The afternoon heat pressed down on Kuala Lumpur like a damp, invisible weight. The sky above University Malaya burned a hazy blue, and the scent of fried noodles and warm tar mingled in the air. Emily Chen sat on a bench beneath the shade of a rain tree, the edges of her scholarship letter curled in her hand.
She had won. A full ride to study architecture in the UK. Her dream.
So why did it feel like she couldn't breathe?
The numbers were cruel. Flights, visa, rent, daily expenses — the scholarship covered tuition, yes, but not life. Not her father's collapsed car workshop, not the debts in her mother's name, not the stack of unpaid bills waiting back home in Klang.
Her phone buzzed again. A familiar name on the screen. The debt collector. Again.
She sighed, thumbed the notification away, and stared into the rustling trees as if answers might fall with the leaves.
"Emily Chen?" a voice called.
She looked up.
Ryan Lee stood in the sunlight, holding two cups of iced latte from the campus café. His posture was careful, his expression almost hesitant. They weren't close — acquaintances from a shared project during undergrad, occasional nods in the hallway, nothing more.
Emily blinked. "Uh, hi."
"Hey," Ryan said, offering one of the cups. "I remembered you liked caramel. I hope that's still true."
She hesitated, then accepted the drink. "Thanks... What's going on?"
"Mind if I sit?"
She shrugged, and he took the bench beside her, leaving enough distance that she noticed.
They sat in silence for a beat. The melting ice clicked against plastic.
"I know this is weird," Ryan said finally. "But I wanted to ask you something. A favor. Maybe more than a favor."
Emily frowned. "What kind of favor?"
He glanced at her, then looked away. "What if we got married?"
Emily nearly dropped her cup. "What?"
"Not real-married," he added quickly. "Fake-married. Just for a year."
She stared at him. "You're serious?"
Ryan nodded slowly. "You need money to take this scholarship. I need an escape hatch. I know we don't really know each other. That might actually help. No messy history. Just a clean arrangement."
Emily opened her mouth, then closed it again.
He leaned forward, voice calm and low. "We set up a story. Announce the engagement. Fake a small ceremony. Live together just enough to make it believable. After six months, we part ways. You go to the UK, I get space from my family."
She blinked. "Why me?"
"Because you're smart, and you don't do things unless they make sense. And because... you're in a tough spot. Like me."
Emily looked down at her lap. The scholarship letter crumpled slightly in her hand.
"This is insane," she murmured.
"I know."
She glanced at him. "You'd cover the costs?"
"All of them. Flights, visa, rent, even a fake wedding budget if needed. I don't expect anything from you but the performance."
Emily hesitated. Her mind was spinning.
"Why not someone closer to you? A friend, a cousin—"
"Because anyone close would ask questions. They'd get emotional. You're practical. I need practical."
She exhaled, staring straight ahead. Somewhere nearby, a boy on a skateboard zipped past. The smell of fried tofu drifted over from the canteen.
"My dad still thinks I'm not going anywhere. I haven't told him about the scholarship because... well, he's still trying to borrow money from my uncle to keep the lights on."
Ryan nodded. "I remember. You mentioned that when we worked on the housing project."
Emily blinked. She had forgotten.
He hadn't.
Silence stretched.
"You're running from your brother?" she asked finally.
Ryan gave a dry laugh. "Lucas is a storm in a three-piece suit. He thinks he knows what's best for me. Maybe he does. But I'm tired of having no say."
"And your... boyfriend?"
"That's over. Just not officially."
Emily stared at him. "You know this sounds like a K-drama, right?"
"We're in Malaysia. Half our lives sound like K-dramas."
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. Then she sobered.
"You really think this will work?"
"If we're disciplined. If we treat it like a job."
She tapped her cup, condensation running over her fingers.
"What happens after six months?"
"We walk away. You'll have your master's. I'll have my freedom. No strings. No damage."
Emily didn't answer. Not yet.
But she didn't walk away either.
And maybe that was already the beginning.
Ryan glanced sideways at her, noting the hesitation in her fingers, the way she kept smoothing the page of the scholarship letter. "You don't have to decide now. But I needed to ask."
She gave a half-smile. "You rehearsed that pitch, didn't you?"
He chuckled. "In the mirror. Twice."
"Figures."
He stood up, brushing off his jeans. "Think about it. I'll send over a draft plan. Nothing binding. Just... possibilities."
Emily watched him walk away, tall and confident, yet with something tense in his shoulders—as if he wasn't quite as calm as he pretended to be.
The iced latte in her hand had melted by the time she finally moved. The scholarship letter was still warm with hope. The debt collectors were still calling. Her family was still sinking.
And she was still sitting there, wondering if maybe—just maybe—a fake marriage could be the most real chance she'd ever get.