holding it out to him. “Then smell properly,” she insisted. “Tell me if it’s really me.”
Arjun leaned in awkwardly, praying he didn’t sneeze again. The scent was heady, sweet, completely unfamiliar. He had no idea what to say. “It’s… definitely you,” he said finally, nodding with conviction.
“Good,” she said, slipping the bottle back. “Because I want to remember this trip every time I wear it.” She looked at him in a way that made his chest tighten, as though she was memorizing his reaction, storing it for later.
They moved on to chocolates, where she made him taste one square of every sample like a judge on a cooking show. “Dark or milk?” she asked, popping one into his mouth.
“Uh… both,” he said again, cheeks full of sugar.
“You’re impossible,” she laughed, pushing another truffle at him until his pockets jingled with complimentary wrappers.
At the liquor counter, she teased him into pretending to know about wine. “What would you order if we went out for dinner?” she asked, handing him a bottle with an unpronounceable French label.
Arjun stared at it as though it were a math equation. “This one,” he said confidently. “Looks… classy.”
The salesman smirked. “Sir, that is non-alcoholic grape juice.”
Riya burst out laughing so hard she had to clutch her stomach. Arjun wished the floor would open and swallow him. But then she wiped her eyes, still giggling, and said, “You know what? I like this version of you better. No pretenses. Just silly, clumsy, honest you.”
Arjun blinked. If only she knew how brutally ironic that was.
As they wandered further, she stopped at a rack of keychains shaped like airplanes. “Perfect!” she said, grabbing two identical ones. “One for me, one for you. So we’ll always have a piece of today.” She pressed the tiny plane into his palm and closed his fingers around it. The gesture was so casual, so natural, that Arjun forgot to breathe for a moment. He stared at the cheap metal toy like it was treasure.
“Thanks,” he managed, his throat tight.
“You better keep it,” she warned, wagging her finger. “If I find out you lost it, I’ll break up with you immediately.”
Break up. The word stabbed him. He wasn’t even her boyfriend to begin with, but hearing her say it half-jokingly made his chest ache. He shoved the keychain into his pocket, promising himself he’d never throw it away, no matter what happened after this madness ended.
They were leaving the shop when another disaster came barreling down the aisle. Literally. A trolley, stacked high with cartons of imported whiskey, swerved and nearly crashed into them. Arjun yanked Riya aside just in time, her hand gripping his arm tightly as boxes tumbled across the floor. The staff rushed to clean up, scolding each other. Riya looked up at him, wide-eyed. “Whoa. My hero.”
Arjun felt his face flame. He had done nothing heroic—just a clumsy pull out of panic—but the way she said it made him feel taller, stronger, like maybe for a moment he was the man she believed in.
They kept walking, drifting past shelves of sunglasses and leather bags. Riya slipped one oversized pair of shades on her face and posed dramatically. “Do I look like a Bollywood diva?”
“Yes,” Arjun said before he could stop himself.
She laughed and tugged the glasses onto his face instead. “Now you look like a broke engineering student who stole his dad’s shades.”
Arjun sputtered, but then froze. How did she know he was an engineering student? Had he let something slip? His pulse hammered.
Riya winked. “Relax, Sherlock. You told me months ago on chat, remember?”
Arjun forced a grin. “Right, right… of course.”
They exited the store with Riya carrying her bag of chocolates, perfume, and keychains. She hooked her arm into his again, sighing contently. “You know what, Arjun? For someone I’ve only seen on a screen until today, you feel like home already.”
The words hit him harder than anything else that day. He opened his mouth, desperate to confess, to tell her she had the wrong guy, that he wasn’t the Arjun she thought—but just then, another announcement rang out.
“Attention passengers of Flight 672: your departure has been delayed by an additional two hours.”
Riya groaned, slapping her forehead. “Are you kidding me?”
Arjun, meanwhile, felt his knees give way. Two more hours. Two more hours of pretending. Two more hours of lies stacked on lies. Two more hours of a dream he didn’t deserve.
And yet, as she leaned against his shoulder, muttering about how cursed her flight was, he couldn’t bring himself to hate it.
