Off The Record

Aaradhya isn't falling for a boy in a band. She's just writing an article.
Totally. Absolutely. Professionally.

After getting stuck with the school paper's fluff assignment, profiling a local garage band. Aaradhya figures she'll fake enthusiasm, follow them around, and get it over with. But then she meets Charlie Rivera.

What starts as reluctant journalism turns into late-night texts, deep conversations, and stolen glances under coffeeshop string lights. But the closer she gets to Charlie, the blurrier the line between "research" and real becomes. Not just in their relationship, but in her writing. Would Aspen appreciate intimate conversations ending up in the school newspaper? And is Aaradhya sure if she's writing a story... or falling into one.

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He taps his fingers on the table, that lazy rhythm syncing with the smirk tugging at his mouth.
"Why does it have to be real?" he asks, "You writing it for a Pulitzer, or for the people who sit next to you in the cafeteria?"

"I'm writing it for me." And so I can feel in control of my life again. But I don't say that part.

He leans in, his voice low but playful, "Yeah? You always this intense, or do I just bring it out of you?"

I scoff, but it comes out softer than I mean it to. I can't helping smiling when his boyish dimples peek out, "You think you're that special?"

Charlie grins, his knee brushing mine under the table, just enough to make my breath catch. "No," he says. "But you keep talking to me like I am."

I glance down, pretending to be caught up in stirring away the foam atop my drink, "I'm only talking to you because I need the story."

"Sure," he murmurs, tracing a small circle on the table with his thumb before letting it drift close to my wrist. "And if I give you really good material, do I get something in return?"

I peer up at him over the rim of my glasses.

"You get your name spelled right."