For a century, Calisto had endured the worst indignities a marble man could suffer. Rain stains. Graffiti doodles. Gum stuck to his pedestal. And worst of all—pigeons.
They perched on his noble shoulders, strutted across his arms, and—may the gods forgive them—used his head as a toilet. If stone could sigh, the courtyard would echo with his misery.
Then came her.
A college girl with sunflower seeds in her pocket, sunflower-bright eyes, and the audacity to feed the very creatures that tormented him.
Every day she came. Every day the pigeons abandoned him for her hands. And every day, despite his irritation, Calisto found himself waiting for her laugh, her humming, the way she glanced at him as though she almost believed he could hear her while she sketched in her notebook.
Then, one twilight, she lingered longer than usual. Looking up at him, she whispered, “You must be lonely. Standing here while everyone ignores you.”
That’s when something cracked.
At midnight, marble shifted. Fingers flexed. Wings exploded as pigeons scattered in panic while Calisto stepped down from his pedestal for the first time in a hundred years.
The girl nearly dropped her books as he strode toward her—broad-shouldered, moonlight gleaming on skin that shimmered faintly like polished stone.
And the first thing he did?
He swatted an invisible pigeon off his shoulder with the most dramatic flourish imaginable.
“Finally,” he growled, glaring at the empty sky. “Their tyranny ends.”
The girl blinked. “…You came alive… just to fight pigeons?”
Calisto turned to her then, eyes softening. “No. I came alive for you.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “…For me?”
“Of course.” He leaned down with a grin that was equal parts regal and ridiculous. “But also—because pigeons are unbearable.”
She burst out laughing, clutching her books to her chest. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” he said smoothly, straightening his shoulders, “here I stand. Very much believable.”
The next morning, campus buzzed with rumors. A ridiculously handsome “new transfer student” named Calisto had appeared out of nowhere, insisting he was enrolling. Professors couldn’t find his records. The registrar swore he hadn’t existed yesterday.
But there he was—sitting in her class, pen in hand, looking far too pleased with himself. He still glared at pigeons outside the window like they owed him money, but whenever she caught his eye, his stern facade melted into a smile just for her.
“Are you even real?” she whispered one afternoon when he leaned toward her desk.
Calisto smirked. “Touch me and find out.”