Short Campus Stories & Novels

In my previous life, I practically dragged my useless childhood sweetheart to Harvard with me. My academic record was top-notch, and I spent three years tutoring him. I asked my father to donate a library to Harvard University, ensuring that they would extend an additional offer of admission to Felix. Finally—when he rejected the offer in favor of taking a gap year to go work in Australia with the girl he was infatuated with—I raised such a massive scene that I ultimately forced him to go to Harvard with me. After graduation, we got married. The natural ending. He built a tech empire and made me the wife of the richest man in the country. One regret. He died too young. Didn't leave me a single word at the end. Just went. And I — I inherited his billions, and lived comfortably all the way to eighty-eight. But when I died, I saw his soul. His eyes were blood-red. "You forced me onto this path. You took me from the only woman I ever loved. I died with regret. Pray we never meet again in the next life." ...What the fuck? He'd been in that much pain? And I was the only one — happily riding it out? Captions drifted across my vision. [Lmao — how thick is this side character's skin?] [Male lead dies young in agony, she breezes through to 88 as the richest widow in the country.] [The girl he actually loved was the one who flunked her SATs and ran off backpacking, hello???] [They both died young, missed each other, and the side character had the time of her life.] Even I felt bad. When I opened my eyes, I was back — standing in that basement he'd sworn would be his life of freedom, on the day he was supposed to reject his Harvard offer. This time, I am not stopping him from going to Australia.

When I started college, my new roommate secretly used my phone to take a selfie. She sent it to the guy I was in an online relationship with and added the caption: [Baby, do you think I'm beautiful?] My boyfriend replied with a giant question mark, followed by a voice message full of curses. "Just thinking about dating someone with that face makes me want to puke!" "Let's break up, you ugly freak. Stay far away from me!" By the time I got out of the shower and tried to explain, I realized he had already blocked me. My roommate, holding her own phone, smugly told me, "The streamer I've had my eye on just added me. He says he wants to start an online relationship." When I looked at the account, I saw it was none other than my ex-boyfriend.

The campus madonna told my childhood friend that she loved Jackie Chan movies. He tied my arms and legs to four gigantic drones. Monday came by. Right in front of the whole school, the drones hauled me up three hundred feet into the air. The students' laughter was so thunderous, the skies shook. The videos they took went viral. I remained in the air until the drones ran out of battery and flew back down. My childhood friend untied me, grinning like he'd just pulled a harmless prank. "Wendy loves Jackie Chan, so I thought you should give her a little Police Story show. We've been friends our whole lives. You don't mind, do you?" I crumpled to the ground. Wendy Wood was leaning against my childhood friend's chest, and she was laughing so much, tears rolled down her cheeks. "You call that Jackie Chan? She just wet herself!" And she cackled further. I walked off and never came back. That drove my childhood friend mad. "We've been friends forever! You're overreacting!"

All because of Leo Cullen’s words, I gave up a place at a top-tier university in Ceres and stayed behind to retake the entrance exams with him—three times. By the fourth year, a girl arrived at our cram school, and Leo forgot the promise we made. He started skipping class, picking fights, smoking—doing everything but studying. One day, I stood at the school gate, blocking his path with a textbook in hand as he tried to ditch class. He smirked, unimpressed, and blew a bubble with his gum, letting it stick to the ends of my hair. “Naomi…,” he began, “who still cares about studying these days?” So I stopped caring and avoided him entirely. When he fooled around in the classroom, I went to the library. When he played basketball, I sat in a quiet corner with my books. Even when I craved noodles from my favorite shop, I’d scan the room first to make sure he wasn’t there. “Are you avoiding me, Naomi?” he asked later, his face in a frown. I shook my head. “Why would you think that?”

I am a succubus, and during my heat cycle, I must have sex with a partner to survive. I unexpectedly saved a serpentfolk man, a species renowned in the beast-kin world for possessing the most potent sexual prowess of all. I leveraged the favor to make him help me through my heat as an incubus. But just as I was clinging to him again, scrolling comments appeared before my eyes — and I discovered I was the villainess in a novel. The male lead secretly despised me. The real heroine was about to appear. And once he recovered his memories, I'd be tossed aside. So I decided to divorce him. But my serpent husband didn't seem to agree with that plan.

When I was nine, I was hit by the blast of an explosion while saving Simone Scott. From that day onward, I have to rely on hearing aids to get by. Overwhelmed with guilt, she suggests we get engaged and swears to me with teary eyes, "Justin, I'll take care of you for the rest of my life." But at 18 years old, to satisfy a dare from the school heartthrob, she rips off my hearing aid and humiliates me in front of him and our classmates. Disgust fills her voice as she says, "You're nothing but a burden. I've been sick of you for a long time. I wish you'd died back then instead of being saved." I clutch the hearing recovery report in my hand and say nothing. After that, I quietly change my college applications, bring my parents with me, and formally call off the engagement. Simone, this is where our paths split. There is no reason for us to ever see each other again.

Celeste Cox sent me a photo on WhatsApp. I opened it to find a picture of the school heartthrob and me in an intimate embrace, the pose as suggestive as could be.

