Love On The Line

Maya

I was supposed to be packing for a date with destiny. Or at least that’s what Mom kept calling it. She even laid out three potential cocktail dresses and told me to 'imagine them with roses.' As if that made this easier. But all I could imagine was sitting under too-bright lights, faking smiles for a man I didn’t even know, competing with twenty other girls who probably knew exactly how to win him over.

I didn’t want a rose. I wanted a real chance at love. Or maybe just a quiet apartment, some takeout, and someone who laughed at the same dumb movies I did.

“I can’t do this,” I muttered, slumping onto my bed.

My suitcase was still half-empty, and my heart was in full protest mode. That’s when she walked in.

Sienna

Maya didn’t say anything at first. She just stared at the invitation, her hands shaking like it might explode.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered.

I didn’t flinch.

“Then I’ll do it.”

Her head snapped up.

“What?”

I shrugged, leaning against her bedroom doorframe like it wasn’t a big deal.

“You don’t want to go on The Bachelor. You’ve said it, what, a hundred times? You want something real, something quiet. So I’ll take your spot.”

Maya blinked, stunned.

“You’d really do that? For me?”

I gave her a smile, soft and easy.

“Of course I would. You’re my little sister. What are big sisters for, right?”

She hugged me like I was doing something noble.

And I let her believe it.

But later, when I’m alone in my room packing her — my — suitcase, I catch my own reflection in the mirror. I’m smiling. The kind of smile that doesn’t belong to someone who’s sacrificing anything.I tell myself I’m doing this for her. I almost believe it.

But the truth is… I’m doing this for me, too.

Maya

She said it like it was no big deal.

“You’re my little sister. What are big sisters for, right?”

Like going on national TV and pretending to be me wasn’t completely insane. Like dating a guy who thinks I’m me — not her — wouldn’t totally explode in her face. But Sienna just smiled, kissed the top of my head, and said she had it under control.

And somehow… I believed her.

Because Sienna always had it under control.

She was the storm and the calm. The kind of person who knew which fork to use at fancy dinners, what to say to win people over, and how to wear lip gloss without getting it stuck in her hair.

And me? I hated lip gloss. I hated cameras. I hated the idea of some stranger picking his “perfect match” from a lineup of spray-tanned hopefuls like we were dresses on a rack.

So yeah — I let her take my place.

I didn’t fight it.

Did that make me a coward? Maybe. But for the first time in weeks, I could actually breathe. Mom and Dad wouldn’t be thrilled when they found out — especially Mom. But Sienna said she’d handle it.

By 4 p.m., I was curled up on the couch with a blanket and a box of cereal, halfway through a documentary about coral reefs, when the front door burst open.

Not knocked.

Not rang.

Burst.

Mom’s heels clicked through the hallway like an oncoming army.

“Maya. Turn off the TV.”

I didn’t move.

She stepped into view with a tight smile and eyes that meant business. Behind her trailed a man in a crisp blazer holding a tablet — and a woman in sunglasses who didn’t even bother to take them off inside.

“I have wonderful news,” Mom said, voice bright like this was something I was supposed to be excited about.

I sat up slowly.

“Let me guess. They’re casting for The Bachelor: Summer House Edition, and I’m back in?”

Her smile twitched.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You already gave your sister that opportunity.”

I blinked.

“...Right. So?”

The woman in sunglasses finally spoke.

“We’re from Pop or Find Love. It’s a brand-new reality series. Think The Bachelor meets Pop Idol. You date. You sing. You compete.”

I stared.

Compete?

“You want me to sing?”

The man with the tablet nodded.

“You’re a natural pick. Great face. Great voice. Relatable. Your demo reel from that charity talent show went viral — over 80K shares. Didn’t your school chorus teacher say you had perfect pitch?”

“That was six years ago,” I muttered.

Mom’s voice sharpened.

“Maya, this is huge. It’s not just some silly dating show. This could launch your music career. You could be the next big thing.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it.

I didn’t want a music career.

I wanted to go to college. Study something real. Live quietly. Maybe write songs for myself and never show them to anyone.

But none of that mattered, did it?

Because somewhere along the line, I stopped being a daughter and started being a project. And the contract Mom slid across the coffee table didn’t ask what I wanted.

It only needed my signature.

Sienna

I tell her I’m doing it for her.

And maybe, at first, I believed that.

But as I curled my lashes in the mirror — the same mirror Maya and I used to crowd around before middle school dances — I saw it in my own eyes.

Excitement.

Not just nerves.

I was leaving for The Bachelor in less than two hours, and my heart wasn’t pounding with dread. It was thudding with something dangerously close to thrill.

I told Mom I was only volunteering so Maya wouldn’t have to. So the network would back off and stop cornering the daughter who never wanted the spotlight. I told Maya that, too. Because that’s what good big sisters do, right?

They protect.

They sacrifice.

They lie when necessary.

But the truth?

The truth is, I’ve always wondered what it would be like. The dresses, the attention, the cameras — the magic of it all. It’s ridiculous and over-the-top and so clearly not “real,” but even so…

There’s something intoxicating about being chosen.

And even more intoxicating about winning.

I dabbed concealer under my eyes, ignoring the faint pit in my stomach. Maya was probably still upstairs, pretending not to care. Pretending not to watch me go. She didn’t want this life. Never did.

But me?

I wanted to matter — in some bigger, flashier way. And if this is my chance, I’m not going to let it pass me by.

Even if I have to keep pretending it’s all for her.