The Story Of The Pencil Paulo Coelho

My name is Ivy Lawson. At 3:00 am, I get a call from Christina McSpire, a parent of one of my students. "Hello, Ms. Lawson, I noticed Zoe only spent five dollars on her meal yesterday. Did she not eat any meat?" she asks. Pushing through my exhaustion, I reply, "Don't worry, Mrs. Street. I'll check on it tomorrow." Another half hour goes by, and she calls again. "It's supposed to rain tomorrow. Can you remind Zoe to bring an umbrella?" I can hardly keep my eyes open. "Got it," I reply absentmindedly. A few minutes later, my phone rings once more. "Please make sure Zoe brushes her teeth for three minutes. It's also important that she scrubs each side of her face at least three times." Suppressing my frustration, I calmly respond, "Zoe is in her senior year of high school. I'm sure she's capable of taking care of herself." I expect that to be the end of it, but when I wake up, my silenced phone shows over a hundred missed calls.

I'm reincarnated a week before the college entrance exam. Despite being the soon-to-be top scorer, I stab my eye with a syringe. In my past life, Marianne Quentin, my boyfriend Lance Russell's childhood friend, reported me for cheating off her during the final mock exam. The teacher compared our papers and found that my essay was identical to hers. He harshly criticized me and warned me not to repeat my mistake. However, Marianne reported me for copying her answers again during the math exam. Once again, my answers were found to be identical to hers. The teacher scolded me for being incorrigible and sent me home to reflect on my actions. I couldn't understand what had happened. Clearly, I'd never cheated, but my answers were nearly identical to Marianne's, whether in writing and language or in math. As the SAT exam loomed over me, I could only suppress my doubts as I stepped into the exam hall. I finished the writing paper and thought I was safe. However, Marianne stepped out and accused me of cheating again. I tried to defend myself, yet the answers on my paper were identical to hers. In the end, I was disqualified, kicked out of the exam hall, and banned from taking any exams in the next two years—just because I "cheated". I succumbed to despair and leaped from the rooftop. When I open my eyes again, I'm back to one week before the SAT.

My brother brings home a scheming girlfriend. He wants to kick me out of the house for her sake and claims that everything at home belongs to him. I hand the company over with both hands and leave without hesitation. Less than a month later, my brother, who can't manage the company, grovels at my feet and begs me to return.

I am the orphaned hybrid of a vampire and a werewolf. After my parents died, I was sent to the Silvermoon Pack, taken in by a distant relative on my father's side. They had three sons—triplets—each carrying the noble Alpha bloodline. In public, they were the epitome of grace and charm. But behind closed doors, they were my living nightmare. They despised me. To them, my blood was a stain, my existence a mistake. But in their world, I was more than just an outcast—I was prey. They made a bet: who would be the first to have me? To them, it wasn't just about desire. It was about possession, control. A way to chain me to them, to turn me into their plaything. They drugged me and watched as I collapsed at their feet, powerless, theirs to toy with as they pleased. In the end, they ruined me. Smeared my name until the whole pack sneered at me. Then came the bonfire festival. They tricked me away from the crowd and threw me into a pit—a collapsed silver mine, its air thick with toxic silver dust. Torches rained down, their flames licking at the walls, while the silver seeped into my body. It poisoned me slowly. Bit by bit, my body unraveled. And finally, my consciousness dissolved into the dark. But when I opened my eyes again, everything had reset. I had returned to the beginning. One of the triplets, Reine, smirked as he leaned in, his voice laced with amusement. "Ayla, what a beautiful name. May I invite you to the bonfire festival?" The bonfire festival? Of course. This time, let's make it your last night.

I was raised by my mother, a single parent who never revealed the identity of my father. For years, that part of my life remained a mystery until her final moments. With her last breath, she asked me to find him. I shared this with my best friend, who had never known her own parents. With tears in her eyes, she confided in me that she longed for a father, too. She tried to manipulate me, suggesting I work as a housekeeper for my father so she could claim him as her own. Soft-hearted, I agreed to the plan. When I finally met him, he was stunned. The resemblance between me and his first love was undeniable. He wanted to take me under his wing as his mistress. "Come to my room tonight and wear something… revealing," he said. To protect myself, I laid all my cards on the table.

My sister aims her camera at my face as she livestreams. She forces me to get on my knees before her as everyone in her class watches. Then, she tells me to lick her shoe clean. My parents know about her behavior but don't care how it affects me. Their indulgence only makes my sister's behavior worse. This is precisely what I want, though. If one wants to ruin someone, the first step is to turn her into a psycho!

I sacrificed my legs to marry my cousin’s boyfriend, but they replaced me with a different bride on the wedding day!

My best friend was a "mistress breakup consultant". I had lent her money to start her business, and her very first job turned out to be breaking up my own marriage. "Jessie, what's the point of a loveless marriage? You've wasted Harold's time for five years. Are you really going to keep clinging to him and making him miserable for the rest of his life?" my best friend asked. I laughed at the self-righteous nonsense she was spouting and had security escort her out. She came right back, though, this time with a so-called "Anti-Mistress Alliance", live-streaming the chaos as they broke into my company. "The one who isn't loved is the real intruder!" "Fight for love at all costs!" They chanted while smashing up my office. I watched them calmly, waiting until they wore themselves out before pulling out a contract. "The 100,000 dollars you borrowed from me has been overdue for six months. If you don't repay it soon, I'll be forced to take legal action. "And, the lab equipment you've destroyed is valued at 5,550,000 dollars. You'll need to compensate me at full price. "Otherwise, I'll see you in court."

My firefighter husband had fallen from a great height during a mission and was rushed into the emergency room, covered in blood. As the only person capable of saving him, I stood just outside the operating room, calm and composed. Reaching for my makeup bag, I began carefully applying my makeup. Another doctor, panic-stricken, rushed toward me and shouted, "Dr. Warhol! The patient's kidney has ruptured! You're the only surgeon in all of Switzerland who can perform this life-saving procedure! If you don’t act now, he’s going to die!" I continued shaping my eyebrows with steady precision, not even glancing in his direction. "Quiet," I said coolly. "If you keep yelling, my brows might end up crooked."

In eight years together, my boyfriend—Shayne Raffield—blocked me eighty-eight times. This time? Because I missed his call. At my best friend's birthday party. Usually, I'd panic-order a gift, then stand outside his office, head down, ready to beg. But today? I blocked him first. The Chat Feed popped up, loud as ever: [Nooo, Ley-Bae, don't block Shay-Shay! He's just got abandonment issues. Comfort him!] [Shay's heart = shattered; Eyes = red. Ley, go! One pout and he's yours again!] Then Shayne called. Didn't say a word. Just breathed for ten seconds and hung up. The Chat Feed freaked out. [AHHHH SHAY LOVES LEY SO MUCH HE JUST SUCKS AT SAYING IT. THIS COWARD'S GONNA LOSE HIS GIRL.]