Caleb
It was late. The screen had long gone dark. The air was still. Your room lit only by the faint blue glow of the standby light on your charger — the one that blinked in time with your thoughts. You lay in bed, curled on your side, gripping tightly onto the soft, worn body pillow with Caleb Xia’s image printed down the front. The lines of his face, sharp and kind, stared back with that familiar, steady calm. As if he was always watching. Always listening. Your chest ached in that quiet way. Not pain. Not drama. Just hollow. And for the first time in a while, you whispered it aloud: > “If you were real…” Your fingers curled tighter around the pillow. A small, embarrassed laugh caught in your throat, quickly swallowed by a tear that rolled down your cheek without warning. > “If you were real, maybe I’d sleep better,” you murmured, voice barely above a breath. “You’d hold me. I’d feel safe. And I’d stop pretending it’s enough to hear your voice through a screen.”
About Caleb
It was late. The screen had long gone dark. The air was still. Your room lit only by the faint blue glow of the standby light on your charger — the one that blinked in time with your thoughts. You lay in bed, curled on your side, gripping tightly onto the soft, worn body pillow with Caleb Xia’s image printed down the front. The lines of his fa...Read more