I think I died.

No. Scratch that. I know I died.

I remember the impact. The screeching tires. The blur of headlights too close. Jian’s voice, sharp and panicked, shouting my name like he finally cared. My ribs cracked. My vision blurred. And then..Nothing.

Well, except for one last thought before it all faded: At least now I won’t have to see him fall in love with someone else.

Dramatic? Maybe. But if you’d spent two years loving someone who barely noticed you existed, you’d get it.

So imagine my surprise when I woke up.

Alive.

Breathing.

In my bed.

In my room.

The same cracked ceiling. The same annoying bird chirping outside. The same cheap desk lamp I burnt my hand on last winter while pretending to study math.

For a solid minute, I lay there blinking at the ceiling like it owed me an explanation.

Was this the afterlife? Surely heaven wouldn’t have fluorescent lighting this ugly.

I sat up slowly. My body didn’t ache. No bandages. No broken bones. My pajamas had a suspicious ketchup stain, but other than that nothing suggested I’d just been roadkill twenty-four hours ago.

I reached for my phone.

September 4, 2021.

I stared. Blinked. Stared again.

That wasn’t possible.

I had died in 2023. Two whole years ahead.

Rebirth.

One of those things you read in angsty online stories where the lead character gets a second chance to do life right. Only in those stories, they’re usually geniuses or powerful CEOs or sword-wielding demon kings.

Me?

I was a math-hating, emotionally constipated seventeen-year-old with unresolved feelings for my best friend and a history of tripping over flat surfaces.

So this should be fun.

I rolled out of bed and shuffled to the mirror. My hair was a mess. Not the cute, tousled anime-boy kind: Just tragic.

My eyes were the same: tired, unsure, holding secrets they hadn’t learned yet.

I poked my cheek just to be sure I was real. “Ow.” Yep. Real.

“Okay, universe,” I said to my reflection. “Message received. I’m back. But let’s get something straight: I am not falling for him again. Not this time.”

I brushed my teeth like a man on a mission. A sad, slightly shaky mission. I even put effort into my hair. Kind of. It mostly just gave up halfway through.

From downstairs, Mom yelled, “Yuhan! You’re going to be late for school!”

Oh. Right.

School.

High school.

The land of hormonal chaos, bad cafeteria food, and unspoken crushes that ruin lives.

In 2021, I was just starting second year. This meant: new dorm assignments. New classmates. New teachers. Same old heartbreak.

Also, today was the day Jian moved into the dorm with me.

Jian.

My best friend.

My emotional kryptonite.

The boy with the pretty eyes and effortless charm. The one I confessed to two years later, seconds before I died.

God, I needed therapy. But since this was fiction logic, I guess I’d have to settle for inner monologues and passive-aggressive silence.

By 7:30 a.m., I was dressed, caffeinated, and emotionally armored.

By 7:35 a.m., I was in the hallway, fully committed to avoiding Jian like he was a Google Meet invite.

And then it happened.

That laugh.

That stupid, golden, heart-warming laugh that could defrost glaciers and melt IQs.

I froze.

Turning the corner like a slow-motion movie entrance was Jian himself. Same messy black hair. Same white hoodie I once accidentally wore for a whole day after he lent it to me. (Don’t ask.)

He hadn’t changed.

And neither had my traitorous heart.

He saw me and smiled. That smile. The one that made my brain do cartwheels.

“Still Spacing out in the hallway, are we ?” he said.

My soul left my body.

My mouth opened. Words betrayed me. “Uhm… hallway. Yep. Still here.”

Smooth.

He chuckled. “You good?”

No. Not even close.

“Yes,” I lied.

“Dorm key’s with the hall monitor,” he said. “Wanna go together?”

I blinked.

Was this happening again?

History. Repeating.

Except this time, I knew how the story ended.

He would fall for someone else. I would pretend to be okay. Then die like a dramatic side character.

Unless…

I changed the story.

“No, I’m good,” I said. “Go ahead. I, uh, forgot something in my room. Like… socks.”

He gave me a weird look. “You’re wearing socks.”

I looked down. Damn it.

“Second pair. Double protection. Very fashionable now.”

He laughed. Loudly.

And just like that, I remembered why I fell in love with him.

Damn it.

Later, while unpacking in our dorm, I found the old notebook. The one I used to write letters I never sent. Some were to Jian. Some were just to myself.

I flipped to a page that read:

You’ll never see me the way I see you. But that’s okay. I just wanted to be near you.

I closed it quickly.

Nope. Not going down that road again.

This time, I had rules.

Rule 1: Do not fall in love with Jian.

Rule 2: Seriously. Don’t.

Rule 3: If you feel things, repress them. Like a proper emotionally damaged teen.

He walked in just as I was dramatically staring out the window like a sad anime protagonist.

“Hey,” he said, tossing a snack bar onto my desk. “You always forget to eat.”

I stared at it.

And then at him.

