See You in University—Or Not

"Aaron's dunk was insane. He even has an eight-pack! His lips are so thin. I bet kissing him would feel like magic!"

In the classroom, Lily Quimby rested her chin in her hand. Her eyes were fixed on the basketball game outside. She'd knotted the hem of her school shirt, showing off a sliver of her waist.

"Don't chicken out, Lily! Go work that charm and make him yours!" a classmate called out.

"Well, I'll ask him out tomorrow," Lily said, raising her fist like a victorious heroine.

"Whoa! The prettiest girl in school is making a move on the unapproachable genius!"

Cheers rang out through the classroom.

Suddenly, Lily sauntered over to my desk, flashing a playful wink. "You're Aaron's neighbor, Larissa. Do you think we'll work out?"

Her confident gaze snapped me back to reality. I clutched my chest, struggling to catch my breath.

I was here again.

Lily was my deskmate. Just yesterday, she'd spotted my notebook covered in Aaron Grimmer's name and teased me for being too cowardly to confess. Now, she was putting on a show, boldly staking her claim on him.

It was happening exactly as it had in my past life.

Back then, my face burned, and I was too tongue-tied to speak. She exposed my secret to the entire class, and everyone knew I had a crush on Aaron.

So, when I tried to stop him from quitting the physics competition by revealing his relationship with Lily, they all assumed I was just being petty and jealous.

The biggest mistake of my past life was tearing the two of them apart.

The memory of the dim laboratory flashed in my mind, and I bit my lip, my fists clenched at my sides.

Finally, I forced the words out. "I hope you and Aaron share a lifetime of happiness."

Aaron and I had grown up together.

I'd watched him pull all-nighters, wrestling with a single physics problem. I'd seen him up before sunrise to memorize foreign language vocabulary, and he'd spend weekends completing stacks of practice tests instead of sleeping in.

He'd seen me curled up under a blanket with a flashlight, working through equations. He was there when I pushed through a 104-degree Fahrenheit fever, dragging myself to an exam with an IV needle taped to my hand.

No one else could truly understand how much effort went into our achievements—except us.

Aaron had a deep love for physics. One summer, we signed up for an intensive study program and spent our break buried in competition-level physics problems.

"Larissa, let's keep studying physics together and get into Quinver University, okay?" he proposed.

Aaron seemed almost otherworldly in the sunlight, like a dream within reach. I worked as hard as I could, determined to keep up and make our Quinver University dream a reality.

And then Lily entered the picture.

To parents and teachers, she was the textbook definition of a "bad girl". To our classmates, she was magnetic. She permed her hair into thick waves, secretly shortened her uniform skirt, and danced hip-hop at the welcome party.

Her boldness was irresistible to Aaron, who had lived through a dull, uneventful high school life before she came along.

In my past life, Aaron had skipped classes, got into fights, smoked, and drank, all for her. In the end, he was even ready to give up a physics competition just to take care of her when she had a fever.

After I exposed their relationship, Lily, still bedridden, was sent home by her parents and transferred to another school.

Aaron's mother, Harriet Fowler, dragged him to the physics competition, and he ended up winning first place and earning direct admission to Quinver University.

After graduation, Aaron started a business and built a fortune of over a hundred million in record time. He became the youngest millionaire by 30.

Meanwhile, Lily married a wealthy heir from her hometown after she graduated high school and later tragically died from domestic abuse.

On the day Lily died, Aaron lured me into a laboratory. I never saw what was coming.

He jabbed a finger in my face and roared, "You're vicious, Larissa Clarke! How do you even live with yourself? Go to hell and keep Lily company!"

In the dim laboratory, he stomped on my fingers with a merciless grind, shattering my ability to ever perform physics experiments again.

I took him to court, but the medical report downplayed my injuries as minor. He hired a top-tier lawyer, charmed the jury with smooth lies, and walked away without a scratch.

Outside the courthouse, his expression twisted into a cruel sneer.

"Larissa," he spat, "our company doesn't need trash who can't even perform experiments."