Sunlit Vow
Chapter 12 – Sunlit Vow
By the time the campus stopped whispering, it wasn’t because the rumours died.
It was because the rumours ran out of oxygen.
Wei Ling and Mei Xuan became ordinary.
Not ordinary as in boring.
Ordinary as in inevitable.
They were the two girls people would see at the library café–Mei Xuan with her ruthless notes and her “don’t disturb me” face, Wei Ling with his quiet focus and his soft laugh that always slipped out whenever Mei Xuan pretended she wasn’t proud of him.
They were the two girls who walked in step through the courtyard, not holding hands when it was too bright, not hiding when it was safe.
They were the two girls who showed up at club events only long enough to prove they existed, then disappeared before anyone could corner them with too many questions.
They were the two girls who never over-explained.
Never defended.
Never begged for permission.
Mei Xuan had a talent for that.
For turning something fragile into something steady.
She didn’t fight the world head-on.
She just stopped letting the world decide what mattered.
And somewhere along the way, Wei Ling learned the same.
Wei Ling’s body changed in the way the sea changed a shoreline.
Not with one dramatic wave.
With repetition.
With time.
With the quiet insistence of tide.
His hair grew long enough to fall past his shoulders, heavy and glossy when it was clean, soft enough that Mei Xuan would sometimes run her fingers through it absentmindedly while reading, like petting a cat that pretended it didn’t want affection.
His waist narrowed.
His hips softened.
His chest became something he could no longer pretend was a trick of padding.
He didn’t need the old silicone forms anymore.
He didn’t even miss them.
That was the part that surprised him most.
There had been a time where those forms felt like the only way to be believable.
Now, believability was built into him.
Not perfect.
Not invincible.
But real enough that when a stranger said “kak,” Wei Ling didn’t feel like a criminal.
He felt like a person receiving a name.
The other changes were quieter–private, lived in the spaces he didn’t show the world.
Sometimes, when he looked down at himself in the bathroom mirror, he would feel that odd flicker of distance.
This body still carried a memory of “before.”
A shape that had shrunk under time, under chemistry, under the new softness.
A detail that no longer dominated his silhouette.
A detail he learned how to tuck and hide with such practiced ease that even Mei Xuan–sharp-eyed Mei Xuan–had once stared at him in the lingerie fitting room and said, half impressed, half smug:
“Wah. If I didn’t know you, I would think you got nothing.”
Wei Ling had nearly died of embarrassment.
Mei Xuan had laughed until she had tears in her eyes.
And Wei Ling–Wei Ling had laughed too.
Not because it wasn’t scary.
Because, for once, the scary thing didn’t own him.
Their “fame” arrived in small humiliations.
A girl in Wei Ling’s tutorial once whispered too loudly, “That’s Mei Xuan’s girlfriend, right?”
Wei Ling’s stomach dropped.
Mei Xuan didn’t even look up from her notes.
She only said, without expression, “Yes.”
The girl went red and shut up.
Wei Ling stared at Mei Xuan like she had just performed a miracle.
Mei Xuan glanced at him.
“What?”
Wei Ling swallowed.
“You… you just said it,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan shrugged.
“Why not?”
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
Mei Xuan’s gaze sharpened, softer underneath.
“You want me to pretend you not mine?” she asked.
Wei Ling’s face heated.
Mei Xuan smirked.
“Good,” she murmured. “Then stop panicking.”
Wei Ling tried.
He failed sometimes.
But he tried.
That became the rhythm of them.
Mei Xuan–steady.
Wei Ling–learning steadiness.
Together, they became something the campus recognized: a couple with quiet gravity, a WLW story people liked to tell because it made university feel romantic.
They never knew the deeper story.
They didn’t know the rented room where Wei Ling learned eyeliner like survival.
They didn’t know the fear.
The ache.
The confession that began as desperation and ended as truth.
All they saw was the result.
Two girls.
Two bodies.
Two kinds of confidence.
The night Mei Xuan asked the question, it wasn’t a dramatic moment.
No thunder.
No cinematic silence.
Just their room–by then, it was “their” room more often than not–dim, warm, the air thick with that familiar afterglow quiet.
Wei Ling lay on his side, cheek against Mei Xuan’s shoulder, his body still humming with the kind of softness he had once been terrified to want.
Mei Xuan’s fingers traced lazy circles on his back.
Then she spoke, voice low.
“Wei Ling.”
Wei Ling hummed.