And then I muttered under my breath:

“You just had to be kind again, didn’t you?”

He tilted his head. “What?”

“Nothing,” I said, forcing a smile. “Thanks.”

He grinned. “You’re weird today.”

I was weird every day. But today, I was also living with the knowledge that I’d died once loving this boy.

And now I had to survive loving him again.

That night, while Jian snored peacefully two feet away from me, I stared at the ceiling.

Same crack. Same darkness.

Different me.

Same heart.

This time, I wasn’t going to break first.

But God help me if he smiled at me like that again.

I used to think sharing a room with your crush was some kind of fantasy.

Spoiler alert: IT'S NOT!!

Especially not when said crush has the sleep habits of a wild bear and the emotional intelligence of a spoon.

Jian was already up when I cracked one eye open the next morning. He looked annoyingly awake, like one of those morning people who probably journal and drink lemon water and have their lives together.

"Morning," he said, tossing a towel over his shoulder. His hair was damp, and his hoodie was only halfway zipped. It was, quite frankly, an attack on my willpower.

"Morning," I grunted. Or at least I think I did. It came out more like a dying animal noise.

He laughed. "You're still not a morning person, huh?"

I sat up, dramatically tragic. "I died once. Give me a break."

He blinked. "What?"

"Nothing," I said. "Dark humor. It's my love language."

He rolled his eyes. "Your love language is avoidance."

I choked on my own spit.

He was joking. Right? Please let him be joking.

Jian threw me a clean towel. "Hurry up or we'll miss breakfast. And if you make me late, I'm blaming you in my autobiography."

"Dramatic extroverts should come with warning labels," I muttered loud enough for him to hear. and shuffled toward the bathroom like a cryptid.

The dorm room itself was exactly how I remembered: two beds, two desks, one shared wardrobe, and a terrifying poster of a 90s boy band that came with the room. The wallpaper was peeling in one corner. Our window faced the school courtyard where all the couples hung out during lunch breaks. Excellent!

I brushed my teeth slowly, staring at myself in the mirror.

"You are calm," I whispered. "You are emotionally uninvested. You are a potato."

They say Morning Affirmations work like magic so I made a mental note to do it every morning - because I desperately needed magic to work for me!

We walked to class together because apparently fate hates me and Jian is clingy in the mornings. I kept a two-foot distance, just enough to seem antisocial but not enough to be rude. He didn’t notice.

Or maybe he did, and just thought I was constipated.

_________________________________________________

Homeroom was a blur. I sat by the window, because of course I did. Brooding main characters always do.

Jian sat beside me.

Because of course he did.

The teacher introduced him again even though half the class already knew him. Jian smiled that charming smile that made girls blush and boys flinch and me… want to jump out the window.

He whispered to me mid-roll call, "This year's gonna be fun, huh?"

I stared at my desk. I wanted to say, No. I already know how it ends.

But instead, I nodded.

And just like that, I was seventeen again.

With a second chance I didn’t ask for.

And a roommate who might just break me all over again.

...****************...

The day dragged on. Classes were a mess of familiar boredom and unfamiliar memories. It felt like watching re-runs of a show you once loved, only now you knew how all the characters turned out and it was just… sad and tragic, even.

At lunch, Jian dragged me to our usual spot by the vending machines.

"Did you always look this tired?" he asked, biting into an apple.

"Yes," I replied. "It’s part of my charm."

"And the sarcasm?"

"Also charming. Very marketable."

He snorted. "Well, at least you're still weird."

I was weird. I also time-traveled, broke my heart, and went halfway to almost a full blown mental breakdown.

But yes, Jian. Let’s call it weird.

...****************...

Back in the dorm, I unpacked slowly. I already knew where everything went. My side of the room was always organized chaos. Jian's side? Neat. Clean. Like he lived in a furniture catalogue.

He was lying on his bed reading a manga upside down.

"You read that backwards," I said.

He looked up. "Still makes more sense than our chemistry homework."

I almost smiled.

It was easy to forget, sometimes, how simple things used to be with him.

When I wasn’t drowning in feelings or dying under truck wheels.

When we were just two dumb boys living in a dumb room, eating cup noodles and complaining about algebra.

"Do you ever feel like you’ve been here before?" I asked suddenly, something I didn't mean to. "Why do my mouth runs without consulting my brain?" I mentally scoffed.

Plan was to keep conversation at minimum. But now, I just initiated a Philosophical, existential talk, without even intending to.

He tilted his head. "Like déjà vu?"

"Yeah. Like everything’s already happened."

"Sometimes," he said. "Why?"

Let's end it! Nice and Slow!!

I shrugged. "No reason. Just a weird dream I had."

Great!!

He looked at me for a second too long.

Huh?!!

Then went back to his manga.

Ehhh??!!

...****************...

At 10 p.m., he turned off the lights.

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling crack again.

This was the same night he once cried quietly because his dog died.