Because every extra minute was another minute with her.
Part 5 — Flight Delay Fiasco
Arjun had always believed time dragged the most in his morning lectures on thermodynamics, but he was wrong. Time could drag infinitely slower when you were pretending to be someone else’s boyfriend and the universe decided to double your shift. The fresh announcement of a two-hour delay made his heart plummet, but Riya clapped her hands together like a child who’d been promised extra dessert. “Two more hours with you! Clearly the gods are on my side.”
Arjun forced a grin, though inside he was screaming. He needed an exit strategy, but her happiness wrapped around him like a net he couldn’t slip out of. She tugged him toward a quiet café tucked in the corner of the terminal. “Come on, airport dates need caffeine.”
The café smelled of roasted beans and overpriced muffins. They settled into a booth by the glass wall where airplanes taxied outside like lumbering beasts. Riya rested her chin on her hand, staring at him with an intensity that made his throat dry. “You know,” she said, “it’s so surreal finally seeing you in person. I kept wondering if you’d look different, if you’d act different.”
Arjun panicked. Did he? Was she noticing cracks already? He sipped his coffee to buy time. “And… do I?”
She shook her head, smiling. “No. You’re exactly the same. A little quieter maybe, but still you.”
That word—you. It stabbed him every time. He wasn’t her “you.” He was just Arjun Mehta, broke engineering kid turned accidental impostor. But watching her smile, believing in a version of him he didn’t even know existed, he found himself leaning into it, enjoying the performance. For once, he wasn’t invisible.
They chatted about random things: travel horror stories, favorite foods, childhood embarrassments. Riya told him about the time she accidentally boarded the wrong metro line and ended up in Noida instead of Gurgaon, and he laughed so hard he nearly spilled his drink. He told her about the monkey that once stole his hostel’s Maggi stash, and she clutched her stomach from laughing. Every story built another brick in the house of lies, but the laughter made the walls feel strangely safe.
At one point, Riya leaned forward, lowering her voice. “By the way… you never answered me on chat that day. When I asked you why you really wanted to meet me. Why now?”
Arjun froze. That wasn’t a question he could bluff with vague smiles. His heart thundered as he searched for something—anything. Finally he said softly, “Because… sometimes you meet people online and they’re just words on a screen. But with you, it always felt real. I guess I wanted to see if I was right.”
Riya’s eyes widened. She blinked rapidly, clearly caught off guard. Then she smiled, small but radiant. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that.”
Arjun nearly collapsed in guilt. The words were true—for him—but not in the way she thought.
Their coffees turned into muffins, muffins into fries, fries into milkshakes. They were laughing too loudly, drawing curious stares, but neither cared. For those stolen hours, they were two people on an accidental date in the most unromantic of places, and yet it felt oddly cinematic.
Until the universe, as always, decided to intervene.
While Arjun was juggling straws into a makeshift tower, a voice rang out from behind him. “Arjun?!”
His stomach dropped. Slowly he turned. Standing a few feet away was Rajiv, his hostel roommate, wearing his trademark crumpled hoodie and carrying a backpack. Rajiv squinted. “Bro, what are you doing here? Aren’t you on placard duty?”
Arjun’s blood drained from his face. He jumped to his feet, frantically signaling with his eyes for Rajiv to shut up. But Riya had already perked up. “You know him?” she asked brightly.
Rajiv, ever clueless, grinned. “Of course, this guy—”
Arjun lunged, clapping a hand over his friend’s mouth. “He’s my… cousin!” he blurted. “Crazy guy. Always joking.”
Rajiv muffled protests under his hand. Riya raised an eyebrow, suspicious. “Cousin?”
“Yes! Cousin,” Arjun insisted, dragging Rajiv aside. “Family joker. Don’t listen to him.”
He leaned into Rajiv’s ear, whispering desperately, “I’ll buy you biryani for a week if you shut up right now.”
Rajiv’s eyes lit up with greed. He nodded slowly. “Deal.”
