The Choice To Change
Chapter 10 – The Choice to Change
Wei Ling started noticing the change in the mirror before he noticed it anywhere else.
Not the obvious change–there was no magic overnight, no sudden transformation. His face was still his face. His body was still his body.
But something about his eyes had shifted.
He used to look into a mirror like he was checking whether he was present.
Now, he looked as if he was waiting for someone to appear.
Wei Ling.
And when Wei Ling did appear–when the wig sat right, when the eyeliner wasn’t crooked, when the lip tint softened his mouth–his chest would loosen in a way that felt too intimate to be explained as strategy.
That looseness was dangerous.
Because it meant the disguise wasn’t only a disguise.
It was relief.
And relief had a habit of becoming need.
The campus rumours didn’t grow louder.
They grew closer.
They slid through corridors in whispers. They lived in the way people’s eyes lingered one beat too long, then snapped away like they hadn’t been staring.
Wei Ling could handle staring.
Staring was easy.
Staring was silent.
It was the questions that made his stomach turn.
One afternoon, after a lecture that left him half-dead, Wei Ling walked with Mei Xuan toward the cafeteria.
Mei Xuan’s hand brushed his wrist.
It was small.
Casual.
But Wei Ling felt his whole body react like it was being called.
He looked down at their hands.
Then up at Mei Xuan.
Mei Xuan didn’t look at him.
She kept walking like she didn’t care who saw.
That confidence did something to him.
It made him want to match her.
It also made him terrified.
A group of students passed them–two girls in oversized hoodies, giggling.
One of them glanced at Mei Xuan, then at Wei Ling.
The giggle turned into a whisper.
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
Mei Xuan’s hand tightened on his wrist.
Not a squeeze.
A reminder.
Stay.
Wei Ling swallowed.
By the time they reached the cafeteria, Wei Ling’s throat felt dry.
Mei Xuan bought drinks and slid one to him without asking.
Wei Ling took it with hands that were trying not to tremble.
Mei Xuan sat down, unbothered.
Wei Ling sat too.
He tried to breathe.
Mei Xuan took one sip, then looked at him.
“Why you so tense?” she asked.
Wei Ling forced a laugh.
“Nothing,” he lied.
Mei Xuan’s eyes narrowed.
“Wrong answer,” she said.
Wei Ling swallowed.
He looked down at his drink.
Then, quietly, he said, “People looking.”
Mei Xuan shrugged.
“Let them,” she said.
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
“It’s not that easy,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s gaze sharpened.
“Then explain,” she said.
Wei Ling hesitated.
He didn’t want to say it.
Because saying it would make it real.
Because saying it would admit what he had been trying to pretend was only background noise.
But Mei Xuan had made a rule.
No more pretending between them.
Wei Ling exhaled.
“I feel like… I’m going to be caught,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan’s expression stilled.
“Caught how?” she asked.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
Caught as a liar.
Caught as a boy.
Caught as someone who didn’t belong.
Caught by the world that loved boxes.
He stared at his hands.
“I don’t know,” he said, voice thin. “Just… caught.”
Mei Xuan watched him for a beat.
Then she reached across the table and hooked her finger under his.
A small touch.
Under the table.
Private.
“Look at me,” she said.
Wei Ling did.
Mei Xuan’s gaze was steady.
“You’re with me,” she said.
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
Mei Xuan’s voice lowered.
“And you’re not doing anything wrong by existing,” she added.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
Existing.
It sounded simple.
It had never felt simple.
Mei Xuan’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“But,” she said.
Wei Ling’s stomach tightened.
Mei Xuan continued.
“We still be smart,” she said. “Not because we ashamed. Because we not stupid.”
Wei Ling let out a shaky laugh.
Mei Xuan smirked faintly.
“Tonight,” she said, “you come my place. We talk properly.”
Wei Ling’s breath caught.
“Talk?”
Mei Xuan’s eyebrows lifted.
“You scared of talking now?”
Wei Ling muttered, “I’m not scared.”
Mei Xuan’s smirk deepened.
“Liar,” she said.
Wei Ling’s face heated.
Mei Xuan leaned back, satisfied.
“Good. Come.”
Wei Ling nodded.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s lips curved.
“Good boy,” she said casually, as if she was commenting on the weather.
Wei Ling almost choked on his drink.
Mei Xuan pretended not to notice.
But her eyes were amused.
That night, Mei Xuan didn’t start with kissing.
Which somehow made Wei Ling more nervous.
