Chapter 4: Chasing Truth, Choosing Each Other

It was my turn to staff the peer support office that week.

I sat at the front desk, twirling a pen, watching the clock. The hours dragged.

Near the end of my shift, a long-lost visitor showed up—Grant.

He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept in days. My heart skipped a beat.

He looked a little worn out. When he saw it was me, his expression didn’t change. “Can we talk?”

His voice was flat, but his eyes betrayed him.

I nodded.

I tried to play it cool, but my hands were shaking.

He sat across from me, slouched, looking utterly defeated. “I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t focus in class. I think about her all the time. It hurts so much.” My heart did a somersault. I fidgeted with my pen, pulse racing.

His words hit me like a punch. I swallowed, unsure what to say.

My heart skipped a beat.

I could feel my own chest tightening in sympathy.

He went on, “My roommate says I’m lovesick. I don’t know if that’s it—I just know I miss her. It hurts so much.”

He said it twice, and I couldn’t help but ask, “Why does it hurt?”

I wanted to understand, even if the answer scared me.

“She doesn’t miss me.”

His voice broke, and I felt my resolve slipping.

He said, “Whenever I realize that, it hurts.”

I blurted out, “How do you know she doesn’t—”

He looked up sharply, hope flaring in his eyes.

His whole demeanor changed in an instant. I knew I’d given myself away.

He asked, both shy and eager, “So does she?”

I muttered, “I don’t know.”

I looked away, cheeks burning.

Grant cleared his throat and continued, “I don’t know how to deal with this pain. My roommate says if you like someone, just go after them. But she won’t even let me chase her. I’m scared if I reach out, she’ll hate me even more.”

He looked so lost. I wanted to reach across the table and hug him.

He asked, “Does she hate me?”

I shook my head, unable to meet his eyes.

It was obvious he was using support as an excuse to get answers, but I’d already lost track of my role. I wasn’t being professional anymore.

I gave up and answered, “She doesn’t.”

I let my guard down, just this once.

Grant pushed further, “So does she like me?”

He leaned in, hope shining in his eyes.

I shot back, “Are you asking me or her?”

He grinned, shameless: “You and the girl I like are the same person.”

My face went red in an instant.

I buried my face in my hands, but he just laughed softly.

He kept pressing, “Do you like me?”

He waited, patient but eager.

I couldn’t resist his gaze. “A little.”

My voice was barely above a whisper, but it was enough.

He instantly perked up.

He sat up straight, all his gloom gone. The transformation was instant and kind of hilarious.

It was like someone had flipped a switch—he sat up straight, all his gloom gone, and announced, “I’m fine now! Support really works!”

I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling.

“….”

He was back to being Grant, not the client.

He looked so happy I couldn’t help but laugh.

He asked, “Emma, can we date now?”

He looked at me, hopeful and a little nervous.

Tired of being lied to, I asked, “Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”

I wanted to clear the air, once and for all.

Grant thought for a moment, then admitted, “When you rejected me, that post about buying cigarettes—I did that on purpose.”

He looked sheepish, but unapologetic.

“I wanted you to worry, to make you soften up.”

So it was never about jumping—it was all a setup.

I shook my head, half-amused, half-annoyed.

He asked nervously, “Do you still like me?”

He looked at me, anxious for my answer.

“Yeah.”

I echoed his words: “Because it’s you—that’s why I like you.”

He grinned, eyes shining.

“Even if you’re a schemer.”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

Grant broke into a goofy smile. After a while, he said, “I’m so happy.”

He looked at me like I’d just handed him the world.

“…You’re such a dork.”

I nudged him under the table, but I was smiling too.

After we started dating, Grant took me out to eat with his roommates. I braced myself for the usual new-couple awkwardness, but Grant was so excited it was kind of adorable.

He insisted on picking the restaurant, saying he wanted to show me off. I rolled my eyes, but secretly, I was excited.

I thought it was just the usual post-coupling dinner, but halfway through, I realized there was another agenda.

The conversation shifted, and I realized they were about to spill some tea.

One roommate said, “I found out who posted your client notes on the forum.”

He looked serious, glancing between Grant and me.

I looked at Grant for confirmation. There was a pause—I fiddled with my straw, nerves jangling—then he nodded, leaning in.

He nodded, leaning in. “He’s a forum admin.”

So that’s how all those hot threads kept disappearing.

It made sense now. I wondered how much else they’d covered up.

His roommate continued, “It was a senior from your department. I guess your professor asked her to help organize assignments.”

