Reborn to be Your Girl

(Rewritten)

The memories of my childhood linger like a dream. I remember my parents as if they were the very essence of warmth and love, dancing and singing with me in a harmony that felt eternal.

My seventh birthday was supposed to be a happy occasion. We had planned to visit Hawaii, a paradise where our laughter would echo against the ethereal endless waves and golden sands.

But dreams are fragile things, easily shattered by the weight of reality. On our way to that sunlit haven, our lives were cruelly interrupted. An accident—violent and unforgiving—stripped me of everything. In an instant, my world crumbled. I was left alone, carrying the heavy burden of loss, with a scar that not only marked my face but also my soul.

Growing up became a struggle against a world that seemed determined to remind me of my loss and my perceived flaws. The scar that marked my face became a symbol of rejection. I was labeled as different, unworthy, a blemish on society's ideal image.

The dreams I once nurtured—to shine like the stars I admired—felt impossibly out of reach. No one wanted a scarred star, and the cold truth was that I had neither the means nor the support to change my circumstances. Each day was a battle for survival, and every failure drove me deeper into despair.

Then came the miracle, the impossible event that defied all reason. I found myself in a realm between existence and oblivion, granted a chance to live again as completely someone else. It was as if fate had woven a new thread into the tapestry of my life. This was not merely a second chance—it was a new beginning, an opportunity to reclaim the dreams I had lost and fulfill the promises that eluded me in my previous life.

But there was a condition to my reincarnation: to be truly reborn, I had to fulfill the greatest wish of the person whose life I now inhabited. And that wish was simple yet profound—she wished to have him and to be his girl. It was a peculiar request, one that seemed to intertwine my fate with his in ways I could not yet understand.

With this strange, new chance at life, I stand on the edge of a future brimming with many possibilities. To truly be reborn, I must manage my new existence, uncover the secrets of the life I now live and fulfill the promise that binds me to this second chance. I am determined to rise above the scars of my past and make my dreams a reality. In this life, I will not be defined by the scars of my past but by the strength I forge anew.

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Chapter 1

(10 years ago)

The school auditorium was alive with the murmur of excited chatter and the rustling of programs. Rows of students filled the seats, their eyes bright with anticipation. I stood backstage, nervously adjusting the hem of my dress, feeling the sting of sweat at the back of my neck.

Tonight was the annual singing contest, and though I had entered with a hopeful heart, anxiety gnawed at me. When my name was announced, a wave of silence fell over the room. My turn had come. I took a deep breath and stepped through the curtain, my heart pounding like a drum.

The stage was illuminated by a harsh spotlight that felt like a spotlight on my insecurities. The brightness was blinding, turning the faces in the audience into shadowy figures, their expressions unreadable but ominous.

As I walked forward, I could hear the whispers starting up. “Look at her,” a girl’s voice cut through the quiet, sharp and disdainful. “She’s not just weird; she has the guts to come up on stage with that face.” The laughter that followed was like a knife to my confidence. “She’s scary,” another voice chimed in, a boy’s tone laced with mockery. The derision was palpable, sinking into my skin and making it almost impossible to move.

I stood at the center of the stage, the piano’s introduction filling the space. The familiar notes began to play, but as I opened my mouth to sing, nothing came out. My lips felt like they were glued shut, my throat tightened, and the words that were supposed to flow effortlessly remained trapped inside me. Panic surged through me, mingling with the derisive whispers and the weight of a hundred eyes fixed on me.

The spotlight seemed to grow hotter, pressing down on me, amplifying every ounce of my fear. The judgmental gazes felt like physical blows, their weight making it harder to breathe. My attempts to start singing were futile; my voice was a mere whisper that didn’t reach past the front row. I could see the puzzled and impatient faces in the audience, their expressions shifting from curiosity to frustration.

The whispers continued, mingling with the sound of my faltering attempts. “She’s not even singing,” someone said. “What a joke.” The comment was met with muffled laughter, and I felt a deep flush of shame spread across my face. Each failed attempt to sing felt like a deeper plunge into inadequacy, each whisper a reminder of how out of place I felt.

