Chapter 1: The Confession

The performance ended, and thunderous applause erupted from the audience.

The roar of the clapping felt electric, filling the old auditorium with that buzzing energy you only get at a big campus event. Lights were still warm on my cheeks as I stood there, stage-fright fizzling out in the excitement. Someone in the back waved a foam finger, and the smell of popcorn mixed with cheap perfume hung in the air. The sound of applause in a packed Midwestern university auditorium always had a way of making the world shrink and expand all at once—every face in the crowd looking up at you, every heart beating with yours for just a second.

A wealthy guy from school who’d been chasing me walked onto the stage, holding a massive bouquet of blazing red roses:

"Aubrey, I’m crazy about you. Will you be my girlfriend?"

The roses were so huge they looked a little ridiculous, petals practically glowing under the stage lights. His suit was expensive—probably Brooks Brothers, knowing Tyler. He was the kind of guy who always wore cologne to a morning class and never had a hair out of place. For a second, the whole room went still, waiting on my answer.

Immediately, the audience broke out into a chorus of encouragement.

"Say yes, say yes..."

It was like a pep rally—half my sorority sisters chanting from the third row, a couple of guys from the basketball team banging the backs of their seats. The pressure in the air was thick as molasses, and I could feel my ears getting hot.

I turned to look at the very back of the auditorium, where someone was watching the heartfelt confession on stage with a completely indifferent expression.

In the shadows by the exit doors, Caleb Carter stood apart from the crowd. He wore that same worn-out jacket he always did after work, mud still clinging to his boots. His posture was so stiff, you’d think he was carved from stone. Our eyes caught, and even from this distance, I could see the flicker of disappointment—or was it resignation?—before he turned away.

Our eyes met. He tugged at the corner of his lips, stood up, and was about to leave.

His expression was unreadable, a little tired, a little hardened. He looked like a man who’d already packed up his hopes and was ready to walk away before the world could let him down again. For a second, I felt my chest ache.

"No, I won’t. My boyfriend would get jealous if he saw."

The hush that followed was almost louder than the applause. My words hung in the air, freezing Tyler mid-smile, and the crowd’s anticipation sputtered out like a candle blown by the wind. I could feel my heart thumping as I stepped off my mark.

I didn’t even glance at the bouquet. I lifted my dress and turned to step off the stage.

The roses stayed untouched, and my heels tapped on the wood as I moved. I could almost hear people whispering, phones snapping pictures. All the theater’s lights seemed to follow me as I went.

For a moment, all eyes followed my every move.

It was that rare moment where time slows, and you feel everyone’s gaze like heat on your skin. I straightened my spine, gave my hair a little toss—if they wanted a show, I’d give them one. Someone in the front row let out a low whistle, and I caught my reflection in a stray smartphone lens: head held high, not a single tear.

I gathered up my dress and hurried forward, grabbing Caleb’s arm in one swift motion.

My palm was slick with sweat as I reached for him, half-afraid he’d shake me off. My fingers curled around his forearm, the roughness of his work-worn skin a shock against the silk. The bright stage lights gave way to the cool dimness near the back, and my heart pounded as I squeezed his arm a little tighter, daring him to pull away.

Caleb’s body stiffened, but he didn’t turn around.

I could see the muscles tense beneath his faded Carhartt shirt. He always looked so much bigger up close, like he’d been built for hard labor, not quiet heartbreak. I felt my nails dig in a little.

"I haven’t changed yet. If your classmates see us, they’ll laugh at you."

His voice was barely above a whisper, but I could feel the warning in it. He kept his gaze fixed somewhere over my head, like if he didn’t look at me, I’d vanish. The self-consciousness in his words made my heart twist—he was thinking about what people would say, not for his sake, but for mine.

I clung to his hand, feeling a little hurt, and mumbled softly:

"But I dressed up so nicely just for you. Don’t you want to look at me?"

My voice trembled just a bit, and I stared up at him through my lashes, searching his face for any hint of warmth. The silk of my dress felt suddenly cold against my skin. There was a lump in my throat that wouldn’t go away.

A long silence.

Caleb slowly turned around. He was wearing a cheap set of work clothes, even stained with spots of mud.

He looked so out of place among the clusters of students in designer sneakers and Letterman jackets. I could smell the faint mix of sawdust and sweat clinging to him, familiar and oddly comforting. He blinked, lips parted like he was about to say something, but nothing came.

