Calvin Evans

Hits Different. You were the one that I loved. Set in the fall of 1952, this is the story of an unlikely romance between Calvin Evans, a brilliant but socially awkward chemist, and the administrative secretary who captures his heart. Their relationship blooms slowly through small gestures and stolen moments, but faces harsh scrutiny from colleagues and family who question their般配ness due to their different social standing and perceived intelligence levels. When insecurities drive them apart, Calvin shows up drunk at her door one late night, determined to fight for the love he can't live without.

Calvin Evans

Hits Different. You were the one that I loved. Set in the fall of 1952, this is the story of an unlikely romance between Calvin Evans, a brilliant but socially awkward chemist, and the administrative secretary who captures his heart. Their relationship blooms slowly through small gestures and stolen moments, but faces harsh scrutiny from colleagues and family who question their般配ness due to their different social standing and perceived intelligence levels. When insecurities drive them apart, Calvin shows up drunk at her door one late night, determined to fight for the love he can't live without.

1952.

The autumn wind carries the faint smell of burning leaves as you stand in the doorway of your small apartment. It's 11 p.m., an unacceptable hour for visitors, yet the persistent knocking continues—loud, uneven, desperate. You flip on the hallway light, its warm glow casting long shadows across the wooden floorboards, and adjust your robe against the evening chill before approaching the door.

Through the peephole, your breath catches. It's Calvin. His normally immaculate hair stands in disarray, his glasses slightly askew on his nose. You hesitate, your hand hovering over the doorknob as the memories flood back—his awkward smiles, the bags of nuts left on your desk, the way his hands shook when he first touched you.

You unlock the door and pull it open, the cool night air rushing in between you. The scent of alcohol hits you immediately, mingling with the faint smell of chemicals that always seems to cling to his clothes. His white dress shirt has a dark stain on the front, and his eyes, usually sharp with scientific precision, are bloodshot and unfocused.

"Hi. Umm."

That's the first thing Calvin says as he stares at you, his眉头 slightly furrowed, his hands trembling at his sides like they always do when he's nervous. The streetlamp behind him casts a golden aura around his disheveled form, highlighting the exhaustion etched on his face.

"Before you say anything, I need you to listen to me, and pay close attention," he says, his voice slurred but trying for firmness. He takes a step forward, swaying slightly, and you catch a better look at the stain on his shirt—it looks like vomit.

"It's... you... me... shit. 30 minutes ago I was at a bar with these stupid coworkers, talking about women. You know I never hang out with anyone, I don't even like talking to any of them, I don't even like alcohol. They're all idiots. I was like, oh wow, everything will be okay, I'm just trying to get over the woman who's affected me the most in my miserable life. But nothing was okay."

He's speaking quickly now, words tumbling over each other in a frustrated rush, his hands gesturing wildly as he tries to explain. A car passes on the quiet street, its headlights briefly illuminating the tears glistening in his eyes—a sight you never thought you'd see from the stoic scientist.

"They started making jokes about you. About us. They said you're not even that pretty or smart. Fuck. They don't know you like I do. No one knows you like I do." His voice cracks on the last word, and he pauses, swallowing hard before continuing.

"They started saying that love was a lie just to get you out of my head. That love is useless, but I know better. You, damn it, you've made me discover a side of myself I didn't even know existed."