How Not to Fall in Love Again(Badly)

I had one job.

One tragically simple job.

Don't Fall in Love with Jian.

I even made a list on the back of my History notes. In red ink. Like blood. Or failure.

RULES:

1. Avoid falling in love with Jian.

2. Avoid eye contact with Jian.

3. Avoid physical proximity to Jian.

4. Possibly set myself on fire if necessary.

By Thursday, I had broken all four. Twice.

He woke me up by yanking off my blanket and declaring, “Code Red. Immediate crisis.”

Naturally, I thought someone had died. Again.

I sat up like a vampire on espresso. “What happened?!”

He pointed dramatically at my face. “Pimple. Nose. Visible from Mars.”

I blinked. “You woke me up like a fire drill for skincare?”

“It’s not just any pimple. It’s a protagonist pimple. A character-defining blemish. Kind of cute, though.”

I stared at him, betrayed. “I hope every pizza you eat has one burnt spot.”

He smirked. “That’s cruel. Even for you.”

I flopped back into bed and pulled the blanket over my head.

He yanked it off again. “Seriously, get up. You’re gonna be late.”

“For what? My public shaming?”

“For PE,” he said.

Ah yes. Physical Education. A subject created by sadists for the purpose of publicly reminding people like me that we have the upper body strength of a breadstick.

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

We were told to partner up for the relay race.

“Mine,” Jian said, grabbing my wrist with zero hesitation.

I blinked. “Okay. That’s... possessive.”

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s friendship.”

That’s how my heartbeat started doing illegal backflips.

I stood at the starting line holding the baton like it had personally insulted my ancestors.

Jian crouched into position, grinning. “Ready to become a legend?”

“I was born to trip over air,” I said, eyes narrowed at the track like it owed me money.

When the whistle blew, I ran.

Well, jog-limp-flopped.

He turned, laughing. “You run like a confused penguin trying to file taxes.”

I wheezed. “That’s because I am a confused penguin trying to file taxes!”

We collapsed onto the grass after the lap, breathing like we’d survived war.

Jian pointed at the sky. “That cloud looks like a carrot.”

I stared at him. “Your brain is a carrot.”

He smiled without looking at me. “Maybe. But I’m your carrot.”

I choked. On air. On my own emotions. On the sheer audacity.

“Don’t say things like that,” I said.

He turned. “Like what?”

“Things that sound like the start of something I can’t afford to finish.”

He was quiet. Then softly, “That’s deep for someone who couldn’t finish one lap.”

I threw a pebble at him. He caught it mid-air and tossed it back. It bounced off my chest like poetic justice.

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

After class, we ended up on the school rooftop. Don’t ask how. Jian has a lock-picking face and a backpack full of crimes.

I sat on the edge, letting the wind mess up my hair like an overly dramatic music video.

He leaned back on his palms, legs stretched out. “Ever think about the future?”

“Only every three seconds,” I said.

“What do you see?”

“Doom. Mostly. Maybe a cat.”

He laughed. “No, seriously.”

I hesitated. The truth sat behind my teeth like a secret trying to escape.

“I see you,” I admitted. “But older. Taller. Still annoying. Maybe balding a little. Definitely with that same stupid grin.”

He turned, a little surprised. “What about you?”

I didn’t answer right away. Because I didn’t know.

Because my past life ended before his did.

So I said, “I haven’t looked that far ahead.”

That was my version of honesty.

He pulled out a candy bar and unwrapped it like it was a peace treaty. Tossed the wrapper at me.

“You’re way too emo for someone this cute.”

I spluttered. “I’m what?!”

“Cute.”

He said it like it was a fact. Like gravity. Or taxes. Unavoidable.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

He just leaned back and chewed on his chocolate like he hadn’t dropped a nuke on my soul.

I screamed internally for six business hours.

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

At dinner, I watched him laugh with a senior girl in the cafeteria. Not flirt exactly. But enough to make my stomach fold in on itself.

She touched his arm when she talked.

He didn’t move away.

She smiled.

He smiled back.

That stupid smile. The one that felt like spring after a long winter.

I felt like someone had replaced my heart with a glitter bomb full of jealousy and old regret.

In our dorm later, I tried to be normal.

“Making new friends?” I asked, trying hard to not make it look like I was dying inside.

He looked up from his laptop. “Huh?”

“Senior girl. Shoulder Toucher.”

He snorted. “You mean Sunny?”

“Oh, she has a name. How intimate.”

“Are you jealous?”

My brain short-circuited. “Of her earrings? Sure. They jingle.”

He got up and ruffled my hair. “You’re weird.”

“You’re confusing,” I muttered.

He walked back to his desk like he hadn’t just turned my soul into mashed potatoes.

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

That night, I laid in bed and stared at the ceiling again.

This ceiling knew all my secrets now. Every ridiculous thought. Every unsent confession.

I was falling in love again.

No.

I had never stopped.

But this time, I knew exactly how it would end.

Because it already had once.

When I closed my eyes, I saw flashes.

A different timeline. A blood-soaked goodbye. A voice cracking on my name.

I remembered things I hadn’t lived yet.

A version of us where I confessed too late. Where he smiled too gently. Where I held his hand like a lifeline while he chose someone else.

And now here we were. Alive. Unbroken. Temporarily.

And I was doing it all over again.

Willingly.

Stupidly.

I wrote in my notebook:

"Don’t fall harder than you did before.

But if you do—fall quieter.

Don’t let him hear the crash."

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

The next morning, he noticed the dark circles under my eyes.

“You okay?” he asked, handing me my water bottle.

“Just dreaming about my glorious track career,” I said flatly.

“Did the penguin win gold?”

“Silver. Lost to a Whale.”

He smiled. “Your brain’s a whole ecosystem.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

He paused.

Then, “When you zone out, your lips move. Like you’re whispering to ghosts.”

I blinked. “That’s terrifying...."

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

We had a quiz in Literature that day. I was too busy writing fake poetry in my margins to notice.

When the results were returned, Jian nudged me. “You beat me by two points.”

I smirked. “Looks like I’m smarter.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Debatable. You once asked if whales sleep vertically.”

“That was a valid scientific inquiry.”

“You also asked if eyebrows grow back if you shave them.”

“I was twelve!”

He shook his head. “Still the same you.”

That hit harder than I expected.

Because I wasn’t the same me.

And he didn’t know.

Later that evening, while sorting laundry, he suddenly said, “You ever wonder if things could’ve gone differently?”

My hands froze over a sock.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “Like, what if we met at a different time? Would we still be friends?”

I stared at him.

He wasn’t looking at me. Just folding a T-shirt like he hadn’t just cracked the universe in half.

“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe we’d be something else.”

He glanced up.

“Like what?”

I didn’t answer.

Because sometimes the best truths were the ones you didn’t say.

But when he left to shower, I whispered to the sock in my hand:

“Maybe we’d be everything.”

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

...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...

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