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Lately, college life has felt like a chaotic disaster of change. Classes, people, emotions—everything keeps changing. But there’s one thing that’s always remained constant: your friendship with Caleb Xia. Calling it a friendship might even be too simple. One minute, he’s “gege,” your best friend, your person—the boy who’s always been by your side. And the next, he’s something you ache for in silence, someone you wish would finally see you for well, you know, you. Not as the little sister he’s vowed to protect.
Growing up together, Caleb treated you like you were the center of his universe. Gentle. Attentive. Practically princess treatment—opening doors, home-cooked meals, forehead kisses when you were sick, even holding your hand when you were anxious. But it’s hard to breathe under the weight of being permanently labeled “his girl” in every way except the one that matters.
He never flirts. Never dates. Yet the vein in his temple throbs every time another guy so much as glances your way. So, if this isn’t something more—than what the hell is it?
Tonight, you decided to test that question.
You were invited to a frat party. Caleb had protested, of course. Crossed arms, scowl, the whole nine yards. Was it out of jealousy? Possessiveness? Fear? Who knows. But you went anyway, mostly to just piss him off.
The party, unsurprisingly, sucked.
Sweaty bodies, cheap liquor, thumping music, and a sea of people looking to forget themselves in someone else’s arms. You pretended to have fun while nursing your concoction of who-knows-what, praying no one tried to dance with you.
Meanwhile, somewhere across campus, Caleb was losing it.
He tried to be rational. He tried to be calm. But every thought in his mind was enough to cause an emotional meltdown. What if someone touched you? What if you liked it? What if some asshole kissed you? What if you let him?
"Bro, chill," Gideon muttered from the couch, watching Caleb pace in his apartment. "She's a big girl."
"I am chill," Caleb snapped, putting on his shoes. “I’m just gonna go make sure that she's okay.”
And that was that.
He stormed into the party like a man on a mission, though slightly overwhelmed by the music and heat. His shoulders were tense, jew clenched, his eyes scanning the crowd. He could find you anywhere—always. And there you were. Talking to some guy. Smiling.
Absolutely not.
He shoved through the crowd, grabbing your arm before you even realized it was him.
“You must be insane,” he muttered low into your ear, “absolutely insane.”
“Caleb—?”
Then, without a beat, he hauled you up and over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.
“Caleb!” you yelped, flailing around in his grasp, your legs kicking. “What the hell are you doing?!”
“Taking you home,” he muttered, adjusting your skirt with one hand as he pushed through the crowd.
“But—”
“Don’t care.”
He didn’t look at you. Didn’t explain. Didn’t have to. Because the look in his eyes when he carried you out wasn’t just frustration. It was love. Neither of you knew what to do with your hidden emotions.
Not yet at least.
His grip tightened around your thighs as he carried you like a sack of potatoes, the irritation radiating off of him. You watched the world tilt and blue in an upside-down view, the harsh thud of his footsteps against the pavement. Caleb was angry—that much was obvious in the way his fingers curled a little too tight around your thighs.
“Put me down?” you murmured, more embarrassed now than defiant.
He exhaled sharply but listened, gently setting you down onto your feet. The silence that followed was thick as you walked side by side, it felt as though an invisible wall had settled between you.
“I told you not to go,” he said, his voice blunt, almost cold.
“I know,” you replied, crossing your arms. “But I don’t see the big deal. I’m grown. I can go where I want.”
That did it. He stopped mid-step, turning to face you with a flicker of irritation behind his eyes.
“It is a big deal,” he snapped. “That wasn’t your scene. It wasn’t safe. And you were clearly getting hit on.”
You scoffed, the defensiveness spilling out. “So what? Are you jealous or just trying to play the overprotective gege again? Make up your mind—”
“No,” he cut in sharply. “You don’t get it. Do you even understand how much restraint it takes for me to not do something that would ruin—ruin whatever this is?”
You froze.
He kept going, his voice lower now, but firm, almost in quiet desperation. “You mean the world to me. You always have. I’m not gonna stand by and watch you get swept up by some loser who doesn’t even know your favorite tea, let alone how you shut down when you’re overwhelmed. But I’m also not gonna be the guy who makes you hate him for pushing a line you weren’t ready for.”
“Why would I hate you, Caleb?”
His expression faltered, “Because… I don’t ever want to be the reason you walk away. If being your ‘gege’ means I get to stay in your life, then that’s what I’ll be. But if I try for more and lose you… I don’t think I could handle that.”
His shoulders dropped slightly. He looked less like the composed Caleb you always knew and more like the boy who used to help you with your math homework and carry your backpack when it was too heavy.
The street had quieted, everything felt still, like the world was holding its breath.
You stepped closer. “Caleb… maybe for starters, could you try seeing me for who I am now? Not the girl you grew up with but as the woman standing in front of you.”
He opened his mouth, likely to protest, but you cut him off with a firm finger against his chest.
“You want more. I want more. Let’s stop pretending this is platonic. It’s not. We’re already halfway over the edge. I’m not looking for someone else. I’ve already made up my mind. Now make up yours.”
He stood still, stunned by your words, not because he didn’t feel the same way, but because you finally said it first. That invisible tension, years of hesitation and close calls, all came to a head right there on that quiet sidewalk.
Then he moved.
Without a word, he reached for your arm and pulled you toward him, anchoring you to his chest. His other arm wrapped firmly around your waist. And then—without asking, without hesitating—he kissed you.
It was clumsy, inexperienced, lacking polish. But it was real.
His back met the cold wall behind him as one of his hands rose to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing against your skin. You kissed him back—softly at first, then with all the emotion you’d been bottling for years.
When he finally pulled away, his breath mingling with yours, he rested his forehead against yours.
“Please don’t regret this,” he whispered. “Please don’t regret us…”
You melted into him, the tension draining from your body. “I promise I won’t.”
He looked down as you lifted your hand and extended your pinky. His brows rose slightly, and a surprised smile played on his lips as his pinky curled around yours without hesitation.
“Really?” He murmured, smirking. “We’re sealing this with a pinky promise?”
You nodded. “Mhmmm, of course.”
And just like that—a new beginning.