Same night he confessed he was scared of growing up. Scared of being alone.

Back then, I just listened.

This time, I wanted to say something.

But Maybe it's not a good idea.

minimal interaction; as much as possible.

So, I didn’t.

Because if I started speaking my heart again, I wouldn’t stop.

And he wasn’t ready.

And maybe neither was I.

So I turned on my side, curled up tight, and whispered:

"Don’t fall in love again, Yuhan. Not this time."

But my heart was already pretending it didn’t hear me.

...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...

If someone told me that dying would send me back to high school, I would've at least worn better shoes.

It was Tuesday. The day fate decided to slap me with two things I feared most: group assignments and shared laundry duty.

"Yuhan," Jian called from across the dorm. "You didn’t wash your socks again, did you?"

I looked down at my feet. I was, indeed, sockless.

"It’s called natural foot freedom," I muttered. "Very therapeutic."

"It’s called unhygienic," he said, tossing a rolled-up pair at me.

I caught them midair like a ninja, but with dead eyes.

Laundry duty was sacred. Not because of cleanliness, but because the laundry room was the dorm’s unofficial gossip HQ.

That’s where secrets bled. Crushes were confessed. Socks were stolen. Reputations were permanently damaged.

And I had to go there… with Jian.

Fantastic.

...****************...

We took the elevator. He pressed the button like it personally offended him.

"I hate this machine," he grumbled.

"It’s just trying its best, Jian. Like me."

He side-eyed me. "You good? You’ve been saying weird stuff lately."

"Weird is relative."

"You said our biology teacher would divorce her husband. Two weeks before she did."

"I’m emotionally intuitive."

He narrowed his eyes. I changed the subject like a pro.

...****************...

In the laundry room, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. A boy cried softly over a stained hoodie in the corner. Another argued with a girl about mixing whites and colors.

High school romance was truly war.

I loaded my clothes in silence. Jian whistled while separating his whites like a perfect citizen.

"So," he said casually, "you got any plans for Valentine’s?"

I almost swallowed a sock.

"What kind of psychopath plans Valentine’s a month early?"

"Organized ones."

"I don’t do flowers and chocolate. I do isolation and vague eye contact."

He grinned. "So, no date?"

My throat dried. "Do I look like I get dates?"

"Well, no," he said honestly. "But you’ve got that brooding charm thing. Some people are into trauma."

I blinked.

Did he just say I was charming… in a PTSD way?

...****************...

After laundry, we walked back slowly. It was cloudy. Jian kept talking about a basketball game I barely remembered. I kept pretending not to stare at him too long.

When we reached our door, he paused.

"Hey," he said. "You okay? You’ve been kind of... different lately."

I shrugged. "Just tired. Maybe I was cursed. Maybe I’m haunted. Maybe I died in a parallel universe and came back to fix my tragic past. Who knows."

He laughed. Then realized I wasn’t laughing.

"You’re joking, right?"

"Sure," I said. "That’s me. Comedian of the year."

...****************...

I laid on my bed later that night, watching the ceiling crack like it held answers.

Everything was the same — the same bed, same weather, same boy in the next bed over.

But I was not the same.

I knew Jian would fall in love with someone else. I knew I would never say how I felt. I knew the story.

And I was starting to wonder if this rebirth was a punishment, not a second chance.

...****************...

The next morning, he walked out of the bathroom shirtless.

I died again.

"Why are you shirtless?" I asked, dramatically shielding my eyes with a textbook.

"Towel slipped," he said.

"Gravity is my mortal enemy."

"You okay, Romeo? You’ve been flustered all week."

"I’m just allergic to abs."

He laughed. And I died. Again.

...****************...

Later that day, I bumped into someone who shouldn’t have existed yet: Minseo.

The guy who’d eventually date Jian. The guy who’d eventually break his heart.

My personal villain.

He was transferring early. Fate really was playing Uno Reverse on me.

"You new here?" he asked.

"Nope," I said, too quickly.

He blinked.

"You seem annoying," I said internally.

Out loud, I smiled.

"I’m Yuhan. Welcome to the chaos."

...****************...

That night, I watched Jian scroll on his phone.

"Anyone interesting in school?" I asked.

"Not really," he said.

"Not even that new guy? What’s his name... Minseo?"

He shrugged. "Pretty boy, but not my type."

Hope bloomed. Then I crushed it.

Because I knew the future. And it didn’t care about my hope.

I turned over in bed, clutching a pillow.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah. Just thinking about… life."

"That’s dangerous."

"Tell me about it."

...----------------...

As the week ended, so did my patience.

Rebirth was exhausting. Pretending not to care was worse.

And watching someone you love exist freely, without remembering everything you do…

That was the cruelest joke of all.

But I smiled. And joked. And wore clean socks.

Because that’s what you do when you’ve died and come back with a broken heart.

You fake being alive.

And hope one day… it’ll stop feeling fake.

...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...