Across the table, Surya held Anjali’s hand—a stiff, awkward clasp. Anjali, a no-nonsense lawyer, whispered, “You’re sweating on my silk saree.”
"Perfect," Niharika said, shaking his hand. "No feelings. Strictly professional."
"The same. And Anjali? The one who called my sustainable bamboo toothbrush 'a stick for hopeless romantics'?"
Niharika’s heart stopped. That wasn’t in the script.
One rainy night, their car broke down near Necklace Road. Vikram, who was supposed to drop Niharika home, took off his jacket and held it over her head. “Come,” he said. “We’ll walk to the metro.”
“You’re digging your nails into my palm,” he whispered back.
Niharika laughed. Then stopped. "Vikram? The guy who wears mismatched socks to family dinners?"
She protested. He ignored. Under the shared jacket, his arm brushed hers. He smelled of sandalwood and wet earth. For the first time, Niharika didn’t want the rain to stop.
"Let’s make a contract," he said, pushing his glasses up. "You pretend to date my best friend, Vikram. I’ll pretend to date your best friend, Anjali. We convince Amma and Nanna we’re on the 'right track' of love. They stop worrying. House saved."
This piece captures the latest trend in Akka Thammudu romantic fiction : sibling meddling turning into genuine romance, fake dating contracts, and the beautiful chaos where protective brotherhood collides with unexpected love. Would you like another story with a different trope—like enemies-to-lovers or second chance romance?
Niharika froze. No one had ever noticed that.
Anjali, the lawyer, finally lost her composure. “You’re an idiot. You don’t stage a fake relationship and then actually learn my coffee order, my favorite book, and the way I tap my foot when nervous. That’s not acting. That’s… you.”
Vikram looked at Niharika. “No. It was the seventh sight. She was yelling at a waiter for bringing her cold coffee. I thought, ‘I want to bring her hot coffee every morning for the rest of my life.’”
That night, the four of them sat in a hotel room. The contract lay torn between them.
But when her mother coughed, Anjali leaned her head on Surya’s shoulder and said, “He remembers how I take my filter coffee. With jaggery, not sugar.”