Page 76 of The Fake Dating War

Holding myself straight, I walk over to him and brace for it. “Let me guess,” I say. “You also think I’m beautiful now.”

He gives me a small shake of his head.

Okay. No, he does not.

Tension leaks from me. Absurdly, I’m relieved and eager. This is what I need. Him to make everything feel normal again.

“Go ahead,” I say. “Have a dig then. Does my hair look strange short?”

I’m desperate to find my footing, and for some reason think this is the way. That Coleman is the way. And if I’m being honest with myself, he’s been my normalcy for a lot longer than this moment.

Two years ago, debt collectors harassed me daily. I’d spend my mornings and evenings crying about it, pitying my situation and feeling like the most foolish person on earth for the position I put myself in.

The only thing that kept me grounded was work. Especiallyhimat work.

No matter what, Coleman treats me like I’m his worthy opponent. He comes by my desk, prodding about my portfolio and smirking about his own progress. We dig at each other. Poke. Jab. Snark. Stoke the fiery rivalry between us higher.

His opinion has become the rope I’ve held onto.

But he doesn’t say anything about my new look. He simply stares.

“Don’t spare my feelings,” I insist. “I can take it.”

Finally, he steps close enough. His fingers ghosts over the ends of my cut. “I’m not going to insult you, Patel,” he says softly.

I don’t understand. Then why did he disagree earlier? Why did he shake his head when I asked him whether I was good-looking enough?

I wish I could tell him I don’t mind the truth. That I’ve been complimented and fussed over this whole morning, and it’s made it feel like I’m wearing a mask I bought ages ago. One so pretty and thick it means no one can hope to reach the real me. That I’m not sure I’m breathing properly behind it all.

My mother steps in between us. “What do you think?” she asks him, waiting with bated breath. “Did her makeover surprise you? Don’t you think Reema is so pretty like this?”

“No.”

My mom looks taken aback by his answer. I’m about to jump in and explain that it’s totally fine, but Coleman utterly destroys me before I can.

“She’s always been beautiful. Now she just has shorter hair.”

And with that, I burst into tears.

It’s very dramatic and makes Coleman’s jaw drop with shock.

My mother starts fussing around me, but my sister calls her for something important. With that, my mother tells Coleman to please fix this and to not let my makeup get ruined.

Too late. My mascara is leaking. Super waterproof, it ain’t.

Large capable hands hold my shoulders. I refuse to look at him. This is beyond embarrassing. I’m sniffling and staring at a wall, scrambling to understand why it feels as if I’ve been pulled apart and left naked. Over and over, his words repeat in my head.She’s always been beautiful. Now she just has shorter hair.

Coleman leads us into the closest bathroom. Tissues are pulled, and he offers them to me. When I don’t take them, he dabs the corner of my eyes himself. Mascara smudges are lifted. He’s concentrating so hard, his brows are drawn together. The mirror tells me that tear tracks going down my cheeks are the worst part. Yet they are so carefully and gently smoothed away that I barely feel the pressure of his touch.

Soon I’m good as new, but if only I felt that way.

His fingers lift my chin. There’s a pained, tortured look about him, as if his very lungs have constricted. I know. It’s a difficult position to be in, having to manage my breakdown. What an unwanted responsibility, and not at all what he signed up for.

“Tell me why,” he begs. “Was it me?”

I guess he deserves an answer, especially if he thinks he might be at fault.

Unfortunately, I’m trying to figure out what happened at the same time, so my answer isn’t coherent. “I think everyone is happy when I look like this. They—all—want me to be this—person. I thought I wanted that. It’s what the plan was, you know? To become her again, but I’m starting to think the whole thing is a lie. You can’tgobackwards. It doesn’t feel… right.”

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