The campus hallway was crowded but felt narrow to me. Sunlight streaming through the tall windows fell slanted on the floor, making the dust sparkle in the air. I stood leaning against the cold concrete wall, a half-empty can of cola in my hand, and I deliberately sipped it slowly—as if I were truly relaxed. But I wasn’t.

In front of me, she was talking to someone—a new student. I noticed the way that guy leaned his body slightly forward, too close for my comfort. His smile was friendly, maybe considered normal by others, but to me there was something unsettling in it. The way his eyes lingered on my girlfriend too long, too full of attention. That alone was enough to make my chest burn.

I held myself back, taking another sip of cola just to give myself a reason not to move. Their laughter pierced my ears, making me clench my teeth silently. I tried hard to look indifferent—shoulder pressed to the wall, one knee bent, my eyes glancing toward them before pretending to be distracted elsewhere. But I knew my body was tense. My fingers even squeezed the can too tightly, until I could feel the faint dents of the metal against my skin.

I knew this was jealousy. I was just too proud to admit it. My foolish pride kept me silent longer than I should have been. I didn’t want to look like a possessive, insecure guy. I wanted to appear above it all, calm, unshaken. But the truth was, I was burning inside.

Finally, I gave in to the feeling. I pushed myself off the wall, took a deep breath, and in one motion I stepped toward her. My hand moved before I could think, wrapping firmly around her waist. The contact tightened my shoulders, but also soothed me—as if affirming that she was at my side, mine. I could feel the warmth of her body under my arm, and it eased the fire in my chest a little.

I could feel the new student’s gaze instantly land on me, and I deliberately held it. My eyes sharp, cold, but filled with unspoken warning. I knew he understood.

“Baby, let’s go home.” My voice came out louder than usual, deliberately emphasized to be heard, to leave no room for misunderstanding. Not a request, more like a declaration—a blatant admission that she was with me, not with anyone else trying to approach.

Behind that tone was my swollen ego, my reluctance to admit that I was jealous. No, not jealous—at least not the word I would use. To me, this was simply a way of protecting what mattered. I didn’t care if others saw me as a cold man or too full of pride. What mattered was that she knew, and they all knew, that I would not let anyone doubt our relationship. But more than that, there was the fear of losing her, something I could only mask with my cold demeanor and self-control.

I straightened my back, still holding her waist, letting the silence press against the air. I didn’t turn to her, didn’t wait for a response. I just stood tall, waiting for her next move. What was clear was that I had already drawn the line here.