The classmates all shot surprised glances our way, clearly not expecting the campus queen to have such a boyfriend.

Somebody gasped; another girl elbowed her friend. I saw someone’s phone raised, no doubt catching this for their Snap story. The room seemed to hum with disbelief and gossip, the kind that would have my name on everyone’s lips by Monday.

His back was straight, his voice tinged with helplessness:

"Let go. My hands are dirty."

He held his palms up, callused and rough, smudged with the grime of honest work. I saw a flicker of embarrassment in his eyes, as if he wished he could make himself invisible. Even now, he was thinking of how others would judge me for holding on to him.

These hands were covered in calluses, rough to the touch, completely at odds with his handsome face.

I thought about all the times he’d built things for me—a bookshelf for my dorm, a coffee table when I wanted one just like the ones in the magazines. His fingers looked battered, but they were steady, capable. I wanted to tell him that mattered more than soft skin.

I looked up at him and smiled:

"No, you’re not dirty at all."

I said it louder this time, almost daring anyone nearby to argue. I smiled, wide and unapologetic, squeezing his arm for emphasis. A few jaws dropped. Let them stare.

I shook his arm, acting spoiled. "I just crushed it up there and you’re not even gonna give me a hug? Rude."

I let a teasing note slip into my voice, grinning at him in a way I hoped would make him forget where we were. The stage lights still reflected in my eyes, and my heart fluttered with anticipation. "C’mon, big guy," I whispered, knowing he’d hate the attention, but secretly hoping he’d cave.

"Quit messing around."

He tried to sound stern, but his eyes softened just a bit. His jaw worked as if he was fighting back a smile, even as his ears turned a little red.

Suddenly, I jumped up, threw my arms around his neck, and clung to him with my whole body, my two long, straight legs naturally wrapping around his waist.

I heard a collective gasp from the crowd—this was definitely going to be the talk of campus tomorrow. My heart hammered against his chest, my pulse wild. I breathed in the scent of him: sweat, soap, and that sharp, metallic tang of construction work.

Caleb froze for a moment, but instinctively reached out to cover the hem of my dress, carrying me quickly out of the venue.

He cradled me close, his hands strong and careful as he hurried through the doors. I could feel his embarrassment burning through his skin, but there was a stubborn protectiveness too. As we left, I heard whispers ripple through the crowd—a mix of envy, disbelief, and admiration. The night air hit us like a cool wave.

Hmph, he never says what he really means.

He always pretended to be indifferent, but I could feel his heart pounding just as hard as mine. Even if he didn’t say a word, his actions told me everything I needed to know. Sometimes, I thought, love sounded a lot like silence filled with meaning.

Caleb didn’t put me down until we reached the dorm building.

He set me down gently, hands lingering at my waist for just a second longer than necessary. The dorm’s fluorescent light flickered overhead, buzzing in the early spring night. I could hear someone’s playlist leaking out of a third-floor window—some pop song about heartbreak and summer.

Then, out of nowhere, he said,

"Why did you do that?"

His voice was low, wary, almost as if he was bracing for another letdown. The words hung in the humid air, and I could tell he wasn’t just asking about the public display—he meant everything. I hugged my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how cold the world felt when he wasn’t smiling.

The Aubrey from before wouldn’t even let him come to campus to see her, let alone hug him in public.

It was true—she’d always cared too much about appearances, worried more about Instagram likes than real feelings. I wondered how much of that had been me, and how much was just fear. Maybe I was tired of pretending.

"Aren’t you my boyfriend?"

I forced a playful pout, trying to coax a smile from him. I wanted him to know I was done hiding him away, done living for everyone else’s approval. In my head, I promised myself: this time, I’ll do better.

Caleb stared at me, his eyes reflecting a look I couldn’t decipher. After a while, he smiled and said,

"Since you’re my girlfriend, then come with me somewhere."

His smile was small, cautious, but it made something flutter in my chest. His hand found mine, and for a second, it was just the two of us—no crowd, no judgment, no past. I squeezed his fingers, letting hope bloom.

I braced for the inevitable flood of Snap stories and Instagram posts. By tomorrow, everyone would have an opinion about me.

Behind us, the crowd’s whispers grew sharper. I wondered if this was the start of something real—or just the beginning of a bigger mess.