That’s how it happened. Rushing at one p.m., I grabbed the wrong package.
Back in the dorm, I tore it open and found my carefully ordered earrings and hairpins replaced by a box of… well, very obvious stuff.
What the heck?
But more than that, I wanted to know who the package was addressed to — who’s name could make me make such a stupid mistake.
I looked closer and nearly laughed out loud.
The recipient’s name read: “NoWayHaha.”
Then I checked the phone number. It looked like the University card numbers we all have; the last two digits were both 03.
Ugh.
I was about to call the intended owner when I noticed every box had three words stamped on it: “XL Size.”
I couldn’t help but click my tongue. Well, this guy is, uh, well-endowed.
After a little commiseration with my roommates, I dialed the number on the slip.
A pleasant young guy answered — and his voice, for some reason, sounded a bit like my long-time crush, the underclassman.
I explained I’d accidentally grabbed his package and asked when I could return it.
There was a few seconds of silence, then he quietly asked, “You… didn’t open it, did you?”
I paused, and to dodge embarrassment I lied, “No. I was about to open it but then I noticed the name and called you right away.”
He sounded relieved. “Okay, meet me at the Campus Cafeteria east entrance in ten minutes.”
He even added politely, “Thanks.”
I assumed it was just a simple mix-up. I was wrong.
Ten minutes later I was standing by the cafeteria’s east gate, clutching the box I’d taped back together, staring, stunned, at the boy in front of me — the “XL Size” guy.
He was actually my long-time crush, Evan Parker — the underclassman!
Of course.
Evan is a year below me, a sophomore. Clean, bright, like a slender poplar tree — pretty in that unassuming, proper way.
I’d always bump into him on campus, but he gave off a “admire-from-afar” vibe; I’d never found the nerve to talk to him up close.
This might be the closest I’d ever been.
The box in my arms suddenly felt hot. “This is yours?” I asked, double-checking.
He glanced at the slip, nodded, mouth pressed in a small line. “Yes…”
Today he looked particularly handsome — a white tee, his black hair freshly trimmed at the sides, clean and neat.
We stood just a couple steps apart; the breeze brought a faint, pleasant scent from him — some light men’s cologne, really nice.
But then a pang hit me. If Evan already had a girlfriend and they were this intimate… my chest tightened.
I shoved the box toward him without thinking and blurted, sourly, “Well, then — wishes for you and your girlfriend.”
I deliberately emphasized “wishes,” making it sound pointed.
My underclassman has a girlfriend; my romantic dreams are over.
Evan paused, blinked for a couple seconds, then surprised me. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
No girlfriend?
I’d already forgotten the lie I’d told on the phone. “Then this whole box is…?” I said, pointing to the taped-up package.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead he asked, “You said… you didn’t open it, right?”
I hesitated, tried to change the subject. “That’s not important. You still haven’t answered my question.”
This time Evan was the one quiet. After a few seconds he rubbed the tip of his nose awkwardly. “I don’t really know how to explain… but it’s not what you think.”
I sat with that for a moment, then smiled inwardly. No girlfriend — that meant I still had a chance.
I’ve always believed in seizing opportunity, so I went on offense. “Sorry about taking your package. Let me make it up to you — dinner on me?”
Unexpectedly, Evan nodded and agreed.
He followed me into the cafeteria, cradling the box I’d opened and resealed. The cafeteria was a little empty; I kept telling myself to be bold and subtly closed the distance between us.
Evan didn’t seem to notice. Even when my sleeve brushed his arm, he just held the box quietly, no reaction.
I chickened out and pulled back.
We finally decided on the cafeteria’s new pickled fish dish.
At the table, while we waited for food, Evan stared at his phone and I pretended to do the same but kept sneaking glances.
He had that youthful boyishness — clean, clear, and striking. The more I looked, the more the world felt kinder.
Maybe sensing my gaze, Evan looked a little nervous; he held his phone in one hand and rubbed at his fingertip.
I found myself looking at his hands. Long, neat fingers, well-kept nails — no dirt under them, nothing untidy. Even his pinky nails weren’t long.
No wonder I liked him. Every tiny detail fit my taste.
He suddenly lifted his head and our eyes met. To smooth the moment, I pretended I didn’t know him and asked, “Which year are you?”
He answered earnestly, “I’m Evan Parker, a sophomore.”
I already knew that. I know he’s born September 29 (Libra), likes sour and sweet flavors. But I played along. “Oh! I’m a year older — Senior (Claire).”
He didn’t look surprised. “And what’s your name?”