Arjun returned to the table, sweating bullets. Riya gave him a long look but didn’t press. Instead, she smirked. “You have some very… interesting cousins.”
“Tell me about it,” Arjun muttered, collapsing into his chair.
The crisis passed, but his nerves were shredded. He knew he couldn’t keep this up forever. Yet when Riya leaned her head on his shoulder a few minutes later, murmuring, “I’m glad you came,” he closed his eyes and let himself sink into the lie a little deeper.
For once in his life, Arjun Mehta wasn’t broke, invisible, or ordinary. He was someone’s boyfriend.
Even if it was only for the length of a delayed flight.
Part 6 — Suspicious Strangers
By now Arjun was living two lives in the same terminal—one as the broke engineering student who should have been holding a cardboard sign for Mr. Johnson, and another as Riya’s devoted boyfriend. He felt like a trapeze artist with no safety net, balancing between the truth and the dream, hoping nobody noticed how shaky his steps were. But the airport was a cruel stage. It always had too many eyes.
They were wandering past a row of souvenir stalls, Riya clutching her shopping bag like a victory trophy, when a sharp voice cut through the buzz of the crowd. “Hey! Placard boy!”
Arjun stiffened. Slowly, like a condemned man turning to face the judge, he pivoted. A middle-aged man with a bald head, Hawaiian shirt, and oversized sunglasses was pointing directly at him. “You!” the man barked. “You’re the one from earlier. Weren’t you holding a board for Mr. Johnson?”
Riya blinked. “Placard?”
Arjun’s brain screeched. Every possible excuse evaporated. He laughed nervously, scratching his head. “Oh, uh, no sir. You must be mistaken. I think all these faces look the same after a long flight, right?”
The man wasn’t convinced. “No, no, I remember. You were standing with that stupid ‘Welcome, My Love’ sign. I even took a picture. Everyone was laughing!” He started scrolling aggressively on his phone.
Riya’s eyes widened. She turned to Arjun. “Wait. What sign?”
Panic detonated in Arjun’s chest. He grabbed the man’s hand before the photo could be revealed, forcing a grin so wide it hurt. “Sir, please! You must be confusing me with someone else. Happens all the time. Common face, you know.”
The man tried to wrestle his phone free, muttering about “ungrateful youngsters.” Riya folded her arms, watching them both. “Arjun,” she said slowly, “what is he talking about?”
Arjun’s tongue felt like sandpaper. His heart screamed: Tell her the truth! But his mouth betrayed him. “Honestly? Nothing. He’s just… drunk on duty-free whiskey. Look at him!”
As if on cue, the man hiccupped loudly, his sunglasses sliding down his nose. He glared at Arjun one last time before wandering off, still muttering. Arjun exhaled in relief so strong his knees wobbled.
Riya, however, wasn’t convinced. She narrowed her eyes. “You’re acting weird.”
Arjun forced a casual chuckle. “Weird? Me? No way. This is just… me under airport lighting.”
She stared for a long moment, then shook her head with a half-smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute. Otherwise I’d interrogate you properly.”
Arjun laughed nervously, but the word interrogate stabbed him with dread. He knew she wasn’t joking—her suspicion had been lit. One wrong move and the house of cards would collapse.
To distract her, he pointed at a vending machine nearby. “Want to try our luck? These machines always eat my coins. Maybe today will be different.”
It worked, at least for a while. She giggled, tossing a coin into the slot and cheering when a packet of chips clattered down. But even as they munched together, Arjun could feel her eyes on him, questioning silently.
The tension broke a little when a little kid toddled up, staring at them with wide eyes. “Bhaiya,” the child asked innocently, “why were you hugging that didi with the heart sign earlier?”
Riya choked on her chips. Arjun’s soul left his body.
He crouched down quickly, forcing a grin at the child. “Ah, beta, imagination is very strong after long flights, na? You probably dreamt it.” He gently turned the kid back toward his distracted parents.
When he looked up again, Riya was biting her lip, clearly fighting a laugh. “Arjun,” she said, shaking her head, “either you’re the most suspicious man alive, or the airport is full of hallucinating people.”
