When it came to the possibility of “that thing” with Chu Ke Huan, I had rehearsed a hundred responses in my mind. Until today, I had always believed my answer would be “no.” I thought that holding onto this final boundary was a way to honor my engagement with Hao Yi. But the moment I kissed Chu Ke Huan first, that sense of honor had already crumbled to dust.
And now, I had gone a step further—I had created the choice myself, only to realize that this was never a multiple-choice question to begin with.
At this point, I was painfully aware of one truth: I wanted Chu Ke Huan. There was no point in resisting or denying it anymore. But the answer wasn’t as simple as a straightforward “yes,” because “that thing” wouldn’t be the end of desire. It was only the beginning.
Love Is.
“It’s making love,” I answered, looking at Chu Ke Huan.
I loved him. I was certain he loved me too. I believed that no matter the time or place, our souls would always gravitate toward each other—not because we were destined to spend our lives together or because we were objectively compatible, but because of the pure, magnetic pull between us. That was the most essential, and only, condition for love.
But even with such a beautiful spark and intention behind this love, there was still the inevitable but. He was getting married, and what I wanted was all of him. My ultimate desire was an undivided, exclusive connection with him—something I couldn’t share with anyone else. Every step we took together only intensified my longing to possess him entirely.
“Because the answer is making love, we have to stop now,” I said bitterly.
Chu Ke Huan didn’t reply. I could feel his gaze fixed on me, yet he remained as still as a statue.
I knew I was disappointing him, and I hated myself for it. His face was frozen, unreadable, and I scrambled to explain further, panicking under the weight of his silence. “It has nothing to do with my engagement or Hao Yi... It’s because I can’t guarantee I won’t lose control around you.”
“I understand,” he interrupted.
I froze, uncertain of what his “understand” meant.
“I know what you mean,” he said, his tone serious, his eyes devoid of any pretense. “Because my answer is the same—it’s making love.”
As the final syllable of “love” fell, I was stunned. I wanted to laugh, to tell him not to joke about this. He should’ve said that all he wanted was a simple, emotionless physical connection, and if I couldn’t handle it, we should walk away. But before I could say anything, he continued to elaborate on his answer.
“I want to make love with you—not because we’re running out of time before we each get married, not because I want one last reckless fling. I want to make love because you are you. You might not understand how important you are to me, but I need you to know that being with you has forced me to confront my truest self. And that honesty has made me whole. Do you know how terrifying that is? I feel like I can’t take it back anymore. You said you’re not confident you won’t lose control—do you think I am?”
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