“Claire Bennett.”
I worried my name was too plain to remember, but he smiled. “Nice name. It suits you — sweet.”
Sweet?
I froze, then my heart raced.
He called me sweet.
He must be trying to flirt.
Riding that bold, ridiculous excitement, I added Evan on social and probed a bit about his past.
He truly seemed spotless — in appearance, his social feed, and his love history. He said he’d only dated once and that it ended cleanly.
A gem of a guy.
But the evening kept offering surprises.
While I was mentally debating what kind of girls Evan might like, another guy came over and clapped a hand on Evan’s shoulder. “I forgot my key. Is anyone in the Dormitory? Do you have a key?”
Evan took out his keys and handed them over. The other guy saw the large taped box on the table and grinned. “Oh, that’s here already? I’ll tell Mason and the others to come back early tonight and we’ll… use it.”
Use it?
It took me a long beat to realize — Evan hadn’t said he had no girlfriend; he hadn’t said he didn’t have a boyfriend either.
I spent a few seconds letting that shocking truth sink in, then — I ran.
I was pathetic. I couldn’t accept it. The sweet, pure underclassman I’d crushed on had different romantic preferences — and apparently not exclusive to one man.
My youthful fantasies weren’t just over; they’d collapsed.
I walked so fast I felt like I was doing a racewalk from high school.
Back in the Dormitory, I kicked off my shoes, dove under the covers, buried my head. What a shocking, painful day.
I never thought I’d find such gossip about my crush — and such explosive gossip at that. A few minutes later my phone buzzed.
It was Evan. I hesitated and let the call go to voicemail. I couldn’t face him, not now… then a message came through.
“Claire, I don’t know how to explain. It’s not what you think. A few words won’t do — can I take you to dinner tonight and explain the whole thing?”
I fidgeted. I pulled a coin from my pocket, telling myself that if it landed heads I’d go.
When the coin landed with the floral side up, I immediately flipped it and typed back, “Okay. Send me the address.”
No one really lets a coin decide, but at that instant I realized what I wanted.
I still had one class that afternoon. After class I rushed to the Dormitory, showered, put on makeup, and changed into a white dress. I figured Evan was the kind of cool, untouchable type; I wanted to look a little ethereal to match him.
He’d chosen a neighborhood bistro on the street outside the University. We were seated in the third private room on the left upstairs.
When I opened the door, there he was. I was surprised to see him leaned back, a half-smoked cigarette between his fingertips.
I’d been watching him so long and I never knew — Evan smoked.
He looked up when the door opened. Seeing me, he instinctively stubbed the cigarette out and started coughing like the smoke had hit him.
He stood and waved the lingering smoke away, then pulled out a chair for me. “Sorry I’m a bit late. I thought you might be hungry, so I ordered a few things. Tell me if it’s not to your taste, I’ll add more.”
He handed me the menu. Honestly, I felt flattered. Five dishes and a soup were already on the table — too much for two.
“Don’t bother,” I said, closing the menu and propping my chin on my hand. “So, you really aren’t…?”
I was way too curious.
All afternoon I ran through every possibility and couldn’t guess it. If it wasn’t what I’d imagined, then what the hell was it?
Bought for a roommate?
Then why did his roommate say, "We’ll use it up together tonight"?
That kind of predatory line… I stared at Evan, waiting for his answer.
His pale face flushed in an instant.
He looked away and stammered, "There really isn’t anything to it. My bunkmate saw a video online saying you can blow this thing up like a balloon and fill it with water to make it huge. We were just curious, so we bought one to try it…"
Honestly, I was stunned.
I’d considered everything, but I never expected such a childish truth.
"Really?"
Evan sat up straight, looking so earnest it was hard not to believe him. "Really."
He rubbed his nose, the suspicious blush still there. "It’s just… boys being immature and gross. Don’t read into it…"
Me… fine, I wouldn’t read into it.
I kind of wanted to laugh, and honestly, he was getting more adorable by the minute.
And knowing he didn’t have some bizarre fetish, I finally relaxed completely.
Words practically escaped my mouth without thinking. "So… you’re not XL size then?"
At that, Evan blushed even harder.
This underclassman, a year below me, looked so cute with those rosy cheeks—he reminded me of a spoiled British Shorthair cat I used to have.
I wanted to ruffle his hair.
After fumbling for a bit, he suddenly spoke, voice so low I could barely hear: "I—I think I’m about the same…"
My eyes lit up. Huh, the underclassman was pretty confident.
The next two days, Evan and I barely made any progress.
