Chapter 3

On the third day of substitute teaching, I practically flew into the classroom.

My heart pounded like a drum, and the lesson plan in my hand was already soaked with sweat. The successful establishment of my Angel identity yesterday had kept me awake all night, my mind racing with thoughts of what new content might appear on the desktop.

Sure enough, when I bent down to check that familiar desk, dense text covered almost the entire surface.

"Angel, Bloom wore a blue hair clip today—it really brings out her eyes."

"She got called on in English class and her face turned red from nervousness. So adorable."

"The way she frowned while thinking during math class made me want to protect her forever."

My breathing stopped instantly.

This 17-year-old boy... he had been observing so intently? I never knew that young Kelvin saw me this way.

In my memory, I was just an overlooked outcast back then, someone even I thought was worthless.

"Kelvin..." I traced the words on the desktop gently, my eyes welling up. "Was what you saw really me?"

The bell rang, and students began filing into the classroom. I quickly arranged my lesson plan, but kept stealing glances at 17-year-old me sitting in the back row and Kelvin in the front.

Seventeen-year-old me still wore that oversized gray jacket, head down to avoid everyone's gaze. Meanwhile, Kelvin would occasionally turn around to look at me, with a tenderness in his eyes that I had completely failed to notice back then.

So... he really had been paying attention to me.

After class, I practically counted on my fingers waiting for the students to leave. When the classroom was finally empty, I rushed to the desk and began writing my response under the desk lamp.

"Don't stare at Bloom so much—girls get uncomfortable with too much attention."

I paused, remembering how 17-year-old me had indeed felt nervous under Kelvin's gaze.

"Give her some space. Excessive attention creates pressure. Try helping her with studies instead of always making jokes."

After writing this, I felt a strange sense of control. I was guiding the past, gently manipulating the course of fate. This feeling was both sweet and intoxicating.

The next morning, Kelvin's reply appeared on the desktop:

"Thank you, Angel. I'll be more careful. I only want to make her happy—I never wanted to pressure her."

"You're right, I should be more mature."

Looking at these words, an inexplicable pride swelled in my chest. I was changing Kelvin, making him more perfect, more suitable for 17-year-old me.

And over the next few days, I witnessed the effects of this change firsthand.

Kelvin stopped frequently turning to look at 17-year-old me. Instead, he actively passed over a note with math solutions during class. Seventeen-year-old me looked stunned at first, then quietly said "thank you."

In that moment, I nearly cried out from excitement.

That evening, I eagerly checked the desktop and found Kelvin's excited report:

"Angel! Bloom asked to borrow my eraser today!"

"She even said thank you—her voice is so sweet! I feel like her attitude toward me is changing!"

"Is it because I followed your advice? You're amazing!"

I stared at those exclamation marks bursting with teenage enthusiasm, my lips unconsciously curving upward. This sweet manipulation across time and space intoxicated me, as if I had truly become the master of fate.

I was rewriting our story...

Just as I was about to reply, my phone rang shrilly.

Caller ID: Mom.

My mood instantly plummeted from cloud nine. After hesitating a few seconds, I answered.

"Riley, tomorrow at 2 PM—meet Mrs. Brown's son!" My mother's voice was sharp as a knife. "Don't make excuses this time! You're 31 years old!"

"Mom, I have to work tomorrow..."

"What work? Substitute teaching? You think you can substitute teach for life?" My mother's voice grew shriller. "Mrs. Brown's son makes $500K a year, drives a Mercedes, owns property—what more could you want?"

I looked at Kelvin's words full of pure love on the desktop, then listened to my mother's realistic, harsh words on the phone. The contrast cut through my heart like a blade.

"Fine, Mom..." I replied wearily.

"Remember—tomorrow at 2 PM, that Italian restaurant downtown. Don't be late!" Mom hung up immediately.

In the silent classroom, I was alone.

I looked down at Kelvin's words on the desktop. Those excited descriptions about borrowing an eraser looked so beautiful, so pure under the desk lamp.

Seventeen-year-old love... and 31-year-old blind dates.

This contrast made breathing nearly impossible. On one side, a pure-hearted teenager in the past celebrating over a simple "thank you." On the other, my calculating mother in reality arranging my life based on material conditions.

I picked up the pen and wrote with trembling hands:

"Angel has something tomorrow and might not be able to reply promptly."

Soon, Kelvin's response appeared:

"Okay, Angel. Thank you for always listening to me talk about Bloom."

"You make me feel less lonely."

I'm the lonely one...

I put down the pen, eyes moistening. In the 17-year-old timeline, through Angel's identity, I had experienced the feeling of being needed for the first time, felt the sweetness of pure love.

But in my 31-year-old reality, I faced calculating blind dates, my mother's pressure, and despair about the future.

I turned off the desk lamp, plunging the classroom into darkness.

Kelvin's final words of gratitude flickered in and out of view under the moonlight. Tomorrow I would go on a blind date, face another possible rejection, while in another timeline, 17-year-old Kelvin was getting closer to 17-year-old me thanks to my guidance.

This contrast filled me with both warmth and heartbreak.

I had found love in the past but lost hope in the present.

Could I continue this sweet deception? When the truth finally emerged, how long could this cross-temporal beauty last?

I touched the words on the desktop, panic rising in my chest.

I began to fear tomorrow's blind date—not because of possible rejection, but because it meant temporarily leaving this sweet dream where I could control fate and feel loved.

Maybe... maybe I could stay in this timeline forever.

This crazy thought made my heart race.