Mei Xuan’s tone sharpened.
“Use your words.”
Wei Ling let out a breathy laugh.
“Yes?”
Mei Xuan’s fingers stilled.
“You ever think about removing it?” she asked.
Wei Ling went still.
Even after all this time, the question landed heavy.
Not because it was insulting.
Because it was real.
It acknowledged the part of him they had never pretended didn’t exist.
The part he hid.
The part he managed.
The part that still carried Chen Wei’s history like a scar.
Wei Ling swallowed.
He expected fear.
He didn’t feel fear first.
He felt… tenderness.
He turned his head slightly and looked at Mei Xuan.
Mei Xuan’s expression was serious.
Not demanding.
Not pushing.
Asking.
Wei Ling exhaled.
He shook his head.
“No,” he said.
Mei Xuan’s eyes searched his.
“Why?” she asked.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
He had a thousand messy reasons.
Malaysia.
Safety.
Money.
Future.
But the truest one wasn’t practical.
It was emotional.
“I want to keep it,” he said quietly.
Mei Xuan’s brows lifted.
Wei Ling swallowed.
“To remember,” he admitted. “What I once was.”
The sentence trembled on the way out.
Not shame.
Memory.
Mei Xuan stared at him for a long moment.
Then, unexpectedly, she nodded.
“Okay,” she said.
Wei Ling blinked.
Mei Xuan narrowed her eyes.
“Don’t blink,” she muttered.
Wei Ling laughed softly.
Mei Xuan’s hand returned to his back, slower now.
“You don’t have to erase your past to be real,” she said.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
He nodded.
Mei Xuan’s mouth curved faintly.
“Besides,” she added, voice turning dry again, “you already become enough girl until people forget to question.”
Wei Ling groaned, burying his face into her shoulder.
“Mei Xuan,” he mumbled.
Mei Xuan laughed.
Then she tilted his chin up.
Her gaze swept over him–hair long and loose, cheeks warm, lips softened, body curved in ways that still startled him sometimes.
“You like yourself now?” she asked.
Wei Ling swallowed.
“Yes,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan’s eyes sharpened.
“How much?”
Wei Ling exhaled.
“A lot,” he said.
Mei Xuan smirked.
“Good,” she murmured.
Wei Ling’s face heated.
He tried to deflect–because vulnerability still made him itch.
“You did this,” he accused weakly.
Mei Xuan lifted a brow.
“I did what?”
Wei Ling’s mouth ran before his pride could stop it.
“You made me like… all this,” he said, voice half complaint, half confession. “You make it feel too good. You know how to treat the body of a woman.”
Mei Xuan’s smile turned slow.
Satisfied.
“Ah,” she said, and leaned in close enough that her breath warmed his ear. “Now you blame me.”
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
Mei Xuan’s fingers slid up his spine.
“Say properly,” she murmured.
Wei Ling swallowed.
“I like it,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan’s eyes gleamed.
“Use your words,” she reminded.
Wei Ling let out a shaky breath.
“I like how you make me feel,” he said.
Mei Xuan’s expression softened for a fraction of a second.
Then she kissed him.
Slow.
Deliberate.
A kiss that didn’t ask permission to be gentle.
It simply was.
When she pulled back, her voice was quiet.
“You’re not addicted,” she murmured.
Wei Ling blinked.
Mei Xuan sighed. “Don’t blink.”
Then she continued, steadier:
“You’re just finally allowed.”
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
Allowed.
That word had followed him like a shadow since the beginning.
Allowed to exist.
Allowed to feel.
Allowed to be loved.
Mei Xuan pulled him into her arms.
“Sleep,” she whispered.
Wei Ling closed his eyes.
And for the first time, the past didn’t feel like a ghost.
It felt like a chapter.
Graduation arrived like a door slam.
Final presentations.
Final exams.
Final submissions that made Wei Ling’s hands cramp from typing.
Mei Xuan became a machine.
Wei Ling became surprisingly stubborn.
They studied late.
They argued.
They ordered too much delivery and told themselves it was “fuel.”
They held each other through stress until it softened.
And on the day the results came out, Mei Xuan stared at her screen, expression blank.
Wei Ling leaned over her shoulder.
He read it.
First Class.
Highest honours.
Both of them.
Wei Ling’s breath caught.
He looked at Mei Xuan.
Mei Xuan’s mouth twitched.
Then she exhaled.
“Okay,” she said.