We exchanged a few morning and night messages, and that was it. I tried a few times to start a conversation but ran out of things to say and gave up.
A week later, my roommate dragged me to register for the swim team—and I ran into Evan.
Wearing… swim trunks.
Guilty as charged, I couldn’t help sneaking a look and my chest tightened.
Damn.
Turns out the underclassman’s confidence had some merit.
It was too embarrassing to stare, so I quickly looked away.
Since Evan was there, I decided not to bail like I’d planned.
As the saying goes, close to the water, get the moon first—plus, swimsuits are worn in the water.
I was reasonably confident about my figure.
Slim waist, long legs, perky—strutting across the pool in a swimsuit would be doing myself a favor.
But I’d barely changed into my suit and before I could go show off, I fell into the pool.
The pool deck was crowded. Someone bumped my left shoulder hard as they walked by.
I didn’t even have time to react before I plunged headfirst into the deep end.
And the worst part—I can’t swim.
The moment I hit the water, my mind went blank. I thrashed instinctively, and amid the panic I heard another splash and sensed another person nearby.
The face looked a little like Evan’s.
He swam over fast and grabbed me.
In an emergency, the will to survive is fierce. I had no time to think; I wrapped my legs around whoever was in front of me and clung to their neck.
I swear I didn’t know who it was—this was pure instinct, not any opportunistic thought.
But instinct didn’t seem to be mine alone.
He struggled, carrying me to the shallow end, then pulled us up to sit on the deck.
I remained frozen in that clingy position, brain still foggy, and felt something off. I turned my head and relaxed when I saw who it was.
It was Evan—except his face was beet-red, even his earlobes were flushed.
I had a pretty good idea why.
I stared for a second, then leaned close to his ear and whispered, "Underclassman, you’re poking me…"
Starlit Secrets and Quiet Crushes
He stiffened, ears blazing. "S-sorry, Senior."
He apologetically said it like a dork, then helped me up onto the deck.
The deck instantly filled with murmurs.
I realized Evan's reaction had made a scene and everyone saw.
His pale face immediately went a deeper red.
He glanced at me, eyes pleading, "Senior…"
I got it.
This was awkward—obviously I had to help.
Putting on a martyrly expression, I said, "It's fine, I'll cover for you," and deliberately shifted to shield him as much as I could.
Instead, he bent over and set me down, then darted off.
He ran!
Before he left he shouted back, "Sorry, Senior. I need to calm down."
When we met again he had come out of the changing room, dressed in a white shirt and black pants—classic black-and-white.
Still, I couldn't help glancing.
Luckily, nothing weird was visible.
Maybe my look had been obvious—when I looked up, Evan's expression tightened.
Thin-skinned, he nodded in greeting and headed out.
My roommate Maya sighed beside me, "Your underclassman is hopeless."
"Nah." I patted her on the butt. "Shyness means there's hope."
Remembering how red his ears got, a thought hit me—we might actually have a chance.
At the very least, he reacted to my body.
So for the next while, I went on the offensive.
Through a junior girl's introduction, I added one of Evan's roommates on social.
Yes—the same guy from the Campus Cafeteria.
By bringing breakfast and snacks, in a week I turned those guys into my wingmen.
Flattering people pays off. They praised me in front of Evan every day, trying to brainwash him into seeing how angelic and thoughtful his Senior was.
A week later I finally got my chance—
One of Evan's roommates had a birthday on a Saturday. They invited everyone to the Dormitory for a meal and covertly asked me to come.
Of course I went. Me + Evan + a bunch of wingmen—success seemed within reach.
I spent the whole afternoon getting ready—shower, makeup, and half an hour just choosing an outfit. With everyone's input I picked a simple but clever dress.
Before I left, my roommates coached me: "When you eat, you have to drink. Two beers and act drunk, got it? People say anything when they're drunk, and you can pretend later. Say it, do it, catch him!"
"Yeah—rough-and-ready, capture the underclassman."
"…" What kind of predatory lines were those?
When I arrived at the restaurant near school, Evan and the others were already in the private room.
It was a Sichuan place; six guys and two girls. The other girl was apparently the birthday boy Liam's long-pursued crush.
As I walked in everyone enthusiastically made room, and I ended up sitting right next to Evan.
He was quiet at first. When he finally looked at me, a flash of embarrassment crossed his eyes.
"Senior…" he said.
I nodded—he remembered the pool incident.
The restaurant was known for quick service; the food started arriving before I even warmed my seat.
We were seated at the pass, so every time a dish came, Evan tilted toward me and raised his hand as if to shield me.