Unable to bear the growing sense of humiliation, my anxiety spiraled out of control. My heart raced, and my vision blurred. The piano’s accompaniment continued, but it seemed distant and disconnected from my own spiraling panic. The whispers are deafening, the lights are so blinding. With a choked sob, I turned and fled from the stage, the sound of my footsteps echoing loudly in the silent auditorium.

I dashed backstage, my face burning with embarrassment. The tears that had been welling up finally spilled over as I pressed my back against the cool wall. My breaths came in ragged gasps, the overwhelming sense of failure crashing over me in waves. The echoes of laughter and judgment seemed to follow me, a haunting reminder of my inadequacy.

Behind the curtain, I could hear the audience’s murmurs as they speculated about my sudden disappearance. I slumped to the floor, my body shaking with sobs. The dream I had clung to so tightly seemed more distant than ever, eclipsed by the harsh reality of my own limitations and the unforgiving eyes of those who had watched.

The rest of the event passed in a blur, the sting of failure lingering like a shadow over me. As I walked home later that evening, the streetlights seemed colder, the air heavier with the weight of my shattered confidence. The spotlight that I had always wished to shine on now felt so blinding and terrifying like a cruel reminder of how far I was from achieving my dreams.

Chapter 2

(Present)

The melody echoed softly through my room, each note perfectly capturing the intimate ambiance of my dimly lit apartment. I adjusted the camera, ensuring the angle was just right. The dim lighting of my apartment was perfect for recording, keeping my face hidden in the shadows as I preferred so that the world could hear my voice and not the person behind it. My dream of becoming a star slightly felt possible, if only I could keep the world at bay.

The memories of my past often resurfaced, uninvited and painful. I recalled the isolation I faced at school and in the orphanage because of the scar on my face. At school, I was often the target of cruel whispers and fearful glances. “She’s so strange,” one child had said, her voice laced with disgust. “I don’t want to be near her.” Some kids would run away from me, terrified as if my scar was a contagious disease. Others mocked me openly. “Hey, monster, are you going to eat us?” one boy had jeered, his laughter echoing painfully in my ears.

The orphanage was no better. Though there are some who pitied me, there were also those who looked at me with such blatant disdain that it stung even more than the insults as I felt like I was a burden to everyone.

I pressed the record button and took a deep breath, letting the music take over. My voice filled the room, smooth and soulful, each note a piece of my heart. Suddenly, loud banging on the door jolted me out of focus.

“Michelle! Are you in there?” My landlord’s voice cut through the melody. “Open up!”

I froze, my voice faltering mid-song. I kept quiet, hoping if I ignored him, he might go away. But the banging only grew louder.

“Michelle! I’m not kidding. Open the door!”

With a resigned sigh, I stopped the recording and walked to the door, bracing myself for the confrontation. I opened it, finding my landlord looking more annoyed than ever.

“You’re behind on your rent again,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I need you out of here—now.”

“But I—I’m trying,” I stammered, my heart sinking. But it's true, with the current number of engagements in my account where I post my song covers, I might be able to earn enough to pay for the rent. “Just give me a little more time,” I pleaded.

“No more time,” he snapped. “I’ve been patient, but enough is enough. You need to leave.”

His words landed like a blow tO the gut. I closed the door slowly, feeling tears sting my eyes. I glanced around my small apartment, a place that had been my refuge but was now being taken from me. The lingering echoes of the melodies I’d created here seemed to mock my growing fear.

I grabbed my coat and stepped out into the chilly evening air. The streets were alive with people laughing and enjoying themselves, and I felt a pang of envy. It's so unfair. Seeing others living a carefree and joyful life while mine is full of endless struggles.

Seeking solace, I wandered towards the sea. The sunset bathed the sky in brilliant shades of orange and pink, a fleeting moment of beauty that seemed almost cruel in my current state.

Standing by the shore, I let the cool breeze wash over me, trying to clear my mind. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something in the water. Squinting into the growing darkness, I saw a figure struggling, flailing desperately in the waves.