Wei Ling blinked.
Mei Xuan glared. “Don’t blink.”
Wei Ling laughed–and this time, the laughter turned into tears.
Mei Xuan rolled her eyes like she was annoyed.
But she hugged him anyway.
Hard.
Real.
“You did it,” she murmured.
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
“So did you,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan scoffed.
“Obviously,” she said.
But her arms didn’t loosen.
They moved to Kuala Lumpur after.
Not for a grand reason.
For practicality.
More opportunities.
More anonymity.
Less campus gossip.
A small rented apartment that smelled like new paint and possibility.
They didn’t tell anyone they were “starting a life.”
They just… did.
Mei Xuan’s side of the family surprised Wei Ling.
Not with instant perfection.
With slow acceptance.
A boundary. A conversation. A sigh.
Then blessing.
As if love-first was their language too.
Wei Ling’s parents took longer.
Longer silences.
Longer questions.
Longer nights where Wei Ling stared at his phone with his stomach in knots.
But when the acceptance came, it came quietly.
Not with fireworks.
With one sentence.
A text from his mother.
If you’re safe, and you’re happy, come home and eat.
Wei Ling had stared at the message until his vision blurred.
Mei Xuan had read it over his shoulder.
Then she’d said, softly, “Good.”
And kissed his hair.
The beach trip was supposed to be a celebration.
A breath.
A pause before job hunting.
A last indulgence before adult life tried to swallow them.
They picked a place far enough from old eyes.
A stretch of sand where the sea looked like it had been poured from glass.
The sun was brutal.
The air smelled like salt and sunscreen and coconut.
Wei Ling stood in the hotel mirror tying the straps of his bikini with hands that didn’t shake.
That, more than anything, felt like proof.
The bikini was simple.
Not dramatic.
But it made the shape of him undeniable.
Long hair–now well past his shoulders–fell down his back like a curtain.
His waist was slim.
His curves were soft.
His chest filled the fabric without effort.
Wei Ling looked at himself and didn’t feel like he was impersonating.
He felt like he was arriving.
Mei Xuan stepped out of the bathroom adjusting her own bikini top, expression calm, eyes sharp.
She looked at Wei Ling.
Wei Ling’s stomach flipped.
Mei Xuan didn’t say “pretty” this time.
She didn’t need to.
Her gaze did it.
Then she smirked.
“You stare at yourself like you famous,” she said.
Wei Ling scoffed. “You also.”
Mei Xuan’s mouth curved.
“Of course,” she said.
They walked down toward the beach.
The moment their feet touched sand, Wei Ling felt it.
Stares.
Not hostile.
Not accusing.
Just… attention.
Two women.
Beautiful.
Confident.
Sunlit.
Wei Ling would have panicked in the past.
Now, he lifted his chin.
He walked beside Mei Xuan like he belonged to the day.
They found their spot–two lounge chairs under a parasol.
Mei Xuan dropped her bag.
Wei Ling spread the towel neatly.
They sat.
Mei Xuan took her sunglasses out and put them on like she was queen of the sea.
Wei Ling laughed.
Mei Xuan glanced at him.
“What?”
Wei Ling shook his head.
“Nothing,” he said.
Mei Xuan narrowed her eyes.
Wei Ling sighed.
“Okay. Something,” he admitted. “I just… can’t believe.”
“Can’t believe what?” Mei Xuan asked.
Wei Ling looked out at the water.
“That we’re here,” he said softly. “Like this.”
Mei Xuan hummed.
Then she said, almost casually, “We deserve.”
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
He turned to her.
Mei Xuan’s mouth curved faintly.
“And your parents,” Mei Xuan added, like she was filling a checklist. “They okay now?”
Wei Ling nodded.
“Yeah,” he said, voice thick. “They… accepted. Like–really accepted. I thought it would take forever.”
Mei Xuan’s lips curved.
“Good,” she said.
Wei Ling blinked.
Mei Xuan sighed. “Don’t blink.”
Wei Ling laughed.
Mei Xuan propped herself on one elbow, voice softening.
“My parents also,” she admitted. “They gave blessing.”
Wei Ling’s breath caught.
Mei Xuan looked away, annoyed at herself.
“They say… love-first,” she muttered. “But they warn me not to isolate from them.”
Wei Ling’s chest tightened.
“That’s fair,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan hummed.
Then she nudged his knee.
“After holiday, job hunting,” she said.
Wei Ling groaned. “Reality.”