Arjun raised both hands in mock surrender. “Guilty of being suspicious, maybe. But only because I’m trying too hard to impress you.”
That made her pause. Her expression softened, suspicion melting into something warmer. “You don’t need to impress me,” she said quietly. “Just be yourself.”
The words almost broke him. Because he wasn’t himself. Not with her. And yet, in a strange, painful way, this pretend role had shown him a version of himself he wished was real—confident, funny, wanted.
He swallowed the confession again, burying it under a crooked smile. “Fair enough. Then here’s me: hungry again. Shall we?”
Riya laughed, looping her arm through his once more. “Fine. But you’re paying this time, mister.”
Arjun nodded, even as guilt gnawed at him harder than hunger ever could.
The airport had spared him for now, but he knew the storm clouds of truth were gathering.
Part 7 — The Family FaceTime
If there was one thing Arjun feared more than being caught by his airport supervisor, it was the unstoppable force of Indian parents. And as fate would have it, Riya’s phone buzzed just as they were finishing their second round of snacks. The screen lit up with the word Maa.
Riya groaned. “Oh no. They’ve been texting all day, asking if I’ve met you yet. If I don’t pick up, they’ll assume I’ve been kidnapped.”
Arjun’s blood pressure skyrocketed. Met me? What exactly had she told them? Before he could invent a polite excuse, she swiped to accept the video call and pointed the camera right at his face.
“Ma! Look who’s here!”
On the screen, a middle-aged woman in a floral nightie gasped dramatically. “Hai re, finally! So this is the boy?” Beside her, a fatherly figure leaned in, squinting at the camera. “Arjun beta?”
Arjun froze, smiling so hard his cheeks cramped. “Namaste, Uncle, Aunty,” he croaked, praying they couldn’t hear his heart trying to escape his ribcage.
“You didn’t tell us he was so fair and nice-looking!” Riya’s mother gushed. “I thought he would be some computer nerd with thick glasses.”
Arjun instinctively adjusted his thick glasses and forced a laugh. “Haha… yes… computer.”
Her father cleared his throat, suspicion in his eyes. “So, young man, what do you do?”
Arjun’s brain blanked. If he said “engineering student,” what if that didn’t match what her real Arjun had told them? He was seconds from confessing when Riya jumped in, smiling. “He’s an engineer, Papa. You know that!”
Arjun nodded furiously. “Yes. Engineer. Circuits, wires, machines… all of it.”
Her father grunted approval. “Good. Solid career.”
Just when Arjun thought he’d survived, Riya’s mother leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Beta, call your family also! We should see who will become our relatives soon!”
Arjun nearly choked. His family? Right now?
His panic must have been obvious because Riya quickly cut in. “Ma, not now. He’s busy with me. Don’t embarrass him.”
But her mother was relentless. “At least one person, no? Brother, sister, anyone!”
Arjun’s survival instincts kicked in. “Of course! One second, Aunty!” He snatched his phone, dialed the first number that came to mind—Rajiv, his hostel roommate—and yanked him into the corridor.
“Bro, what now?” Rajiv groaned, picking up.
Arjun hissed, “Pretend to be my uncle. Please. Video call. Now. If you don’t, I’ll throw your PS4 out the window.”
Rajiv, who had never refused a threat to his gaming console, sighed and switched on his camera. Seconds later, Rajiv’s sleepy, stubble-faced image filled Riya’s screen.
Arjun gestured wildly. “This is my… uncle! From… Mumbai!”
Rajiv waved weakly. “Yes, hello. I am… Uncle. Proud of… Arjun.”
Riya’s father frowned. “Why do you look like you’re in a hostel?”
Rajiv’s eyes darted around the messy background—posters, noodles, unwashed clothes. He slapped his palm against the camera. “Power cut. Dark. Very bad lighting.”
Riya’s mother nodded sympathetically. “Mumbai has these problems.”
Rajiv beamed proudly. “Yes. Mumbai very… problem.”
Arjun wanted to faint. He was about to hang up when Riya’s grandmother suddenly popped into frame. “Put it closer! I want to see the boy properly!”