I couldn't tell if he was protecting me from hot plates or just being a gentleman.
Of course there was alcohol. A case of beer was brought out, and without me asking, Evan's roommates poured me a glass in perfect unison.
I kept sneaking glances at Evan. He frowned, looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't.
Typical wingmen: besides Evan and the birthday boy sitting near the crush, the rest were working overtime to set me up—complimenting me while constantly toasting me.
I played coy, pretending to refuse, then feigned resignation and took two sips.
By the third cup, Evan couldn't stand it. He snatched the glass from my hand and downed it in one go.
When he finished, holding the empty glass with a frown, he said, "She's a girl. Why are you forcing her to drink?"
My brain zoomed in on the cup in his hand—he drank from the cup I had used. Did that mean we'd… sort of kissed indirectly?
After that, whenever someone tried to push me to drink, Evan stepped in and stopped them.
He didn't seem to have great tolerance, though. After six, seven beers his pale face started flushing.
Seeing him tipsy, the others stopped coercing and shot me meaningful looks.
They were thinking: the vibe is right. The rest is up to you.
While Evan turned to get more beer, I flashed him a subtle "OK" sign.
The table got louder. People laughed and joked while I watched Evan.
Honestly, he might be the best-looking guy I've ever seen.
Gentle features, perfect lips and teeth—the boyish charm.
I was staring when he suddenly turned his head and our eyes met.
My heart sped up. I pressed my lips together and asked quietly, "Underclassman, if another girl sat next to you, would you shield her from drinks too?"
He tilted his head, thinking seriously. "Yeah."
His answer was casual.
"Oh."
My mood dropped instantly.
So him protecting me and stopping the toasts wasn't special—it was just how he was raised?
But the gloom didn't last long. Evan's face suddenly leaned in toward me.
He appeared out of nowhere.
He startled me so badly my breath caught; I stared at his face, dazed. Evan had one hand braced on the edge of the table, leaning toward me. "Senior Claire jealous?"
I froze completely.
The face I'd quietly adored for so long was suddenly right there—so close I could see my reflection in his eyes.
He laughed softly, and my breathing went shallow.
My heart hammered.
"No… I'm not."
Just two words, stammered and broken.
Evan smiled lowly. He reached up, ruffled my hair in front of everyone, and said softly, "Of course not. Gentlemanliness depends on the person."
My heart was already a drum and I couldn't form a reply.
This was ridiculous. I was the one who had started teasing him first—how did my underclassman suddenly make a move and leave me flustered?
My mind went blank; I couldn't think of anything to say. I turned my face away, embarrassed, and took a sip from my glass to break the tension.
Evan mirrored me and picked up his glass. One of his roommates saw and my wingmen promptly began to egg us on. "Do a cup-clink!"
"Yeah, clink cups!"
Me: "…"
It was cheesy, but the thought of doing it with my underclassman made my pulse speed up again.
I glanced at him. The same boy who'd been so forward earlier now looked oddly stiff, holding his bottle with flushed ears.
Feeling protective, I tried to diffuse it. "Forget it, who even does clinking cups anymore—"
But before I could finish, a bottle was handed to me. Long, slender fingers. I looked up in surprise and saw Evan loop his arm through mine and slide a chair closer with his free hand.
It was the clinking-cup move, after all.
So amid the teasing, Evan and I did clink bottles. Corny? Absolutely. But my heart was racing the whole time.
After dinner, one of Evan's roommates suggested switching to the Karaoke Lounge. When people asked Evan, he glanced at me as if without thinking.
"Senior Claire coming?"
I teased on purpose. "What if I don't?"
Evan nodded. "Then I won't."
I couldn't help smiling, then changed my mind. "Actually, I will."
He turned his head coolly. "I'll go too."
My wingmen cheered. "Ooo, you two showing PDA!"
After that clinked cup, something unspoken shifted between Evan and me.
Ambiguity. Flirting that felt dangerously like love.
We left the Sichuan place and hailed cabs together. The sky darkened and the breeze had a bite. I hugged my coat tighter, and suddenly a warmth settled over my shoulders.
Evan's jacket—still carrying his warmth and that familiar, faint men's cologne.
I looked up at him; he wasn't looking at me. "Put it on. Don't catch a cold," he said quietly.
I didn't answer. I wrapped the jacket closer.
We let the birthday boy Liam take the first cab with his crush and two others. Four of us were left. Another taxi pulled up. Evan's roommates motioned and one hopped into the passenger seat, another slipped into the back.
