Chapter 4: Flashbacks and Fake Dating
I blinked hard, making sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
Caleb secretly likes me?
And he’s my future husband?
A shiver ran down my spine, half excitement, half “am I on a hidden camera show?” So this isn’t the 19-year-old Caleb, but my husband Caleb who’s traveled back from the future?
Still reeling from this revelation, I was trying to process it when the comments rolled again:
[No way, Natalie has a boyfriend now. The male lead can only grit his teeth and deal.]
[I just know this guy’s not going to hold back like he did at nineteen.]
……
Dating?
I remembered—back then, that brat Tyler dated the belle of his department and got dumped.
Tyler, who always wore his baseball cap backward and had a way of turning every group project into a comedy sketch, had a flair for drama. Later, she invited him to her birthday party.
He spent a month’s allowance begging me to pretend to be his girlfriend, just to save face.
He even bought me a pumpkin spice latte every morning for a week. Not that he was short on cash—Tyler was just that annoying.
Every day, pestering me.
I finally caved and agreed.
What can I say? I’m a sucker for a lost cause.
Could it be Caleb saw us that day?
Just as I was cursing my childhood friend for dragging me into this, he sent me a message:
[Natalie, help, urgent]
I was about to reply when the back door of the classroom burst open.
Tyler, all sharp features and cocky attitude, grabbed my backpack with one hand and pulled me up with the other.
“Tyler, you—”
——Bang!
The chair slammed back, making a loud crash.
It cut me off and made Tyler freeze mid-step.
I looked back.
His silhouette filled the doorframe, rain dripping from his hair, every muscle wound tight. Caleb stood in the doorway, backlit, jaw clenched tight, eyes locked on Tyler’s hand gripping mine—his gaze full of heartbreak, pain, and longing.
His Adam’s apple bobbed. His voice was hoarse:
“Sorry, I got up too quickly. Did I scare you?”
Tyler, still pulling me, hurriedly replied:
“It’s fine, man, I get it, rushing to get out of class.”
The comments went wild:
[He’s really losing it now. Who cares about being a model student, or moral bottom lines, or playing it cool—I want my wife back!]
[Someone give him a Red Bull! This desperate husband is about to snap.]
[Natalie, don’t go! Natalie!]
I replayed the scene in my mind.
Why did Caleb look just like a desperate husband abandoned by his wife?
And, God, the tension in the room—you could cut it with a butter knife. I had to resist the urge to crack a joke just to lighten the mood.