The phone shifted, and an elderly woman peered at Arjun like an X-ray machine. Then she grinned toothlessly. “He looks honest. Keep him.”
Before Arjun could collapse from relief, the call ended abruptly—probably thanks to bad network.
Riya burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “Oh my God, did you see my dad’s face? He already thinks you’re hiding something.”
Arjun laughed weakly. “Haha… imagine that.”
She leaned closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from them. They can be intense.”
For a moment, he looked at her and wondered if he was going insane. She was defending him, trusting him, believing in him more than he deserved. Every time he thought about confessing, that faith made it harder.
Because what if the truth destroyed the way she looked at him now?
Arjun shoved the guilt deep down, forcing a grin. “Thanks. I’d be lost without you.”
Riya smiled, brushing his hand lightly. “Good. Then you better not get lost before my flight actually takes off.”
Arjun’s heart hammered. He was in way too deep. And yet, he didn’t want to climb out.
Not yet.
Part 8 — Security Check Secrets
If airports were temples of order, then Arjun was its most unholy worshipper. He’d already broken every rule—abandoned his placard, lied to passengers, impersonated a boyfriend, and now, after surviving a full-scale parental FaceTime ambush, he was dizzy with exhaustion. He wanted to vanish into thin air, but Riya, bright-eyed and buzzing, tugged him toward the security check. “Come on,” she said, “let’s sit near my gate. I don’t want to miss boarding if they suddenly announce it.”
Arjun followed, dread building. Security meant scanners, questions, and suspicious stares. And he had one dangerous object in his bag: the abandoned “Welcome, Mr. Johnson” placard. He’d stuffed it there earlier to avoid being caught, but now it was a ticking time bomb.
The queue snaked forward slowly. Riya chatted about how much she hated airplane food, but Arjun could barely hear her over the thundering of his pulse. Finally, it was his turn. He dumped his bag onto the conveyor belt, praying the X-ray operator had poor eyesight.
Beep.
The scanner lit up red. A guard frowned, motioning him aside. “Sir, bag check.”
Arjun’s stomach turned inside out. He watched as the guard unzipped the bag and pulled out the damning evidence: a folded cardboard with bold letters—WELCOME, MR. JOHNSON.
Riya’s eyes widened. “Arjun… what’s that?”
Arjun’s mouth went dry. The guard raised an eyebrow. “Sir, care to explain?”
Words tumbled out of him like panicked birds. “That’s not mine! I mean, it is mine, but not like that—it’s for… roleplay!”
The guard’s eyes narrowed. “Roleplay?”
Riya choked on her laughter, covering her mouth. “What kind of roleplay?” she whispered.
Arjun flailed. “You know… like… romantic roleplay. Some people use roses, we… use placards.”
The guard looked unconvinced. He turned to Riya. “Ma’am, do you confirm this?”
Riya bit her lip, eyes sparkling with mischief. Then she nodded solemnly. “Yes, officer. That’s our… thing.”
The guard blinked, coughed awkwardly, and shoved the placard back into the bag. “Please proceed.”
Arjun nearly collapsed in relief. He grabbed his bag and stumbled out of the line, Riya giggling uncontrollably beside him. “Roleplay?” she teased. “That was the best you could come up with?”
“I panicked!” he hissed. “What was I supposed to say—that I moonlight as a human signpost?”
She shook her head, still laughing. “Honestly, you’re ridiculous. But… I kind of like ridiculous.”
They settled near Gate 21, surrounded by weary passengers and crying babies. Riya leaned her head against his shoulder, scrolling on her phone. Arjun sat stiff, guilt clawing at him harder than ever. He should tell her. He had to tell her. Every minute that passed made the lie heavier, and the way she trusted him—defended him even against security—was unbearable.
He opened his mouth. “Riya… I need to tell you something.”
She glanced up, curious. “What?”
Arjun’s throat closed. The words refused to come. Instead, he croaked, “Uh… you have chocolate on your cheek.”
She laughed, wiping it off. “Smooth save.”
