The first week back in high school was disorienting. I was surrounded by faces I hadn’t seen in years—some familiar, some forgotten. Memories came flooding back, but they felt more like fragments from someone else’s life.
The younger version of me had been a typical student: quiet, hard-working, and desperate to please everyone. But now, as I sat through classes I could ace in my sleep, I found myself questioning everything I had once believed was important.
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By lunchtime, I found myself sitting with Mark and a few other classmates, trying to ease back into old friendships.
Mark leaned back in his chair, his tray of half-eaten fries in front of him. “Man, this year feels like a drag already. I can’t wait to graduate and get out of here.”
The others at the table laughed, nodding in agreement.
I smiled faintly, but my mind was elsewhere. Graduation, college, a stable career—that was the trajectory I had followed before, the one that led me straight to my deathbed.
“What about you, Erik?” Mark asked, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Still planning to go into engineering, or are you finally gonna loosen up and join the rest of us slackers?”
I hesitated, caught off guard. In my first life, I had been laser-focused on engineering, fueled by my parents’ expectations. But now? Now I wasn’t sure.
“I’m… still figuring things out,” I said finally.
Mark raised an eyebrow. “Seriously? You? The guy who had his entire life planned out since middle school?”
The others chuckled, but I shrugged it off. “People change.”
---
Later that day, I found myself in the school library, browsing the shelves. The silence was a welcome escape from the noise of the cafeteria, and I needed some time to think.
As I ran my fingers over the spines of the books, I noticed someone sitting at a nearby table, their head bent low over a notebook. It was Celine. She was sketching something—lines and curves that didn’t look like notes for a class. I hesitated for a moment before approaching.
“Hey,” I said softly, not wanting to startle her.
She looked up, her eyes widening slightly before she smiled faintly. “Hi.”
“What are you working on?” I gestured to her notebook, hoping I wasn’t intruding.
She hesitated for a moment, then turned the notebook toward me. It was a rough sketch of a café floorplan, complete with labeled sections for counters, display cases, and seating areas.
“It’s just an idea,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Something I think about sometimes.”
“A café?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise.
She nodded, her expression guarded. “I know it’s kind of silly, but… I’ve always thought it’d be nice to have a place where people could come to relax, eat something good, and feel at home.”
“That’s not silly at all,” I said, the words coming out more earnestly than I intended. “It’s a great idea. I’ve thought about something like that too.”
Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I said, leaning on the back of the chair across from her. “A bakery, specifically. I’ve always loved the idea of creating a space where people could enjoy fresh bread and pastries. Something simple, but meaningful.”
For the first time, I saw a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. “That’s… surprising. You don’t seem like the type to want something like that.”
I laughed lightly. “What can I say? I’m full of surprises.”
Celine’s lips quirked into a small smile, and for a moment, the guarded look in her eyes softened.
---
That evening, I sat at my desk, staring at a blank sheet of paper. My parents were downstairs, their voices drifting up through the floorboards as they discussed something about my future—college applications, career paths, the same conversations they had always had.
I picked up a pen and started jotting down ideas for recipes. I didn’t know exactly how I was going to pursue baking yet, but I knew I couldn’t let it slip away this time.
---
Over the next few days, I focused on taking small steps toward my goals. I spent hours in the library, reading about baking techniques and researching culinary schools. I even started practicing again, using the small kitchen at home when my parents weren’t around.
At the same time, I made an effort to reconnect with old friends. Mark was an easy choice—his laid-back attitude and constant jokes were a reminder of the simpler times I had once taken for granted.
“Hey,” I said one afternoon as we sat on the bleachers, watching some of our classmates play soccer. “Do you ever think about what you really want to do after high school?”
Mark snorted. “What, like a dream job?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Something you’re passionate about.”
He shrugged. “I mean, sure, I’d love to play music or something, but let’s be real. My parents would kill me if I told them I didn’t want to go to college.”
I nodded, understanding all too well. “What if you could do both? College and music?”
Mark gave me a skeptical look. “You’re getting weirdly deep on me, Erik. What’s up with you lately?”
I smiled faintly. “Just… thinking about things differently.”
---
One evening, as I was finishing up a batch of cookies in the kitchen, my mom walked in.
“Erik, what’s all this?” she asked, raising an eyebrow at the trays of cookies cooling on the counter.
“Just practicing,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “I thought it’d be nice to make something.”
She sighed, shaking her head. “You should be focusing on your studies, not wasting time on this.”
“It’s not a waste,” I said, my voice firmer than I expected. “This is important to me.”
She frowned but didn’t argue further, muttering something about priorities as she left the room.
As I stared at the cookies, a sense of determination settled over me. This time, I wasn’t going to let anyone dismiss my dreams.
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