Faking it Till They Make It

The first "date," in someone, was practically a work of art with everything put in place to maximize the effect. Ethan arrived at Ava's apartment in a dark navy blazer that matched his personality extremely well. Flowers were in store, a classic yet highly effective gesture. Not roses – too cliched, great although kind of inhibiting.

A colorful bouquet of sunflowers, their bright heads reflecting the slightly nervous excitement a girl might feel in her stomach. Ava donned a dress that was both sophisticated and playful at the same time, deep emerald green, somehow flirty and just appropriate enough. An Italian restaurant was chosen for its significant romanticism yet still away from the direct romance. Subtlety had been agreed. Dinner became a performance.

They laughed at carefully chosen jokes, their glances lasting ever so slightly too long, their touches lingering just a bit too much. Ava weaved the conversation with some skill, bluntly fending off any probing questions posed about their past relationships with vague yet properly romantic stories. Smooth to the end, Ethan played his part fabulously. He remembered things that she had done at work, in her family, even the specific breed of cat she owned. He listened attentively with his dark eyes filled with what Ava wished looked a lot like genuine affection. Exhausting, exhilarating, terrifying all wrapped into one, the next obstacle was social media.

Ava, a marketer herself, was used to narrating a story. These pictures are a work of art, they reflect their joint wit: the two of them laughing over a glass of wine at a wine bar, their arms casually intertwined. A glimpse of Ethan handing Ava the small gift (a notoriously.

The expensive scarf that Ava was going to subtly show off for the next couple of weeks, his smile real but tight; a picture of them gazing yearningly at the city lights from a rooftop bar with arms around each other- all carefully staged and impeccably filtered. They even coordinated a hashtag: EthanAndAvaFindLove. Each post had those Instagram-aesthetic captions that were short and sweet, and gently ambiguous enough so as not to alert their families and friends but just clear enough to describe a romance in full bloom.

The comments were where the battle of narrative control lay: on one of their pictures, Ava's sister – keen-witted and persistent as a dog with a bone – had commented: "Aww, you two are adorable!" A seemingly innocent comment, but Ava knew that a scheme of valiant entreaties lay behind those saccharine words. Heart emoji spam came from Ethan's mom, whom Ava considered both scary and oddly soothing with her unfaltering support. Ava shot back a few hearts and a comment so short it somehow managed to be all sweet and charming to the right level without pulling the wrong eyebrows from here to the next continent.

And keeping this story on track takes a high degree of vigilance, constant attention to detail along with some degree of performative intimacy that comes in handy. The carefully crafted performance went beyond just social media. "Spontaneous" trips for the weekend were planned-a visit to nearby vineyards and even a hike through a scenic park-all meticulously monitored as to what colors were to be worn and what angles were to be photographed (or rather photog'd by themselves using a tripod and a self-timer, a pacing instrument). Even their casual chit-chat with friends and family was scripted-every conversation went through rehearsals until they were perfected. Ava rehearsed casual yet warm tones to get the right balance of clinging and still being disaffectionate.

A knowing glance, an amiable touch, a smile meant for only him: they were, in their way, players in a national theatre whose audience consisted of every in-group acquaintance they could muster. Ava and Ethan met one late evening for a debriefing after the passing of a tough week in a series of illusion creation. Feelings of tension were greatly felt for the past weeks. They had both striven to their last lengths juggling the demands of their work with executing deception equally demanding. The charade was just beginning to get to them, the ongoing performance hardly stirring emotion anymore. "I think my smile muscles are fixed now," Ava said, exhaustedly. With a hand in her slightly frazzled hair, gone now was the usually energetic Ava, and here was the eventual burnout Ava. Ethan laughed, a tired sound, almost like he was unfocused. "Tell me about it. I almost forgot how to speak without sounding like I'm reading from a rom-com." They sat in silence, each pondering the absurdity of matters.

That week polished, the wine tasted significantly bitter. The weight of their deception only seemed to get heavier. Doubt began to enter their cautious narrative, no matter how well-conceived and executed it had been: what if someone were to suspect the truth? What if their brilliantly constructed world came crashing down? That fear was a constant undertone, nagging somewhere very deep and begging them to consider everything they had constructed to be easily pulled apart.

The next several weeks continued to bear careful choreography. But behind the carefully staged photos and barely-timed posts, there'd been space for a change.

Yet small cracks appeared in that mode of being. At an extraordinarily stressful family dinner, slip-up or not, Ethan accidentally called Ava, "my partner," instead of "my girlfriend," which, rather than absolving him of blame, seemed to touch Ava in deep corners. On another occasion, during another particularly awkward spell, Ava unknowingly rested on Ethan, who put an arm around her instinctively; it felt good on her back for the comfort it provided despite their great performance. These were much more than mere clandestine moments: they were reflections of something real. Something not so far removed from their elaborate pretense as the creaky veneer began to peel back to reveal the undeniable chemistry boiling below the surface of their romance. It was a gamble, a terrifying prospect, but, most importantly, it was a beautiful possibility.

The differences between performance and reality blurred, and both Ava and Ethan found themselves more and more fascinated with the appeal of something more real, something more profound than their carefully constructed charade. The well-thought-out deception began to feel less like an outright deception and more like a slow and almost inevitable melting away of their burgeoning feelings that hung over this pretense, threatening to shatter its very foundation.

Although they were playing a game, the game itself just started to change, turning into something infinitely more serious, infinitely more compelling, than either of them had ever dreamed. The stakes, it seemed, had never been higher. The real question was not whether they would fool their families. It was whether they could somehow fool themselves.