I frowned, piecing it together.

Another roommate added, “She did it because she likes Grant, you know?”

Grant shot him a look, then turned to me, “I swear, I had no idea who she was before this.”

He looked nervous, like he was waiting for me to get mad.

I nodded calmly.

I trusted him. That was enough.

Grant asked, “How do you want to handle it?”

He wanted my input, which I appreciated.

I thought for a moment. “Just apologize—to both of us. That’s enough.”

I didn’t want drama, just closure.

“Okay.”

He nodded, relieved.

After dinner, his roommates left us alone.

The restaurant was quiet, the lights dim. It felt intimate, almost romantic.

In the private room, Grant pulled my chair—and me—close, bracing his arms on either side of me, trapping me in.

He leaned in, voice low and teasing: “Aren’t you jealous?” I felt my face heat up, immediately looking away.

I was confused. “Huh?”

He said, “That senior likes me, and you don’t care?”

I raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh.

“What would caring look like?”

He pouted, looking almost hurt. “You should be jealous,” he said seriously.

I rolled my eyes, but I could feel my cheeks warming.

“But you make me feel so secure,” I argued.

It was true. I never doubted him, not for a second.

Like just now—when another girl liked him, he was more nervous than I was, eager to explain everything.

I gave him a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. “You’re a great boyfriend.”

He looked stunned, touched his lips, and said, “That works too.”

I laughed. “Ready to go, boyfriend?”

He still didn’t let go, gazing at me as he slowly said, “I want to kiss you.”

I tensed up.

My heart raced. I wasn’t used to this kind of directness.

Honestly, I preferred it when he just kissed me without warning. Announcing it like this made me nervous—I found myself gripping the edge of the chair.

He noticed, grinning.

In the end, he gently pried my hands free.

He rubbed my sore fingers, teasing, “You’re going to break the chair.”

I blushed. “It’s not that bad.”

He leaned in, whispering, “Next time, grab me,” he said. “I won’t break.” I could feel my face go bright red. God, he was so embarrassing sometimes.

I smacked his arm, but I was laughing.

“…You’re such a flirt.”

He winked, and I rolled my eyes, but my heart felt light.

By the time we got back to campus, it was late.

The campus was quiet, the streetlights casting long shadows. Grant’s hand was warm in mine.

Grant held my hand as we walked.

He squeezed my fingers, glancing at me every few steps.

People stared at him, at me, at our intertwined fingers.

I tried not to notice, but it was impossible to ignore.

A fallen leaf landed on my shoulder—he brushed it off and sighed, “This is great.”

His voice was soft, almost reverent.

“What is?”

He squeezed my hand. “Being able to hold your hand openly, walk you home, go to class together… It feels amazing.”

He looked so happy, I couldn’t help but smile.

“Did I make you feel wronged before?”

He shook his head. “Not at all,” he replied. “Back then, I didn’t have any right to.”

His words made my heart flutter.

“….”

He dug around in his pocket and pulled out another pink sheet of paper. I cocked an eyebrow, curiosity piqued—what now?

I asked, “From Casey?”

He nodded.

I unfolded it. In the drawing were me, him, Casey, and lots of other people gathered around a big cake.

The details were sweet—smiling faces, candles, balloons. I traced the lines with my finger.

I guessed it was from Casey’s birthday party.

Then I noticed a line of neat handwriting in the corner:

“Today, big brother and big sister got married. I’m so happy. Now big sister is my sister-in-law. I have a sister-in-law!”

I blushed. “Your caption is way off. Casey definitely wasn’t thinking that.”

Grant grinned, eyes sparkling. “But I am.”

His tone was so sincere it caught me off guard.

After all, we’d only just started dating.

I opened my mouth to protest, but he squeezed my hand again.

Sensing my hesitation, he said, “The moment I saw you, I was already picking out flower colors for our wedding.”

He added, “It’s your decision, no pressure.”

He said, “I just want you to know I’m serious.”

He looked at me, waiting for my answer.

“Okay.”

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me. Maybe I was ready to believe in a future with him.

I figured he’d heard people wondering how long it would take for him to lose interest or dump me.

He was trying to reassure me.

I squeezed his hand. “You really are a great boyfriend.”

He grinned, “I’ll be even better.”

He looked so proud, so hopeful, that I couldn’t help but believe him.

The future really is a beautiful thing.

Just thinking about it—about a future with him—makes me excited for what’s to come.

I glanced up at the stars, feeling something I hadn’t felt in a long time: hope.