Caleb’s POV
The acceptance letter arrived on a Wednesday.
I almost didn’t open it.
It had been sitting on my kitchen counter for hours, the envelope thick and heavy, like it carried the weight of my entire future inside. I had told myself I wasn’t scared. That whatever was inside didn’t define me. But my hands shook when I finally reached for it, tearing through the seal with one clean motion.
Clae University - College of Medicine
Congratulations, Caleb Torres.
I exhaled, gripping the letter tighter as the words blurred in front of me.
I got in.
A choked laugh left my throat. It sounded foreign, almost disbelieving. I actually got in.
Jiji was the first person I told.
She was sitting on my couch, flipping through some magazine, her feet propped up on my coffee table. When I walked in, still gripping the letter, she barely glanced up.
“You look like you just saw a ghost,” she said, flipping another page.
I tossed the letter onto her lap. “Read it.”
She frowned, picking it up. Her eyes scanned the page, her lips moving slightly as she read. Then—her head snapped up, her dark eyes wide. “Holy shit.”
I smirked. “Holy shit.”
“You got in?”
“I got in.”
A slow grin spread across her face. “Damn, Torres. Look at you.”
She tossed the letter onto the table and stood, crossing the room in two steps before throwing her arms around me. I stiffened at first—Jiji wasn’t the hugging type—but then I melted into it, breathing her in.
“Proud of you,” she murmured, squeezing me tight.
I swallowed hard. “Thanks, Jiji.”
The next few months were ours.
We spent the summer like we had all the time in the world. No deadlines, no expectations, no pressure to figure out what came next. Just us.
Jiji had a beach house hookup—some old friend who owed her a favor. So we packed up and left the city behind, trading streetlights and cigarette smoke for sunburns and salt air.
It was the kind of summer that didn’t feel real.
Lazy mornings tangled in sheets, her lips tracing patterns against my skin. Days spent in the ocean, the waves crashing against us, laughter mixing with the wind. Nights filled with too much tequila, her body pressed against mine as we danced in the dark, the rest of the world forgotten.
We didn’t talk about what came next.
Because we both knew.
When the summer ended, I was leaving.
One night, we were lying on the sand, staring at the stars. Jiji was tracing circles on my chest, her fingertips warm and familiar.
“You ready?” she asked softly.
I swallowed. “Yeah.”
Silence. Then—
“You’re gonna do good things, Torres.”
I turned my head to look at her. Her dark eyes were unreadable, her lips curved in a ghost of a smile.
I reached up, brushing her hair back. “You saved me, you know.”
She snorted. “Nah. You saved yourself.”
Maybe she was right.
But I wouldn’t have made it without her.
The goodbye wasn’t dramatic. No tears, no promises we knew we couldn’t keep.
Just one last night.
One last time.
Her nails digging into my skin. My name on her lips, breathless and desperate. Our bodies moving together like we were trying to make the moment last forever.
And then, just like that, it was over.
I packed my bags.
I left the beach behind.
And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was going somewhere.