Mei Xuan smirked. “Of course. But we do together.”
Wei Ling’s throat tightened.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan’s lips curved.
“Good boy,” she murmured out of habit.
Wei Ling choked on his laugh.
Mei Xuan pretended she didn’t do it.
They were interrupted by shadows.
Two men.
Tall.
Tanned.
Abs like they had been carved out of stubbornness.
The kind of handsome that belonged on gym posters.
Wei Ling felt Mei Xuan’s attention sharpen immediately.
The men smiled, confident.
“Hi,” one of them said in English, polite. “Sorry to disturb. Are you two single?”
Wei Ling’s first instinct was to panic.
Not because of danger.
Because it was absurd.
Because he was being hit on in a bikini under the sun like he had always been a girl.
He glanced at Mei Xuan.
Mei Xuan’s mouth twitched.
Wei Ling tried to keep a straight face.
He failed.
A small giggle escaped him.
Mei Xuan followed–quiet laughter like she was trying not to be rude.
The men looked slightly confused.
Wei Ling leaned toward Mei Xuan and whispered, “Wah. They hot.”
Mei Xuan’s eyes gleamed behind her sunglasses.
“Obviously,” she whispered back. “Six pack like that, must appreciate.”
Wei Ling bit his lip, trying not to laugh.
The men cleared their throat.
“Um–” the other one started, smiling uncertainly.
Mei Xuan lifted her chin.
“Sorry,” she said politely. “We’re together.”
Wei Ling nodded, still smiling.
Mei Xuan reached for his hand.
Wei Ling laced his fingers with hers.
The men blinked.
Then Mei Xuan did something that was both tender and wicked.
She tugged Wei Ling closer and kissed him.
Not a quick peck.
A kiss with intention.
A kiss that made the world narrow.
Wei Ling melted into it instinctively, hands tightening around Mei Xuan’s fingers.
The heat of the sun disappeared.
All he could feel was her.
When they finally pulled apart, Wei Ling and Mei Xuan looked at each other and burst into laughter.
The men stood there, stunned.
One of them let out a frustrated sigh.
“Ah… okay. Enjoy,” he grumbled, and they walked away, shaking their heads like they had been cheated by fate.
Wei Ling watched them go.
Then he turned back to Mei Xuan.
Mei Xuan lifted her sunglasses slightly.
Her eyes were bright.
“You enjoyed?” she asked.
Wei Ling’s cheeks were hot.
“Yes,” he admitted.
Mei Xuan smirked.
“Use your words properly,” she reminded.
Wei Ling swallowed.
“I enjoyed you kissing me like you own the beach,” he said.
Mei Xuan’s smile turned slow.
Satisfied.
“Good,” she murmured.
Wei Ling laughed.
He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
Mei Xuan rolled her eyes.
“Stop,” she muttered.
Wei Ling didn’t stop.
“I mean it,” he said softly. “For staying. For choosing. For… making me brave.”
Mei Xuan’s expression softened.
She looked away toward the sea, as if she hated how easily his words reached her.
Then she reached out and squeezed his hand.
“Okay,” she said.
Wei Ling blinked.
Mei Xuan sighed. “Don’t blink.”
Wei Ling laughed.
Mei Xuan leaned in and kissed his cheek.
A quieter kiss.
A private one.
Then she rested her head on his shoulder like it belonged there.
Wei Ling looked out at the water.
He thought about the kampung.
The bickering.
The heartbreak.
The lie.
The doors he had opened inside himself.
He thought about the boy he had been.
And the woman he was becoming.
He didn’t feel torn anymore.
He felt… layered.
And in Mei Xuan’s hand, he felt something that had once seemed impossible.
A future.
Not perfect.
Not safe in every way.
But real.
Wei Ling squeezed Mei Xuan’s fingers and whispered, so softly it was almost swallowed by the sound of waves:
“I love you.”
Mei Xuan didn’t answer immediately.
Then she turned her face into his neck and muttered, like she was annoyed at herself:
“Yeah. I know.”
Wei Ling laughed.
Mei Xuan pinched his thigh lightly.
Wei Ling yelped.
Mei Xuan smirked.
“Say again,” she demanded.
Wei Ling grinned.
“I love you,” he repeated.
Mei Xuan hummed, satisfied.
“Good,” she said.
And under the parasol, with the sea glittering like a promise, they lay back and let the sun warm the life they had fought–quietly, stubbornly–to build.