Evan shot me a look and sat in the middle. The backseat was tight—the other roommate sprawled, taking up nearly half the space. Evan and I ended up squeezed together.
Out of modesty I leaned by the door, but when the taxi turned suddenly my head bumped the window with a muffled thud. Not painful, but embarrassing.
I heard Evan chuckle, and then an arm slipped behind my neck; a hand pressed gently against the glass. Evan's arm.
The taxi took a narrow side street under construction. With the bumps, our hands brushed. Evan frowned. "Why are your hands so cold?"
My heart skipped and I squeaked, "Mm."
I hoped he'd take my hand to warm it—but instead he tugged my jacket up a little. "Wrap it tight. We're almost there."
"…Okay."
I hid the small disappointment and stared out the window. The ride was short; soon we pulled up outside the Karaoke Lounge.
Inside the private room, our wingmen were delightfully considerate. They left two corners of the room for the four of us: Liam with his crush, and me with Evan.
We sat in the quiet corner without the song selector; two opened bottles sat on the coffee table. I didn't actually like beer—everything tasted a little bitter—but these ambiguous moments called for liquid courage.
I picked up both bottles, holding one and handing the other to Evan. He took it and murmured thanks.
The others had already started singing—an enthusiastic, off-key chaos. No one was paying attention to our corner, so I gently tapped my bottle against his and asked in a low voice, "Evan, what kind of girl do you like?"
He didn't hear.
"Hmm?"
He leaned in; his warm breath tickled my ear. "What'd you say?"
Mustering courage, I mimicked his voice, whispering in his ear, "I said, what type of girl do you like?"
Nerves fluttered. Impatient, I blurted, "What about someone like—senior Claire?"
Evan froze. I waited breathless. Then he smiled. "Very much. But someone like you? I'm afraid I don't deserve that."
I was the stunned one now.
I stared at him for a long time. My reflection filled those dark eyes; he looked at me with an easy smile. Suddenly something clicked in my chest.
Wine loosened my courage. Before I knew it, I pushed him back against the wall and leaned in to kiss him.
We were about ten centimeters apart when he broke the moment. "They're all watching."
He said it with a smile; there was mischief in his eyes. My urgency cooled. I blushed and was about to sit up when he pulled me back. He grabbed the jacket he'd draped over me and lifted it, covering both of us with it.
Darkness swallowed us.
Smells sharpened—the faint familiar cologne made me inexplicably calm. Then he kissed me.
In that darkness my senses went haywire. I gripped his sleeve; his lips felt soft and tremulous.
Evan kissed me.
My mind blanked. I thought it would be a brief peck—but his mouth moved against mine, gentle at first, and then with a teasing pressure as his tongue coaxed mine open.
Everything magnified in the dark: breath, touch, the soft grind of lips. I clutched his shirt until my fingers cramped. It wasn't my first kiss, but it felt like the first all the same.
It went on. Long enough that I began to struggle for air; my hand loosened, and I pushed him lightly on the chest.
Evan quickly came to, let me go, and pulled the jacket off our heads. I realized I'd slipped into his arms while we kissed. My breath was ragged as dozens of eyes landed on us.
The room erupted in cheers. I flushed and, emboldened, squeezed Evan's hand and bellowed at them, "What are you looking at? Never seen a couple kissing before?"
They laughed and clapped. Evan met my eyes and smiled, not saying anything. There was a tipsy gleam in those eyes, a mix of alcohol and amusement.
Everyone split up to leave: Liam and his girl, Evan and me, and the other four single guys. That birthday party had turned two guys into couple-status that night.
Evan walked me back to the dorm. Riding a buzz, I took his hand and swung it playfully. He was about to hail a cab when I stopped him. "Wanna walk? It's not that far."
He hesitated, then nodded.
We watched as his roommates' cab and Liam's car went the other way.
"Where are they headed?" I asked, baffled. That was clearly the opposite direction to campus.
Evan smiled and said two words, "A hotel."
I choked on a laugh. "No way—"
Before I could say more, he tightened his hand around mine and said softly, "Don't worry. I won't be like him."
I froze.
I kept my lips pressed together; I couldn't bring myself to say what I felt. I nodded, pretending to be coy.
There's time. We can take this slow.
We walked under Evan's jacket, hand in hand, moving at an easy pace. Young love always makes simple things feel cinematic—walking together, catching a side profile you had longed over, your heart stuttering at the view.
It was good.
Time flew. Before I knew it we were at the campus gate. Evan walked me to the foot of the girls' dorm.
