"Hey Davina."

"Hey baby!" that annoying voice of hers come through and I wince.

"Baby?" Noor mouths.

I give her a small shrug and mouth, "I don’t know."

She rolls her eyes slightly and looks back out the window. She seems annoyed. Something swirls in me, something like excitement? Happiness? It’s not that same joy I get when I annoy her though. I wouldn’t know how to describe it.

"So, I was thinking that you take me shopping!"

Absolute audacity. "I’m sorry, Davina." No I’m not. "I’m a bit busy right now."

"With who?"

"With Noor," I reply. "I’ve taken her out shopping," I add just to spite her.

Noor smirks out of amusement.

Davina scoffs, "Noor? As in that sick girl?"

The whole world stops.

Who says that? About Noor too. In general, that’s just mean way to say it—at least the way she said it.

"I’m sorry?"

"You heard me."

"I don’t appreciate you talking about my girlfriend like that," I say before thinking.

Shit.

"Your girlfriend?"

Noor hits my chest and gives me a questioning look.

"Yes, my girlfriend."

"I’M your girlfriend."

"No, you’re not, Davina," I sigh. "I’ve been telling you that for three weeks now. You need to get over me." There’s nothing TO get over. I mean, I know I give great pleasure but this is too much.

She scoffs and cuts off.

"Are you an idiot!?" Noor exclaims. "Now we have to act in front of the whole uni!"

I wince. I did not think about that. I forgot Davina was a gossip. "My bad.."

"Yes your bad! God!" she leans back in her seat. "How could you be so stupid?"

"Sorry…" I mutter.

She looks at me and sighs softly, "It’s fine. Just-" she exhales again. "Just be prepared to put on a show tomorrow morning."

"Yes ma’am," I pull up in her driveway.

"Idiot," she mutters but less angrily this time before she leaves the car.

Guess we’re going to have to fake it triple the hours now.

I don’t think I mind though.

Okay so I fucked up big time. In my defence, I was put underneath extreme pressure(no I wasn’t).

Okay no but Davina’s voice was like chalk on a chalk board—screeching and painful.

I mean, it worked. I think. She thinks I have an actual girlfriend and she’ll leave me alone. The only problem is that she has the largest mouth I have ever seen and she’ll tell the whole universe. Watch, when me and Noor come into school tomorrow, we’re going to get surrounded like the paparazzi.

"What can I do to apologise, my love? Princess?" I say dramatically. "My other half-"

"You can start by stopping with the ridiculous nicknames," she glares at me and punches my arm hard.

"You know," I rub my arm and glare right back at her, "One day you’re going to break my arm with that punch of yours."

"I hope I do."

Yep. I was right. Just like always. We’re getting surrounded like paparazzi. Okay, maybe paparazzi is a bit dramatic—but put all the people that have came up to us is making me think of Brittany Spears 2007

"So you two are together," a girl with brown hair tied up into a ponytail asks with a skeptical look. Mind you—I have never met the person. And by the looks of it, neither has Noor.

"I have to get to class, see ya," she says and walks away.

My girl just left me to fend for myself. She just fed me to the wolves—white girls who are addicted to Starbucks and digging their nose into other people’s business.

"I find it hard to believe," the blonde girl in the white short sundress looks Noor up and down.

"And why’s that?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at her slightly.

"She doesn’t really seem like your..type."

"Is that so?" I cock my head and cross my arms. "And what do you reckon my type looks like? Because it isn’t you."

The blonde scoffs. "I don’t want you, Ayan."

"Maybe not now but you did a week or two ago. When you asked for my number and I rejected you, you seemed pretty upset from what I can recall. Are you mad because I didn’t choose you?"

The girl’s face turns red and the brunette is fighting the smile on her face.

"Whatever. Let’s go," the girl links her arms with the brunette’s and walks away.

"Don’t get too stressed! You’ll start breaking out more!" I call out. She makes a frustrated noise and storms away faster.

I say more but she’s not really breaking out. She just has that one spot and I couldn’t resist the urge to say something—especially after the way she disrespected my girl like that.

"My type.." I scoff to myself.

(Scenes from my WIP which is a fake-dating book. They were fake dating before in front of their families btw)