He groaned inwardly. Coward.
Just then, an announcement rang out: “Attention passengers of Flight 672, boarding will commence in thirty minutes.”
Riya sat up, sighing. “Looks like our time’s almost up.”
Arjun’s heart clenched. Thirty minutes. That was all he had left before she boarded her plane and this dream dissolved into nothing. Thirty minutes before he became a broke engineering student again, with nothing but a stolen keychain in his pocket and a mountain of lies in his wake.
Unless he did something insane.
Unless he told her the truth before she left.
He stared at her, biting his lip. She was humming softly, tapping her foot, perfectly unaware of the storm inside him.
Arjun had survived security, supervisors, suspicious strangers, even parents. But the real test—the truth—was still ahead.
And this time, there would be no escaping with roleplay excuses.
Part 9 — Truth Turbulence
The announcement board above Gate 21 flickered, red letters marching across the screen: Final Boarding in 20 minutes. For everyone else, it was just routine travel. For Arjun, it felt like the countdown to an execution. He had twenty minutes before Riya stepped onto that plane and out of his life. Twenty minutes before the lie hardened into something unforgivable.
She was sitting cross-legged beside him, munching on the last of the duty-free chocolates, scrolling casually through her phone. Every few seconds she leaned into him, brushing his shoulder, laughing at some meme she wanted to show him. And every time, the guilt gnawed deeper, louder, until it drowned out everything else.
He took a deep breath. No more hiding.
“Riya,” he said softly.
She looked up, eyes warm. “Hmm?”
His heart hammered. He wanted to run, to laugh it off, to tell another stupid story. But instead he forced the words out. “I need to tell you something important. And you’re not going to like it.”
Her smile faltered. She put her phone away slowly. “Okay. Tell me.”
Arjun’s throat went dry, but he pushed on. “I’m… not who you think I am.”
Her brows knitted. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not… your Arjun,” he said. The words came in a rush, like water breaking through a dam. “I’m just a broke engineering student. I work here part-time, holding stupid placards for passengers. Today I got stuck with one that said ‘Welcome, My Love.’ When you came running, I should have told you the truth. I should have corrected you. But I didn’t. I… I played along. And the more I played along, the harder it got to stop. I lied, Riya. About everything. I’m not your online boyfriend. I’m just… me.”
Silence.
The crowd buzzed around them, but in their little bubble, everything stilled. Riya blinked at him, her expression unreadable. For a terrifying second, Arjun thought she might scream, or slap him, or call security.
Instead, she burst out laughing.
Arjun’s jaw dropped. “What—why are you laughing?”
She wiped her eyes, still chuckling. “Because, you idiot… I knew.”
He blinked. “You… what?”
“I knew you weren’t him,” she said, grinning. “Not right away, but after the first hour it was obvious. My ‘Arjun’—the one online—he was confident, smooth, always typing heart emojis. You? You sneeze at perfume, panic at vending machines, and almost fainted when my mom called. Trust me, I figured it out.”
Arjun stared, his brain short-circuiting. “Then… why didn’t you say anything?”
Her smile softened. “Because you were real. You weren’t hiding behind perfect texts or curated pictures. You were awkward and clumsy and ridiculous—but you were here. In front of me. Not behind a screen.” She shrugged. “And honestly? I liked spending the day with you.”
Arjun’s chest tightened. Relief, disbelief, and something dangerously close to hope flooded him all at once. “So… you’re not mad?”
She tilted her head, pretending to think. “Hmm. Mad? No. A little impressed, actually. It takes guts to keep a lie that stupid going for so long.”
Arjun groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Please don’t make me sound like a scammer.”
She laughed again, tugging his hands away. “Relax. You’re not a scammer. You’re just a terrible liar with a good heart.”
He looked at her, stunned. “So… what happens now?”
The boarding announcement chimed again. Riya stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “Now I get on my flight. And you go back to your life. But hey—don’t look so sad. This was… fun. Honestly, it’s the best layover I’ve ever had.”
Arjun scrambled to his feet. “Wait—so that’s it?”
