The first week back in high school felt like stepping onto a stage where everyone knew their roles, except me. I drifted through familiar halls, surrounded by faces I recognized but hadn’t seen in years. Friends I’d lost touch with, teachers who once shaped me, and classmates who were now frozen in time.
But I wasn’t the same Erik they knew.
Sitting at my old desk in homeroom, I ran my fingers over the scratches on the surface—a mess of initials and doodles carved by restless students over the years. Everything felt smaller, as if the world had shrunk since the last time I was here.
“Erik.”
I looked up to see Mark, my closest friend back then, grinning at me as he plopped into the seat beside mine. He was lean, with shaggy hair and an easygoing vibe that made him the kind of guy everyone liked.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, chuckling.
I forced a smile. “Just tired.”
Mark rolled his eyes. “You? Tired? That’s new. Usually, you’re the one dragging me to cram for math tests.”
I nodded absently, remembering how much I used to care about grades and college applications. But now, those things felt so far away, like relics of a life I no longer wanted.
---
By the time lunch rolled around, I was still struggling to adjust. It was surreal, walking through the cafeteria and spotting people I hadn’t thought about in years. But my focus kept drifting back to one person.
Celine.
She sat at a corner table with a few friends, her head bowed as she carefully unwrapped a sandwich. Her quiet demeanor stood in stark contrast to the lively chatter around her.
I watched as she took a small bite, her gaze flicking to her notebook where she was scribbling something. Was she working on a recipe? I couldn’t tell from here, but I remembered how passionate she’d been about food in our later years together.
In this timeline, we weren’t even acquaintances yet.
My chest tightened. Approaching her felt impossible. How was I supposed to strike up a conversation without coming off as strange?
---
The rest of the day passed in a blur until I found myself in my room, staring at the ceiling.
I had been given a second chance, but that didn’t mean I could just dive in headfirst. Celine didn’t remember our life together. To her, I was just another guy in her class—a stranger.
I needed a plan.
---
The next day, I decided to start small. Observation first, then action. If I wanted to build something real with Celine, it couldn’t be rushed.
During English class, I watched her from the corner of my eye. She was a diligent student, always taking notes and answering questions with quiet confidence. When our teacher assigned a group project, I nearly jumped at the chance to be paired with her, but fate had other plans.
Instead, I ended up with Mark, who groaned loudly. “Great, another essay. I can’t wait to put it off until the night before.
“Sounds like your usual strategy,” I said, forcing a grin.
I glanced at Celine, who was paired with another girl I vaguely remembered. They exchanged polite smiles and started discussing the assignment.
---
A few days later, I finally got my chance.
The school was hosting a small food fair in the courtyard, an annual event where students could showcase homemade dishes. In my first life, I’d barely paid attention to it. Now, it felt like a golden opportunity.
I spotted Celine standing near a table of baked goods, carefully arranging a tray of cookies. Her movements were precise, almost methodical, as if each cookie had to be in exactly the right place.
Taking a deep breath, I walked over.
“Those look amazing,” I said, gesturing to the cookies.
She looked up, startled, and for a moment, I worried I’d overstepped. But then she smiled—a small, hesitant curve of her lips.
“Thank you,” she said. “They’re just chocolate chip. Nothing fancy.”
“They look professional,” I said honestly. “Did you bake them yourself?”
She nodded, her expression softening slightly. “Yeah. My mom taught me.”
The mention of her mom reminded me of what little I knew about Celine’s family. Her mother was kind and supportive, but her father… He’d always been strict, a shadow looming over her life.
“I’ve always loved baking too,” I said, trying to keep my tone casual. “There’s something about it that feels… satisfying, you know?”
Her eyes lit up, just a little. “Yeah, I get that. It’s like… creating something from nothing.”
“Exactly.”
For the first time in years, I felt a spark of the connection we’d shared in our first life. It wasn’t much—a flicker, a small bridge between two people who barely knew each other. But it was a start.
---
The rest of the fair passed in a haze. I spent most of it near Celine’s table, tasting a few of the other students’ creations but always finding my way back to her. We talked about baking, trading tips and favorite recipes.
By the end of the day, I learned a few things about her: she liked to experiment with different types of bread, she hated overly sweet desserts, and she had a notebook full of half-finished ideas she hadn’t had the chance to try yet.
“Maybe you could show me some of your recipes sometime,” I said as we packed up the table.
She hesitated, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Maybe.”
It wasn’t a yes, but it wasn’t a no either.
As I walked home that evening, I felt lighter than I had in years. For the first time since waking up in this timeline, I felt like I was moving forward.
This time, I wouldn’t let my dreams—or her—slip away.