The security guard, Arun, was stunned, his eyes narrowed as if he couldn’t believe his ears. He stood near the reception desk in the lobby on the ground floor of an office building in Gurugram, his hands still rubbing together from the mild, cool monsoon weather of the year-end. Across from him, Meera—an office employee accustomed to simply greeting each other—was eyeing him with unusual curiosity.

Meera was a gentle, quiet coworker. At the company, people knew her as dedicated to her work, punctual, and rarely attending parties or gossiping. But today, she came in with a tense face, constantly looking out the window at the parking lot.

“My relatives from the countryside suddenly came to visit. They don’t know I’m divorced…” Meera said chokedly. “I don’t want them to be disappointed. Can you help me for today?”

Arun scratched his head and let out a deep sigh. The security job had nothing to do with the employees’ family matters. But those eyes—both worried and desperate—prevented him from refusing.

“Yeah… okay. But what should I do?” Arun asked, half-shocked, half-worried.

Meera breathed a sigh of relief, her face relaxing a little. He explained: he simply had to accompany her to visit her relatives, introduce himself as her husband, and then sit down to lunch. There was no need to put on a special show, just pretend to be familiar and close.

Arun found this story a bit… funny. He was unmarried, had been a security guard for over three years, his salary wasn’t high, but it was enough to get by. He never imagined that one day he would play the role of “fake husband” to a smart, beautiful office employee like Meera.

The bus stopped, and some men and women got off. Meera suddenly grabbed his sleeve. Her hands were cold. “Please, help me.”

At that very moment, Arun nodded. And the story of the “fake husband” began…
A small dhaba at the end of the street was chosen as the meeting place. A table for six, neatly arranged dishes, the aroma of fish curry, dal tadka beside it, hot rotis, and ginger-scented tea. Meera’s relatives sat down, chatting.

“Wow, is this Meera’s husband? He looks so gentlemanly!” Aunty said, smiling at Arun.

Arun quickly nodded and faked a smile. His heart was pounding like a drum. He had never been used to acting in front of so many inspecting eyes.

Meera quickly interrupted: “Yes, I’m Arun, my husband. He works as a security guard in this building. His job isn’t very important, but it’s stable and humble.”

Arun was a little startled to hear Meera’s voice. The way she introduced herself was simple and natural, yet strangely warm.

The uncle sitting across from him took a sip of wine and nodded: “Yes, it’s enough for a husband and wife to love each other. Any job is valuable.”

Gradually, the atmosphere relaxed, but Arun was still tense. He had to remember names, roles, and not say anything out loud.

The meal continued, and relatives asked: “Have you two thought about it?”, “When will you have a child?”… These questions seemed normal, but for Meera, they were like a needle pricking a wound.

Seeing Meera a little confused, Arun replied: “Yes, we’re thinking about it, but work is busy, so we’ll have to wait a little longer.”

The entire table nodded, and the conversation turned to crops and the countryside. Meera looked at Arun, her eyes filled with gratitude and a touch of awkwardness—as if she hadn’t expected him to be so efficient.

Just then, a cousin suddenly joked: “Meera is so lucky to have such a gentlemanly husband. But why haven’t we seen any wedding photos yet?”

The entire table fell silent for a few seconds. Arun stiffened. Meera managed a smile: “Ah… we had a small registration at the registrar’s, didn’t make much of a fuss, so there are only a few photos.”

That smile made Arun shudder a little—it was strange, but it was hiding a deep secret. The relatives nodded, raised their glasses, and continued eating.

But in Arun’s heart, the fabricated story slowly became…more real than he thought. Every question, every answer, every glance—all made him feel as if he were a member of that family.

At the end of the meal, when everyone was full, Uncle patted Arun on the shoulder: “You’re a good man. Remember to be nice to Meera.”

Arun could only nod, unable to muster the courage to look directly at Meera. He was afraid he would no longer be able to distinguish between the fake and the real.

That afternoon, Meera’s relatives took a bus back to their hometown and gave them many instructions. When the bus left, Meera and Arun breathed a sigh of relief, as if they had just escaped from a long drama.

They stood quietly in front of the building’s gate. The wind blew gently, swaying some dry leaves. Both remained silent, until Meera bowed her head slightly:

“Thank you. If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know how to face this…”

Arun smiled awkwardly: “Nothing. I was just… acting out a play.” But as soon as he finished speaking, a strange emptiness filled his heart. Why was he missing that “role” so much?

Meera fell silent for a moment. Suddenly, her voice shook:

“It’s been over two years since my divorce. My relatives still think I have a happy marriage. I’m afraid they’ll be sad, disappointed. Today, I’m being selfish, dragging you into this.”

Arun looked at her. For the first time, he saw those eyes so delicate, so vulnerable that even a gust of wind could break them. He said softly:
“It’s not selfish. Everyone has things that are difficult to say. I understand.”

At that moment, a strange empathy blossomed between them. No more security guards, no more “fake wife-fake husband,” but two people searching for each other in solitude.

That afternoon, as Meera was packing her bags to leave, Arun called out:

“Hey… if you need someone in the future… to play this role again, call me.”

The words were half joking and half serious, but they made both their hearts beat faster. Meera turned and smiled lightly—a smile that was no longer artificial, but rather gentle and warm:

“Who knows… maybe this isn’t just a role.”

Arun watched her figure disappear outside the gate, a small ray of hope rising in his heart that permeated his quiet life.

The “fake husband for a day” story seemed like a mere coincidence, but in the end, it opened a new door for both of them—one where they could no longer embark on a pretense, but a real journey.