Chapter 2

I suddenly heard Mom's voice, which possessed a warmth and affection I hadn't experienced in years. "Your classmates are here, Zach!"

I jerked my head up from a desk covered in textbooks and instinctively ran my fingers over my stomach, finding that it didn't hurt anymore. It appeared that the stomach cancer hadn't manifested yet. There was neither blood nor the previous excruciating pain.

Mom knocked on my door again, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I noticed that I was still in my high school uniform. I thought that everything felt like a dream, yet the memories of that agonizing pain were still vivid in my mind.

I finally understood what happened after standing there in a daze. I had been reborn back into my high school years.

I stepped out and found Queenie and Timothy sitting stiffly on the familiar couch in the living room. Their presence caused me significant internal distress, as I realized that this was the day she proposed the shared tutoring sessions, marking the onset of my future misfortunes.

Queenie suddenly stood up after spotting me. She then looked at me with anticipation and said, "Is it possible to include Timothy in our tutoring sessions, Zachary? You see, Timothy's academic foundation is also somewhat lacking."

Timothy stood beside her, a flicker of discomfort crossing his eyes as Queenie's request had clearly embarrassed him. She noticed and silently patted his hand to comfort him.

I slowly shook my head while facing their expectant gazes and said, "I'm sorry, but I can't agree to that."

In my past life, Queenie began to resent me because I turned down her request.

Timothy had transferred into our class during our senior year. He was slender and pale, with the appearance of a fragile, sickly youth that easily charmed many of the young women in our class, as though he were a delicate glass ornament.

Queenie, too, found herself unconsciously drawn to Timothy the moment he introduced himself to the class.

Timothy came from a poor family, and his father suffered from a disability. He and Queenie quickly connected, perhaps out of mutual sympathy for their situations.

I thought that Timothy had a perfect setup—a poverty-stricken home, a disabled father, and his own delicate nature.

He often struggled to keep up with the lessons, so he often brought over test papers covered in mistakes and took a seat next to Queenie, asking rather shyly, "Can you help me with this question, Queenie?"

Queenie would patiently accept the test paper and go through it step by step with Timothy, in stark contrast to the impatience she displayed when helping me.

She had once unhesitatingly moved his seatmate out of the way so she could sit beside Timothy when he was distressed by his poor performance in physics, occasionally patting his back in silence to console him. She even spent the entire study session drafting a detailed review for him.

The classmates around us kept whispering among themselves, convinced that Queenie and Timothy were made for each other, while I became the odd one out.

I didn't refuse Timothy's participation in the tutoring session out of jealousy. I refused it because three days before Queenie's suggestion, I had inadvertently overheard Timothy speaking with his friends in the restroom.