She smiled mischievously. “Well, unless you want me to give my number to the wrong Arjun again.” She pulled out the very placard that had started it all—“Welcome, My Love”—and scribbled something on the back with a marker. Then she pressed it into his hands.
“Next time,” she said, “don’t pretend. Just show up.”
Before he could respond, the final boarding call echoed. She waved, half-running toward the gate. Arjun stood frozen, the placard clutched against his chest, his heart thundering with a strange, dizzying mixture of regret and joy.
He flipped the cardboard over. Scrawled in neat handwriting was her phone number.
For the first time that day, Arjun laughed out loud—not the nervous laugh of a liar, but the full-bodied laugh of someone who’d stumbled into something unexpectedly wonderful.
The lie was over. But maybe the story had just begun.
Part 10 — Love in Transit
The crowd had already swallowed her. One moment Riya was waving from the gate, her braid bouncing against her shoulder, and the next she was gone, folded into the stream of passengers boarding Flight 672. The terminal suddenly felt cavernous, its buzz hollow, like someone had turned down the volume of the world. Arjun stood rooted, clutching the placard to his chest as if it were a lifeline. On the back, her number glared at him like destiny’s dare.
He sank into a chair by the glass wall, watching the plane through the massive window. Ground staff hustled below, luggage carts beeping, lights blinking against the dusk. The aircraft loomed, silver and indifferent, while his head spun with everything that had happened in the last ten hours. He’d started the day as a broke engineering student holding cardboard for strangers. He was ending it as… what? A fraud? A fool? Or maybe, just maybe, as the luckiest idiot alive.
The placard trembled in his hands. “Next time, don’t pretend. Just show up.” He read the words again and again until they blurred. His stomach fluttered with both terror and excitement. Did she mean it? Was it just a playful parting gift, or a genuine invitation? Should he call? Text? Would that make him look desperate?
His phone buzzed. A message from Rajiv: Did you survive? Also, I want my biryani.
Arjun snorted, shaking his head. Trust Rajiv to bring him back to reality. Then another message popped up—from his supervisor. You’re fired. Return uniform.
Arjun winced. Well, that was coming. Goodbye, easy airport gig. Hello, long hostel nights of fixing printers for pocket money. But oddly, he didn’t feel crushed. If anything, he felt lighter.
He pulled the tiny airplane keychain from his pocket, the one Riya had bought for both of them. He turned it over in his palm, the cheap metal catching the fluorescent light. For once, it didn’t feel cheap at all. It felt like proof. Proof that even in the middle of his mess of lies, something real had sparked.
He typed her number into his phone. His thumb hovered over the “call” button. His chest tightened. What if she ignored it? What if she laughed? What if she’d already deleted him from her mind, boarding the flight into a life where he was just a funny story to tell her friends?
But then he remembered her smile when she said, “I like ridiculous.” He remembered her laugh when she covered for him with the security guard. He remembered her scribbling the number with a grin that was both mischievous and hopeful.
He pressed “call.”
The dial tone rang. Once. Twice. His heart thudded louder with each second. Then—click.
“Arjun?” Her voice, fuzzy through the connection, but unmistakably hers.
He almost forgot to breathe. “Yeah… it’s me.”
There was a pause, then a laugh that made his chest ache in the best way. “Good. I was starting to wonder if you’d chicken out again.”
Arjun grinned, a real grin this time, unburdened by lies. “Not this time. Next time, I’m showing up. For real.”
“Good,” she said softly. “Because I think I’d like that.”
The line crackled as the flight attendants called passengers to switch off devices. “I’ve got to go,” she whispered, “but don’t disappear, okay?”
“Promise,” he said.
The call ended, but the smile stayed. Arjun leaned back, staring at the departing plane, the keychain warm in his fist. He was jobless, broke, and still the world’s worst liar—but he felt something he hadn’t felt in years.
Hope.
As the aircraft rumbled down the runway, lifting into the night sky, Arjun whispered to himself, “The Airport Boyfriend… who might just become something more.”
And for once, he believed it.
