"We should practice," Ryan said, holding two bubble teas in one hand, the other pushing open the glass door to the rehearsal studio near Brickfields.
Emily raised an eyebrow. "Practice what? Tai chi?"
He gave her a look. "Practice being in love."
Emily almost choked on her drink. "Excuse me?"
"I mean the simple stuff," he said as they stepped inside. The room was mostly empty, except for a large mirror, a few chairs, and a low couch pushed against the wall. The owner—an auntie they'd paid in cash for an hour—had discreetly vanished.
"You think we can fake a whole wedding but forget to rehearse how to look like a couple?" he continued.
She stared at him. "This is ridiculous."
He grinned. "And yet here you are."
Emily sighed but didn't leave. "Fine. What's the syllabus, Professor?"
Ryan pulled out his notebook—the same one from the café—and flipped to a new page titled: Couple Chemistry Checklist.
"God, you're serious," she muttered.
"Deadly. Now: first task—entering a room while holding hands naturally. Sit together, not like awkward cousins at Chinese New Year dinner."
Emily rolled her eyes. "Romantic."
"Second," Ryan went on, "eye contact. Not the staring-into-your-soul kind. Just that soft, familiar look like... you've brushed your teeth in front of this person every morning for a year."
"Gross."
"Third—casual touches. Shoulder bump. Forehead kiss. Leaning in while talking. The kind of stuff that makes people gag or go, 'Aww.'"
Emily plopped onto the couch. "You're enjoying this too much."
He sat beside her, careful not to sit too close. "Honestly? I'm terrified."
That surprised her. "Really?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "My brother's no idiot. He's a corporate lawyer raised by wolves. He once caught a friend lying about a dentist appointment just by glancing at his calendar and noticing it was a public holiday."
"So, we're doomed," she said dryly.
"Unless we get convincing."
Emily stared ahead, then took a deep breath. "Fine. Let's practice."
Ryan looked amused. "You're taking this seriously now."
"I don't want to get deported for pretending to marry a man-child."
"Touché."
They stood.
Emily hesitated before reaching for his hand. His fingers were warm, calloused, steadier than she expected. They walked slowly across the room, their steps just out of sync.
"This feels weird," she said.
"Give it time."
They turned toward the mirror.
Emily glanced at their reflection—two people trying too hard not to look like they were trying. Her brows furrowed.
"Okay," Ryan said, dropping her hand. "Let's try sitting close now. Like we've done it a hundred times."
They sat again. This time their shoulders touched.
"Now talk to me like we're reminiscing."
"Reminiscing about what?"
He shrugged. "The time we first kissed. Make something up."
Emily smirked. "We were in a mamak. You had roti tisu stuck to your face. I laughed so hard I nearly choked on my Milo ais. You kissed me to shut me up."
Ryan burst out laughing. "That's disturbingly plausible."
Emily smiled, a little surprised at how easy this was. "Your turn."
He looked thoughtful. "It was raining. You were stuck outside your dorm with no umbrella. I offered mine, but we both got soaked anyway. We kissed under the car porch, shivering like idiots."
Emily blinked.
"That's... oddly cinematic."
Ryan looked at her. "Some moments deserve drama."
She looked away.
The silence stretched.
They practiced a few more gestures—laughing at inside jokes, standing close while pretending to look at photos, whispering fake secrets. Emily started laughing when Ryan leaned in and whispered in a British accent, "Darling, don't forget the caviar for the Queen."
"You're ridiculous," she said, nudging him.
"You love it."
"I tolerate it," she said, but there was a smile tugging at her lips.
They tried walking across the room again, hand in hand, but this time Ryan stumbled on a chair leg, and Emily had to catch him.
"Graceful," she teased.
"This is why I failed ballet at age six."
As the hour passed, their tension gave way to something looser. They weren't actors, but they weren't strangers anymore either.
"The hug," Ryan said.
Emily raised an eyebrow. "What about it?"
"It needs to look natural. Comforting. Familiar."
She sighed and opened her arms. "Come on, drama prince."
He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her gently. She closed hers behind his back. His chin rested lightly on her shoulder. They didn't move.
It lasted longer than either expected.
Eventually, Emily pulled back. "That's enough rehearsal for today."
Ryan nodded, but his eyes lingered on hers a second too long.
As they packed up, Emily threw him a look. "You're not going to put 'hug intensity level' in that notebook, are you?"
"Too late," Ryan said, already scribbling.
"I hate you."
"You say that with such affection."
They stepped out into the humid night. The air was thick, the streets buzzing with motorcycles and distant chatter. Ryan turned to her before heading to his Grab.
"Same time next week?"
"For our fake relationship boot camp?"
"Exactly."
Emily smirked. "Sure. I'll bring the popcorn."
He gave a small wave and slid into the car.
Emily stood there for a moment, drink in hand, notebook in her bag, and something strange stirring in her chest.
This was fake.
But it was starting to feel a little too real.