With her diagnosis giving her months rather than years, Celeste finds herself facing a bucket list with one glaring unchecked item: experiencing true love. In a moment of desperation, she contacts James, whose escort service promises more than physical intimacy, it offers the illusion of romance. What begins as a transaction transforms into something neither expected, genuine feelings blossoming against impossible circumstances. Then again for Celeste, how do you fall in love knowing this will not end well?
Celeste sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the neat rows of post-it notes on her wall. Each one carried a small dream written in her careful handwriting.
See the northern lights.
Try scuba diving.
Kiss someone under fireworks.
See snow.
Bungee jump.
Backpack through Russia.
Most were ambitious, faraway things she knew she could never manage now.
But she circled one note in red that morning: Fall in love. At least once.
Her HDB flat in Toa Payoh was quiet, too quiet for a thirty-year-old who lived alone after her parents passed on. Most of her peers had already moved on, married, children, mortgages.
Celeste had buried herself in her work for so long that life had quietly slipped past her. She was a business analyst, good with numbers, better with data, but hopeless at living outside spreadsheets.
Now, she didn’t have the luxury of time.
She stood before the mirror, smoothing down her modest dress. It wasn’t flashy, but it gave her a softness she liked, something that might help her look less like the serious, bookish woman she had always been.
Her hair was neatly tied back, a few strands framing her pale face. She dabbed on lipstick, hesitated, then wiped it away.
Her phone buzzed. A message to confirm her appointment with one of the hottest and top male escort in Singapore.
James: 7pm at the J cafe Holland Village, corner table by the window.
Celeste exhaled. Her heart raced at the thought. She had never done anything remotely like this.
Engaging a professional escort? Her parents might just rise from the dead to slap her.
But when she discovered his profile online, it felt less scandalous and more… necessary.
His ad was different: not just photos of a perfect jawline or gym-toned arms, but words that promised connection, discretion, companionship.
She wasn’t looking for lust. She was looking for an echo of love, something she had never tasted.
…
James adjusted his top in the mirror of his River Valley apartment. His reflection stared back at him with the kind of confidence he had perfected over years in his trade.
At thirty-five, he was more than a pretty face for hire; he had learned how to read people, how to fill silences with charm, how to become whoever they needed.
The women who sought him out were usually lonely executives, tired wives, or tourists craving an adventure.
Most wanted the illusion, and James delivered it smoothly. He never asked why they called him, never pushed beyond the carefully drawn line. It was a business, after all. Of course, the money is good.
The sex, well, hits and misses. Afterall, you don’t always get a hot babe looking to sleep around, sometimes, it can be a old rich Auntie. As long as they pay, James will oblige.
Still, when he read Celeste’s request, something in her words had struck him.
“I don’t want a fling. I want a month. I want to remember what it feels like to belong to someone, even if it’s borrowed. Can you deliver something like that?”
He found himself rereading the message more than once.
There was no perfume of desperation in her tone,just a quiet yearning.
He almost declined.
A whole month? How much potential business will be lose out? What if the client is some crazy, degranged lady? What if she demanded sex every night?
Month-long bookings were rare and draining, he only does it for regulars, but something about her formality, her honesty, made him curious.
After some deliberation, James decided to change his top. Women are not the only one with wardrobe issues. It happens to a professional escort too.
He slipped into a tailored shirt, left the first two buttons open, and ran a hand through his dark, slightly tousled hair.
With practiced ease, he put on the mask,the easy grin, the slow confidence. But beneath it, he wondered what kind of woman asked for an entire month of love.
…
Holland Village is dead. High rent, coupled with changing consumer habits, most of the shops are shuttered. The cafe was empty too, perfect for Celeste. At least she don’t need to worry about meeting someone she knew.
Celeste arrived early, of course. She always did. She found the corner table by the window and ordered a chamomile tea, though her nerves made it difficult to take more than a sip.
She watched people pass by outside,the laughter of friends spilling out from the sole surviving tapas bar, a young couple sharing fries, a cyclist weaving carefully through the pedestrians.
Life seemed to swirl effortlessly for everyone else, while she sat still, clutching at the fragments she had left.
When the café door opened, she recognized him instantly. James carried himself with the kind of presence that turned heads without him trying. He was tall, broad-shouldered, but not in the intimidating way of gym rats.
His gait was relaxed, self-assured, as if he belonged anywhere he stepped. A man used to being observed.
Her throat tightened. For a second, she almost stood to leave. Her brain was screaming at her. She could not believe what the fuck she was thinking when she made the appointment.
But then he saw her, and his lips curved into a smile that seemed practiced, yes, but not unkind. He slid into the seat opposite her and gave her a smile she knew cost at least $10 base on his hourly rate.
…
James: You must be Celeste.
Celeste: And you must be… expensive.
Celeste blurted out unintentionally. For a thrifty woman that usually only orders 2 vege 1 meat at a Cai fan stall, paying James just to meet up seemed excessive.
James: haha, I prefer “worth the price.”
Celeste: mmm…ok… I don’t usually…ermm…fuck…i….i don’t usually do this.
James: Most of my clients don’t. That’s why I make it easy.
James leaned forward slightly, bringing himself closer to Celeste.
She flinched and sat back, her heart racing as she looked at him.
James : Tell me what you’re looking for.
Celeste hesitated. She glanced at the steam curling up from her teacup, then back at him.
Celeste: I mentioned in my message…i don’t want a single night…ermm…yeah…
James: Thirty days…is a long time Celeste… you should consider that carefully. That’s a premium package.
Celeste: I know. I’ve saved up. I want the full… boyfriend experience. The late-night suppers, the texts, the silly arguments over what to eat. Not just the… bedroom part.
James studied her carefully, trying to get a read on her before replying.
James: Most people want an escape, a fantasy, a fetish… not a month of… normal.
Celeste: Normal is the one thing I don’t have.
She mumbled it softly.The words slipped out before she could catch them. For a moment, her eyes clouded,like a shadow across the sun. She recovered quickly, forcing a small laugh.
James caught that but he did not say anything. A job, is a job.
Money, is money.
James: Alright. Thirty days. We start tomorrow?
Celeste: No…ermm…i want to…ermm…start immediately… Tonight. Life’s too short to wait.
James leaned back,intrigued.
From that brief interaction,he had picked up several vibes.
Desperation,loneliness & lust and something else he could not put his finger to. Typical of what women that engages him seeks.
Most clients hired James as an exit door from their reality, but Celeste seemed different. She wasn’t seeking an escape hatch,she was searching for an entrance.
Coming soon