During the mandatory freshman orientation camp, my skin had flared up with a severe allergic reaction, so I didn't use the plastic washbasin the school handed out. Instead, I opened my suitcase and took out the custom silver basin I had brought from home. My roommate, Louisa Carter, immediately made a snide remark, drawling, "You're really something, huh? Kids from broke families like us are lucky to have any basin at all." I didn't bother responding. I simply pulled out my facial essence to do a cold compress, but she immediately rushed over, slapped the bottle out of my hand, and jabbed a finger at my face. "Bet you get tens of thousands a month for living expenses. You have a sugar daddy, don't you? Don't you feel guilty making your folks work their fingers to the bone back on the farm? People like you don't deserve to be at our school. I'm reporting you to the student counselor." I laughed in disbelief and slapped her. … The next morning, the family photo I'd left on my desk had been slashed to ribbons. Across the back, carved in ink, were the words: 'Daughter of a homewrecker. Go to hell.' I went straight to the police. While officers pulled the dorm security footage, our student counselor and the university president rushed in. The moment the president saw the man whose face had been cut apart in my photo, his legs nearly buckled. He almost dropped to his knees.

The day before the semester began, my childhood friend Daniel Carter asked if he could borrow my private jet. Thinking he'd finally changed his ways, I agreed without a second thought. A moment later, he transferred a single dollar, calling it rent because he couldn't stand the thought of freeloading. The quirky amount said more than words ever could. I smiled and accepted it. On the first day of school, I kept things low-key, taking a cab back to campus. But when I arrived, there it was, my private jet parked right in the middle of the quad. The jet had been decked out in bubblegum pink, and students crowded around, their eyes shining with envy. My heart leapt. For once, I thought Daniel had finally figured it out. Beaming, I braced myself for his surprise. But as I drew closer, my smile froze. Sitting barefoot in the pilot's seat, my seat, was Clara West, the campus' queen bee.

My roommate beamed with pride as she told me a horrifying secret: she had allowed a wealthy businessman to "remove" her unborn child, claiming he absorbed the baby’s fortune in exchange for a hefty payout. Chills ran down my spine. I urged her to stop meddling with such dark dealings before it destroyed her, but she wouldn’t listen. Instead, she threw herself into it, addicted to helping people "transfer luck" for money. Her luck ran out when she contracted a mysterious disease. When her boyfriend found out, she turned on me, tearfully accusing me of tying her to another man’s bed. Before I could even defend myself, an enraged man ran me down with his car. The next thing I knew, I woke up to find myself back in time. My roommate was leaning in close, her eyes glinting with excitement as she whispered, asking if I wanted to join her "luck transfer" schemes. This time, I wasn’t taking any chances. I noticed the slight swell of her belly and immediately sent a text to her boyfriend: "Congrats! You’re going to be a dad!"

My roommate is the kind of person who has to get to the bottom of everything and doesn't stop asking questions until she's satisfied. One night, while I'm sound asleep, she suddenly stands by my bed and calls my name, "Melissa, are you asleep?" Having been awakened by her, I shoot her an annoyed glare, but she just says, "See? You weren't really asleep. Otherwise, how could you have answered me?" One day, she decides to skip class. Thinking that I could help by signing her in on my phone, I do just that. However, near the end of the lecture, she suddenly bursts into the room and asks the professor, "I wasn't here today, so why does it show I was marked present? Is the system down?" The professor traces it back to me, fails me on the spot, and makes me retake the class. Later on, I join a speech contest. My roommate stands up in front of everyone and asks why my speech sounded exactly like her ideas. I get disqualified, lose my scholarship, and am labeled a plagiarist. Devastated, I climb onto the rooftop late at night. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the night when my roommate first asked if I was asleep.

My roommate had a strange obsession with taking cold showers on the balcony. She claimed it helped detox her body and brightened her skin. I warned her, “You should be more mindful of your privacy.” However, she only laughed, accusing me of being jealous of her flawless figure. Then, disaster struck. Her shower photos were leaked online, and soon after, thugs showed up at our door, demanding to humiliate her. Instead of taking responsibility, she turned on me. “It’s her! She’s the shameless one showering on the balcony!” Betrayed and defenseless, I was dragged into the woods and left to die, my life snuffed out in humiliation and pain. But when I opened my eyes again, I was back on that fateful day—the day my roommate took her first cold shower on the balcony.

I crave excitement in my life. To do that, I send my deskmate a video of me pleasing myself with a toy. Bit by bit, it awakens his desires…

As the college entrance exams approached, I paid the top student in our class to tutor me. But the day she came over, she brought along her childhood sweetheart and insisted that he join our study sessions. I declined her request politely, and she did not press the matter further. The boy left my house in defeat and was struck by a car, suffering injuries so severe that they left him crippled. He could no longer continue his education and was forced to drop out, taking on grueling manual labor to survive. The girl continued tutoring me nonetheless. We both gained admission to the same university, grew close over time, fell in love, got married, and started a family. But on the night of our wedding anniversary, Sharon slipped poison into my soup and watched impassively as I began to convulse and vomit blood, the crimson stain spreading slowly across the floor. "This is what you owe Harry," she said with cold venom. "Taste what it's like to lose all hope." It turned out that she had harbored resentment toward me for all those years. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day she first came to my house with her friend.

