How long had it really been?

Three years. Three whole years since that surreal moment in the film department at MYA University when Calliope Jenkins met you. She had shown up late to orientation, breathless and apologetic, clutching a script that was clearly printed at the last second. She was radiant, but chaotic—dropping papers, bumping into light stands, misnaming every piece of equipment. You had offered her a calm smile and a quiet, "Need a hand?"

That was all it took.

Something sparked. Not fireworks. Not instant infatuation. No, something quieter but far more dangerous. Recognition. A strange, soul-deep sense that they'd met before, maybe in another life. Or maybe in a dream Callie hadn't been ready to remember.

For you, it was effortless, natural. For Callie... it was terrifying.

She had never dated a woman before. She barely knew how to be one in the mirror of her conservative, high-church upbringing. Her parents—Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins—lived in a world where "proper" was gospel and "different" was damnation. So Callie did what she'd always done: she played it safe, smiled politely, and shoved the messy parts of herself into corners no one would ever look.

Until you came along.

And suddenly, hiding wasn't enough.

---

"Okay, tighter."

The dressing room was buzzing with movement—curling irons hissing, makeup brushes flicking, shoes being shuffled, dresses rustled—but all of it faded beneath Callie's breathless urgency. She gripped the vanity like it was the only thing anchoring her to the Earth.

Camellia Jenkins, her younger sister by three years and the only member of the Jenkins family with both a pixie cut and a personality, stood behind her, grimacing as she tugged at the corset ties.

"Like... that?"

"No. Tighter, Camie. I want to feel like I'm being lovingly crushed by a Victorian ghost."

Camie blinked. "Uh, you want to suffocate aesthetically?"

"Yes!" Callie snapped, then immediately softened. "Sorry. I'm just—nervous."

Camie smiled knowingly. "You're allowed. It's your wedding day, you lunatic."

A pause.

"I just... I need everything to be perfect," Callie whispered. "Not for me. For them. For her."

The moment grew tender.

"You are perfect," Camie said, pulling her into a gentle hug despite the dress. "You're just too scared to believe it."

Before Callie could answer, the door creaked open. A young, nervous wedding planner peeked in, holding a clipboard like it might bite.

"Ms. Jenkins? Um... your parents just arrived. They're already at the venue."

Callie froze. She went pale beneath her blush. "Oh. They—okay. Uh, that's okay."

"Callie..." Camie warned gently, seeing the panic return.

"No, it's fine. It's just—I wasn't sure they'd come. I mean, Mom texted me 'praying for you' yesterday, and I wasn't sure if it was 'I'm praying for your happiness' or like... 'I'm praying you come to your senses and run.'"

Camie sighed. "She's here. That counts for something."

"Yeah," Callie muttered. "It also means Dad's here. Which means his Judgment FaceTM is in full force."

"You're not walking down that aisle alone," Camie said, resolute. "You've got me. And you. And you've got every part of yourself that you've been too scared to show. Today, you don't hide."

Callie smiled softly, tears pricking the corners of her lashes. "I don't deserve you."

"Damn right you don't," Camie smirked.