He let go. I tilted my head. "I'll go up now."
"Okay."
He smiled his easy smile; his gaze was warm. That simple "okay" left me oddly disappointed.
I forced a smile and started up the steps when I heard Evan's surprised whisper, low and urgent. "A shooting star!"
A shooting star?
I looked up without thinking. The sky was clear but the stars were few—there was no streak. I was about to tease him for seeing things when he suddenly leaned in close and I caught sight of his face mere inches from mine.
His warm lips brushed the corner of mine.
Evan Parker let out a soft laugh, mischief sparkling in his eyes like a kid who just pulled off a prank.
I froze for two seconds, then teased, “Evan, that move is way too cheesy.”
It’s the kinda thing you only see in old-school rom-coms from twenty years ago.
He didn’t care. He raised an eyebrow and said, “New tricks, old tricks — if they work, they’re good.”
Fine. He had a point… I was about to say more when Evan reached up and ruffled the hair on my head, murmuring, “Go on up. Good night.”
“Good night.”
The moon was beautiful tonight. It was our first kiss, and our first time saying good night to each other face-to-face.
Honestly, most people weren’t optimistic about what Evan and I had. My roommates, especially the guys, thought I was just after my underclassman’s body — that I wanted to play around and have a good time.
Part of that was true, but my feelings for him were real too.
Still, my relationship with Evan was steadier than anyone expected. He seemed like an almost-perfect boyfriend: no flirtations, always available, gentle and considerate. Even when I got inexplicably irritable during my period, he would just laugh softly and soothe me.
Slowly, my defenses melted.
If there were flaws, they were few. Evan was too reserved. Half a year into the relationship, our kisses were limited.
That night when he’d drunkenly thrown his jacket over my head and kissed me — it felt like a different person.
I started getting impatient. I pretended to be coy at first, but I couldn’t hold back. I decided to take matters into my own hands.
So, six and a half months into dating, one weekend I purposely asked Evan out to a movie.
It didn’t matter which movie. What mattered was my outfit: a super short skirt and black tights — my go-to. I was determined to get the quiet guy.
I chose a dead-time screening at a nearly empty theater.
Of course.
When we entered, there wasn’t a single person inside. The lights were off and only ads flickered on the big screen. Evan held my hand as we walked toward the back row.
Halfway there, I “twisted” my foot, let out a small cry, and fell into his arms.
Evan reacted so fast it felt instinctual — he caught me.
He grabbed my hand.
I frowned and shifted slightly, steering his wrist forward until his hand naturally landed on my waist.
That’s more like it… I leaned against his chest, feeling Evan go stiff in a flash. I said pitifully, “Evan, I think I twisted my ankle…”
This little plan had been carefully engineered, but I hadn’t predicted the ending.
The instant his palm pressed against my waist, before I could tease him further, his hand trembled and suddenly released.
Half my weight was resting on his hand; the moment he let go I tumbled to the floor.
My foot actually nearly rolled.
What the heck… Evan looked startled too. He snapped back to reality and hurried to help me up. “Senior Claire, are you okay?”
Yep — six months into dating and this guy still calls me “Senior” when he’s nervous. Straight-faced, no joke.
Sometimes it’s hard to reconcile the painfully reserved, tactless wood he can be with the same underclassman who grabbed me and kissed me senseless that night at karaoke.
I sighed and used his arm to haul myself up. “I’m fine. Let’s watch the movie.”
Plan failed, but the movie was good. It was moving — I ended up crying my eyes out.
I’d planned to lean on Evan for comfort and maybe get a kiss, but when I wiped my tears and looked up at him with watery eyes, he pulled a tissue from his pocket and dabbed my nose.
He wiped my nose!
My defenses totally collapsed.
The film ended. I dawdled behind Evan as we left the theater.
It was 10:20 p.m. Our dorm locked its doors at 11, and normally a cab from this theater to campus takes about half an hour. With traffic, it’s at least forty minutes.
We technically shouldn’t make it back in time.
Outside, Evan glanced at his watch and anxiously hailed a cab.
I cleared my throat and asked, trying to sound worried, “Evan, I don’t think we’ll make it…”
Before I finished, he flagged down a taxi. “Don’t worry, we’ll make it.”
He shoved me into the back seat and climbed in himself.
Of course, the cab hit traffic almost immediately.
I fished my phone out and glanced at the time, tugging on Evan’s sleeve. “Evan, we might not make it. If it’s impossible, we could just find a hotel tonight…”
“Don’t worry, we’ll make it.” He handed the driver a crisp bill. “Sir, we’re really running late. Can you take any shortcuts?”