He arrived at her room as Wei Ling–wig, makeup, skirt, mask–because habit had become safety.
Mei Xuan opened the door, pulled him in, locked it.
Then she turned and looked at him like she was seeing him from the inside.
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
Mei Xuan gestured toward the bed.
“Sit,” she said.
Wei Ling obeyed.
Mei Xuan sat across from him on the chair, posture relaxed, eyes sharp.
It looked like an interrogation.
It felt like one.
Wei Ling swallowed.
Mei Xuan crossed her arms.
“Tell me,” she said.
Wei Ling blinked.
“What?”
Mei Xuan rolled her eyes.
“Don’t blink,” she said. Then, softer: “What you want.”
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
He had been asked that before.
In Chapter 8.
He had answered with the easiest thing.
I want you.
But Mei Xuan wasn’t asking for the easy answer.
She was asking for the truth that scared him.
Wei Ling stared at his hands.
“I don’t know,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan’s eyes narrowed.
“You do know,” she said. “You just scared to say.”
Wei Ling swallowed.
Mei Xuan leaned forward.
“Try,” she said.
Wei Ling’s heart hammered.
His mouth went dry.
Then, in a voice that felt like tearing skin, he said:
“I don’t want to go back.”
Mei Xuan went still.
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
He rushed, panicking.
“I mean– not like… I don’t want to be Chen Wei at all. I just–”
Mei Xuan lifted a hand.
“Stop,” she said, calm.
Wei Ling stopped.
Mei Xuan’s voice lowered.
“You don’t want to go back to choking,” she said.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
He nodded.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s gaze stayed on him.
Then she asked, quieter:
“You like being Wei Ling?”
Wei Ling’s stomach twisted.
The question felt like stepping onto thin ice.
He could lie.
He could soften it.
But Mei Xuan would hear the lie.
So he told the truth.
“Yes,” he said.
Mei Xuan’s expression softened slightly.
“How much?” she asked.
Wei Ling swallowed.
“A lot,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan exhaled slowly, like she’d been holding her breath.
“Okay,” she said.
Wei Ling blinked.
Mei Xuan sighed. “Don’t blink.”
Wei Ling’s laugh came out shaky.
Mei Xuan stood.
She walked over and sat beside him on the bed.
Her shoulder brushed his.
Wei Ling’s body reacted immediately.
Mei Xuan noticed.
A small smirk.
Then her voice turned serious.
“If you like being like this,” she said, “then we need plan.”
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
“Plan?”
Mei Xuan nodded.
“Not your old stupid plan,” she said. “A real one.”
Wei Ling swallowed.
Mei Xuan continued.
“How you want to live on campus. How you want to present. Who you trust. What you do if someone asks. What you do if someone threaten.”
Wei Ling’s stomach twisted.
Mei Xuan’s hand reached out and took his.
Warm.
Firm.
“Not to scare you,” she added. “To protect you.”
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
He nodded.
Mei Xuan’s gaze sharpened.
“And also,” she said, slower, “your body.”
Wei Ling froze.
Mei Xuan’s thumb traced his knuckles.
“You told me you feel good,” she said.
Wei Ling’s face heated.
Mei Xuan’s eyes narrowed.
“You told me you like being soft,” she continued.
Wei Ling swallowed.
Mei Xuan leaned closer.
“So what you want to do about it?” she asked.
Wei Ling stared.
He didn’t know.
He only knew the ache.
The relief.
The drift.
Mei Xuan watched him struggle.
Then she asked the question that made Wei Ling’s lungs stop.
“You ever think about hormones?”
Wei Ling froze.
The room went quiet.
The air-conditioning hummed.
Wei Ling stared at her.
“Hormones?” he echoed.
Mei Xuan nodded, calm.
“Estrogen,” she said.
The word landed heavy.
Wei Ling’s stomach turned.
Because estrogen wasn’t lipstick.
It wasn’t a wig.
It wasn’t something he could wipe off at night.
It was a door you couldn’t pretend was temporary.
Wei Ling swallowed.
“I… I don’t know,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s gaze stayed on him.
“I’m not telling you to do,” she said. “I’m asking if you think.”
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
He looked away.
In his mind, images flickered–soft curves, smoother skin, a body that matched the way he was starting to move through the world.
Then fear.
Family.
Future.
Malaysia.
The word danger.
He swallowed.
“It scares me,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan nodded.
“Good,” she said.
Wei Ling blinked.
Mei Xuan rolled her eyes. “Don’t blink.”
Then, softer:
“Being scared means you understand it’s real.”