The day we submitted our college applications, the school beauty, Hayley Law, suggested we all go rafting to unwind. Every single person in class raised their hand in agreement. In my previous life, as the class monitor, I did everything I could to stop them. Wild rafting was far too dangerous. Without any safety measures in place, accidents could easily happen. In the end, everyone made it back safely and got into the colleges they wanted. But before the semester even started, news came that Hayley had gone rafting alone, slipped into the water, and drowned. When Terry Vargas, my boyfriend and the most popular guy in school, heard what happened, he took the lead in organizing a memorial at sea. Then, when the waves were at their worst, he shoved me into the ocean. Later, when the police questioned them, they all told the same story as if they had planned it. "Katrina insisted on a sea burial for Hayley. During the storm, she got swept away by the waves and disappeared." They even produced fake evidence to clear Terry's name. My parents were shattered. They went to Terry again and again, desperate for the truth, but he had them set up and locked away in a mental institution, where they were tormented to death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day Hayley first suggested the rafting trip. I stood there quietly, watching my classmates pile into the bus she had rented, heading off to that same reckless trip. This time, I would just look out for myself.

On the day of the SAT exam, my girlfriend’s childhood friend, Benedict Casper, forgot his admission ticket at home. She insisted on retrieving it for him, but I begged her not to go. In the end, Benedict missed his final chance for taking the exam and, overwhelmed by despair, he jumped to his death. Years later, my girlfriend, Ella Simpson, and I graduated from Whitmore Institute of Technology, landed high-paying jobs, and built a picture-perfect marriage. But on the anniversary of Benedict’s death, she stabbed me repeatedly, her voice trembling with rage, “You killed him. If I’d gotten his admission ticket, he would’ve never jumped.” When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the exams. Ella’s frantic voice rang in my ears, “I have to go back, Dominic. I need to get Benedict’s ticket!” This time, I smiled and said, “Go ahead. Be careful on the way.”

My roommate was Rachel Travis, and something about her behavior always felt… off. On social media, she hit the like button on every single person’s posts, except mine. Whenever she asked for help, I was always there. However, the one time I asked her for a pad, she wrinkled her nose and called it "disgusting". For my birthday, I invited the whole dorm to dinner. When hers rolled around, she invited everyone, except me. Then, I saw my boyfriend, Ryan Cooper, at her birthday party. That’s when I finally snapped and confronted her. She looked at me, wide-eyed, all innocence. "What? Everything’s fine. Why are you acting like this? You’re just too sensitive." Even the other girls in the dorm piled on, saying I was overreacting and telling me I needed therapy. So maybe I was "too sensitive". Fine. Then, I would treat her exactly the way she treated me. Let’s see how she liked it.

My girlfriend, Camille Chaney, gets pregnant right before the college entrance exam starts. In my previous life, I gave up on my college entrance exam and married Camille. We had a son together. Life might be nitty-gritty, but it was still rather fulfilling for me. When I was on my deathbed, Camille and her first love, Howard Salter, dropped by to visit me. "Thank you for raising our son for more than 20 years. Now, you may die in peace." Camille pulled the plug on my life support at that moment. She watched as I slowly suffocated to death. When I open my eyes again, I find out that I've returned to the timeframe when the college entrance exam is about to take place. This time, I slam the door shut in Camille's face when I hear her asking me to take responsibility for her pregnancy. "Go find someone else to play house with you. I'm not interested in becoming a father at all."

I go to the city where my online boyfriend, Logan Wright, lives to surprise him without telling him first. Instead, I overhear him talking with his friends. "So what if her voice is nice? She's probably ugly as hell if she's reluctant to even send a picture. If the hottest girl on campus hadn't turned me down, I wouldn't even bother messing around with someone like her. "Not only is she ugly, but she's also horny as hell. She keeps saying she has to see what I'm packing down there before we even meet." One of his friends snickers. "So did you show her?" Logan let out a low grunt in agreement. "But it wasn't mine. It was Troy's." His friend blurts, "What the hell? Troy Levine? Your roommate? You said he was at least eight inches. Were you serious?" "Of course. Why would I lie to you? Troy is a real bro. Seeing that I didn't want to send that kind of picture, he offered to do it for me." They freeze for a second, then all burst out laughing. I laugh too. I've heard of body doubles in Showbiz. This is the first time I've seen a body double in online romance. I want every detail on Troy, and I want them in the next three minutes!

Timothy Holt was someone my family sponsored. He was extraordinarily gifted in mathematics, winning an international gold medal at just 17. Yet for the prom queen's sake, he was willing to give up his chance to further his studies abroad I couldn't bear to watch someone with such a brilliant future ruin his own prospects, so I handed the girl a check and sent her overseas. Later, Timothy achieved both fame and fortune. However, when my family fell into hardship, he kicked us while we were down. An accident followed, and we both died. Before his death, he said to me: if he could start over, he hoped I would show mercy and stop interfering in his life. Thus, just as he wished, in this lifetime, I chose to stay out of his business.