The driver took the money without hesitation. “Don’t worry — I’ll get you there on time!”
And then we zipped through side streets, sped down alleys, and took every shortcut imaginable.
At 10:50, just as promised, the driver pulled up at the campus gate.
Evan was proud. He actually reached for my hand and walked quickly toward the dorms, whispering, “Sis, don’t worry — if we hurry, we’ll be in your room in five minutes.”
I forced a smile. “Okay.”
That was all I could say. He called me “Sweetie” with my roommates, “Senior” when he was nervous, and “Sis” when he was happy. When he said “Sis” in that soft voice, he was a little puppy-like — and it was cute.
Technically he was only half a year younger than me.
Thanks to Evan, I made it back before the dorm locked.
When I opened the door, my roommates were stunned. “You’re back? Did Evan mess up or are you just not hot enough?”
These girls were never subtle.
I closed the door and said, weakly, “Maybe… I’m just not pretty enough.”
They forced me to recount what happened, and the story ended in a chorus of laughs.
Then the six of us shut the door for a “strategy session”: Operation Get Evan.
Their conclusion? Take him on a trip.
Lan—our resident relationship expert—declared, “What’s better than a trip to win a guy over? A picture moment, a hotel room, a little wine…”
We agreed. We set a plan for travel over the upcoming holiday.
Everything went smoothly; Evan never refused a request of mine. When I said I wanted to travel over the holiday, he agreed at once and began planning.
I didn’t care where we went. Beautiful scenery is beautiful scenery. My aim was to secure the guy.
Soon enough, the holiday came, and Evan and I set off.
After a long day on the road, I finally waited for night.
I refused Evan’s hotel picks and spent a long time finding a privately owned little inn online — basically a tidy guesthouse.
When we arrived, I noticed Evan frown like he wanted to say something. Before he could, I sent him off. “Evan, I want the ice cream from that place. Go get me one, okay?” I tugged his sleeve, sounding almost coquettish.
“Okay,” he answered.
I added, “I’ll wait inside!”
While he bought ice cream, I slipped into the inn. With the lobby empty, I quietly handed the receptionist a bill. “Hey, help me out. When my boyfriend asks, tell him there’s only a couple’s room left.”
She looked puzzled, money in hand. “A couple’s room?”
I corrected myself, “A double bed room then. Just say there’s only one big bed room left — got it?”
Footsteps approached. Evan came in. The receptionist, quick on her feet, pocketed the money and acted normal. “Room for who?”
Evan answered straight-faced, “Two single rooms, please.”
“Sorry, sir, no single rooms left.”
He blinked and frowned. “Then… a twin room?”
He glanced at me for my opinion. I pretended to hesitate, then nodded, but I gave the receptionist a secret signal.
She played along and shook her head. “Sorry, there’s only one big bed room left.”
Evan frowned deeper. He took a step back like he might leave. I hurried, “Never mind. That one’s fine.”
I looked at him and made a show of tossing my arm. “I’m exhausted. Let’s stay here tonight and switch rooms tomorrow.”
He hesitated a few seconds, then agreed.
As we walked away, I looked back and the receptionist gave me a discreet thumbs-up.
If I can’t get Evan, call me Claire Backwards.
We entered the room.
My first impression: small guesthouses can be shady, and this one didn’t exactly impress. It was barely clean and far from comfortable.
Still, that wasn’t the point.
I glanced at Evan, trailing my eyes down from his face to his jaw, his Adam’s apple, his collarbones, and lower… I caught myself and stopped. No staring — that would be criminal.
Door closed, slippers on, I sat on the bed and watched him.
He seemed tense, fidgeting at the doorway, tugging his sleeves and fiddling with buttons, but refusing to move closer.
Honestly… I was a little nervous too.
But to win over my shy underclassman, I gave myself a pep talk and darted into the bathroom for a shower.
The guesthouse had a bit of atmosphere: the bathroom had frosted glass. You couldn’t see clearly from the outside, but the light showed blurred outlines through the glass.
I swallowed hard. This was humiliating. Did that mean Evan could see me even when I showered?
Heart racing with equal parts excitement and shame, I hurried through my shower.
But when I opened the door—Evan was already in the corner of the room, somehow positioned with his back to the bathroom like he was determined not to look. A living, breathing gentlemanly statue.
Wow. A real-life chivalrous act.
I took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the bed.
Hands on the mattress, body leaning back a touch, legs crossed—I tried to imitate a sultry pose I’d seen in dramas, feeling vaguely proud of myself.