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
Mei Xuan’s voice stayed steady.
“If you ever do,” she said, “you do it properly. Doctor. Blood test. Safe.”
Wei Ling stared.
Mei Xuan continued.
“No online nonsense,” she added. “No secret pills from strangers. You hear me?”
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan exhaled.
“Good,” she said.
She leaned in and kissed him.
Not hungry.
Grounding.
A kiss that said: I’m not pushing you off a cliff.
Wei Ling’s breath hitched.
Mei Xuan pulled back and studied him.
“Tell me,” she said. “Do you want your body to change?”
Wei Ling swallowed.
The answer lived in his skin.
In the relief he felt wearing skirts.
In the warmth he felt being called kak.
In the way his own hair growing made him feel proud.
In the afterglow that didn’t feel like shame.
He looked at Mei Xuan.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s eyes softened.
“Okay,” she said.
Wei Ling blinked.
Mei Xuan sighed. “Stop blinking.”
Wei Ling laughed, breathless.
Mei Xuan’s mouth curved.
“We don’t decide today,” she said. “We just… admit.”
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
Admit.
That word felt like a door opening.
Mei Xuan reached for her phone.
She scrolled.
Then she turned the screen toward Wei Ling.
On it was a list.
Not a clinic address.
Not a secret contact.
Just resources: student counselling, LGBTQ support accounts, a note that said talk to professional first.
Wei Ling stared.
“You already…” he began.
Mei Xuan shrugged, defensive.
“I’m not stupid,” she said. “I research.”
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
Mei Xuan’s gaze sharpened.
“You think I just kiss you and hope?” she asked.
Wei Ling swallowed.
“No,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan hummed, satisfied.
“Good.”
She put her phone down.
Then she leaned closer, voice dropping.
“And for now,” she added, “we can do small changes.”
Wei Ling’s heart kicked.
“Like what?”
Mei Xuan’s smirk returned.
“Hair,” she said. “Skincare. Clothes that fit you better. Maybe… body routine.”
Wei Ling’s face warmed.
Mei Xuan’s eyes gleamed.
“And if you want,” she said slowly, “I can help you pick things.”
Wei Ling swallowed.
He remembered the shopping trip.
The lip tint.
The word Nice.
His chest tightened.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan nodded.
“Good boy,” she said casually.
Wei Ling’s breath caught.
Mei Xuan laughed softly at his reaction.
Then she leaned in and kissed him again.
This time, the kiss was warmer.
More possessive.
Her hand slid to the back of his neck.
Wei Ling melted immediately.
Mei Xuan pulled back, eyes dark.
“You want to be held?” she asked.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
“Yes,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s smirk softened.
“Come,” she said.
She tugged him down onto the bed.
Wei Ling went willingly.
And the night that followed wasn’t about proving anything.
It wasn’t about a boy trying to become a girl for a girl.
It was about two people finding a rhythm that made them both feel powerful.
Mei Xuan led with steady confidence.
Wei Ling learned how to receive without guilt.
How to ask without shame.
How to say yes and mean it.
How to breathe.
The intimacy stayed adult, intense, and deliberate–more heat than hurry.
And when Wei Ling finally softened into that familiar, trembling quiet, Mei Xuan didn’t let him disappear into it alone.
She stayed.
She held him.
She pressed a kiss to his temple and whispered:
“You’re safe.”
After, with the room dim and their breaths slowing, Wei Ling lay with his head on Mei Xuan’s shoulder.
His body felt warm.
Heavy.
Soft.
His mind felt clear in a way it rarely did.
Mei Xuan’s fingers combed through his hair–real hair, not wig-hair–slow and soothing.
Wei Ling swallowed.
“Mei Xuan,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan hummed.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
“If I change,” he said quietly, “you still…?”
Mei Xuan cut him off, annoyed.
“Still what?”
Wei Ling looked at her.
“Still want me,” he finished.
Mei Xuan stared at him like he was slow.
Then she sighed.
“I already want you,” she said. “You think I only want one version?”
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
Mei Xuan’s voice softened slightly.
“I want the one who stops running,” she added.
Wei Ling’s chest ached.
He nodded.
Mei Xuan’s lips brushed his forehead.
“Sleep,” she murmured.
Wei Ling closed his eyes.
In the darkness, the question of hormones didn’t feel like a cliff anymore.
It felt like a road.
A road with warnings.
A road with risks.
A road that would change him.
But for the first time, Wei Ling could imagine walking it without hating himself.
Because he wasn’t walking alone.