Right—what I was wearing was the white bathrobe I’d brought.
“Evan…”
I called softly.
He obediently turned, then froze the moment he saw me.
Our eyes met.
He stared without blinking, and if I wasn’t imagining it, a sudden heat flared in his gaze.
He stood in the corner, Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Come here.”
And he actually came.
I was nervous too, but I swallowed and slowly lifted my leg a little. “Evan, my leg hurts…”
He furrowed his brow but still began to rub my calf obediently.
His hands were warm—his fingertips hot against my skin.
I tilted my chin. “Sit closer.”
He sat at the bedside and continued massaging my calf.
But—
All that gentlemanly act was for show.
Pretty soon his hands drifted from the original massage spot… naturally, effortlessly, like water finding its course.
The next morning I woke with puffy, red eyes and tears that wouldn’t fall.
The underclassman really hadn’t been lying—he was big. Just like that, Evan and I started what became a six-day “homebound” stretch.
Shameful as it is to admit, we barely left the room during those six days.
On the last day, I couldn’t take it anymore and dragged Evan out for a walk, also buying some local treats to mail to his roommates and my own.
At the post office, I suddenly remembered that box from before.
Funny enough, that misdelivered package had actually been the matchmaker for Evan and me. If we hadn’t picked up the wrong parcel by chance back then, I might still be nursing a one-sided crush.
After we left the post office, I took his hand and swung it as I asked casually, “Why did you use that delivery name back then?”
I used HaHaHaHaHa, he used NoWayHaha. What a twisted fate.
It was a throwaway question, but Evan reacted oddly. He froze, body tensing.
After a long beat, he replied slowly, “What if I told you… I did it on purpose? Would you believe me?”
On purpose?
I didn’t react at first.
He sighed and led me into a nearby ice cream shop.
We ordered two sundaes and sat by the window. Evan rubbed his nose. “The truth is, I’ve liked you for a long time, but I didn’t know how to get to know you. My roommates kept giving me ideas—one of them was to find out your delivery name and make ours similar.”
He took a bite of ice cream, then continued, “They dug up your name and dared me to change all the recipients on the room’s delivery addresses to that name. The plan was for me to ‘accidentally’ take your package so I could return it and use that as an excuse to meet you. But who would’ve thought…”
Who would’ve thought their dumb boredom and their big-player prank would cause me to take the wrong package.
Fate is a strange thing.
I was still a little stunned.
“So…” I blinked at him. “You really had a crush on me for a long time?”
Evan nodded, earnest and steady: “Absolutely.”
From what he’d said, I realized something else—my so-called wingmen weren’t on my side because of the breakfasts I’d bought them. They’d actually been helping Evan all along.
The whole time I’d thought I was the one making the first move, but secretly he’d been paying attention to me too.
Evan and I sat in the ice cream parlor and talked for a long time.
About lots of things.
Including the “coincidences” that had made me notice him again and again—they weren’t coincidences at all.
Evan wiped the melted ice cream from my lip with his fingertip, sounding rueful: “There aren’t that many coincidences in the world, Senior. I was just being deliberate.”
I pushed his hand away and pinched the back of his hand—not too hard. “If you liked me, why didn’t you say so? You made me pine after you for so long.”
He smiled and scratched his head. “I always felt a bit lacking in confidence around you.”
I liked that answer.
I nodded, trying not to smile too big. “Fair enough. After all, I’m pretty and my—”
Halfway through my teasing brag about my looks, I suddenly felt something off and clammed up.
When I jokingly mentioned my ‘figure,’ Evan’s eyes drifted lightly down toward my neck. They grew deeper, narrower. His Adam’s apple moved.
Oh no.
My stomach tightened—Evan’s slight frown and half-closed eyes meant he was getting worked up.
Sure enough.
He tapped on the table a few times, then took my hand. His palm was hot.
“Senior…”
When he got serious he liked to call me that.
“I think I’m getting… heated.”
He looked at me unflinchingly and deliberately emphasized the words “getting heated.”
My heart jumped and I grabbed a big spoonful of ice cream and shoved it at him: “Eat some ice, cool down.”
He obeyed, swallowing spoonful after spoonful until his sundae was licked clean.
But when the bowl was empty, he set down the spoon and tugged me out the door.
I blinked. “Where are we going?”
“Back to the room.”
His grip on my hand made it tremble. “Back to the room to do what…”
He pulled me into his arms and blew warm breath in my ear: “You.”
“…”
What a flirt!
(End)
