Chapter 2
Faced with Kelvin's rapid-fire questions, my mind went completely blank.
I had made a fatal mistake! I shouldn't have revealed the truth about 2026! If I kept insisting on this story, he would ask more questions—about the future world, about that fire, about his death...
I couldn't let him know the truth.
"Are you still there? Please answer me! Are you really from the future?" New words of urgency appeared on the desk.
I picked up the pen with trembling hands. I had to take back what I'd just said and fabricate a new explanation.
"Sorry, I just... I was just joking." I told my first lie. "I'm not from 2026."
"Then who exactly are you?" The handwriting looked more confused. "Why can you see what I just wrote? What the hell is going on?"
Time was slipping away, and I could feel Kelvin's patience disappearing. If I couldn't give him a convincing explanation, this miraculous connection would break.
I needed an identity, one that could explain all of this.
"I am..." I stopped writing, my heart pounding like thunder. Then, a crazy idea flashed through my mind. I put pen to paper again: "I'm Angel, with special abilities to foresee the future."
The desk fell silent for a few seconds, then angry handwriting appeared:
"Angel? Sounds like a scammer. What proof do you have? Why should I believe you?"
My heart sank. Of course, Kelvin wouldn't easily believe such an absurd claim. I needed evidence, a fact that only someone who could "predict the future" would know.
I desperately tried to recall the situation in March 2012. Back then... back then, Mr. Johnson did indeed catch colds frequently because he always dressed too lightly and liked smoking in the cold wind. I remembered once when he called in sick, causing PE class to be canceled...
"I can see things that are about to happen," I wrote, "including the future of you and Bloom."
"Bloom?" The handwriting looked shocked. "How do you know about Bloom? Do you know her?"
My heart nearly stopped beating. I had forgotten—at this point in time, only Kelvin would call me by that name. I had revealed too much information.
"I know many things," I tried to maintain an air of mystery. "Tomorrow Mr. Johnson will call in sick for PE class because of a cold."
Angry handwriting immediately exploded across the desk:
"Don't jinx it! PE is my favorite class, and I want to show off to Bloom on the basketball court!"
I could imagine 17-year-old Kelvin's expression at this moment—that stubborn defiance, that hopeful anticipation for the future. My eyes began to well up.
"Angel never lies," I insisted in writing. "Just wait and see."
"If you're lying to me," Kelvin's handwriting carried a threat, "I'll never believe you again!"
I put down the pen, feeling completely drained. What had I just done? I had fabricated a false identity and made a high-risk prediction. What if Mr. Johnson didn't call in sick tomorrow? What if my memory was wrong?
But more importantly—what should I do now? Could I change history? Should I warn Kelvin about the fire?
That night, I barely slept a wink.
The next day after school, I snuck back to that classroom like a criminal. My palms were sweaty, and my heart was beating so fast it felt like it might explode.
New handwriting was waiting for me on the desk:
"My God... you actually predicted it correctly! Mr. Johnson called in sick this morning! The substitute teacher said he had a cold!"
I almost cried. At least this part was true... at least I hadn't failed at the first step.
"I apologize for doubting you," Kelvin's handwriting continued. "Please forgive my rudeness. You really are Angel, you really can foresee the future."
I wrote with trembling hands: "I don't blame you. Anyone would have doubted."
"Then can you tell me..." The handwriting paused, then continued, "Did Bloom get into art school? Did she become an art teacher? I know that's her dream."
My pen hovered in mid-air, my hand shaking so much I could barely control it. Art school... art teacher... these were all my dreams when I was 17. But in reality, I was just a substitute teacher without even permanent employment.
I remembered the rejection letter when I applied to art school, the countless job applications that went nowhere, my mother's disappointed expression...
But looking at Kelvin's hopeful question, I couldn't tell him the truth.
"Yes," I told my first lie about the future, "she achieved all her dreams."
Excited handwriting immediately appeared on the desk: "I knew it! I knew she would succeed! She's so talented, so hardworking!"
My tears fell onto the desk. This lie hurt more than a knife.
"What about me?" Kelvin continued asking. "Did I become a police officer? The career I've always dreamed of? I want to protect innocent people, I want to become a real hero!"
My heart was torn to pieces. Police officer... Kelvin did indeed dream of becoming a police officer. But in reality, he never had the chance to realize this dream because he died at 17...
I closed my eyes and wrote down an even more painful lie: "Yes... you became an excellent police officer."
"That's wonderful!" The handwriting almost jumped off the desk. "I knew it! We'll both achieve our dreams!"
Then, the desk fell silent for a long time. I could feel 17-year-old Kelvin hesitating, thinking about something important.
Finally, the most crucial question appeared:
"Do we... do Bloom and I end up together?"
My vision blurred. This was the cruelest question, the most impossible dream. In the original timeline, Kelvin died, and everything was lost. And now, faced with this hopeful question, how should I answer?
My pen hovered in the air for a full five minutes.
Then, I wrote down the most painful lie:
"Yes... you're very happy together."
Celebratory handwriting exploded across the desk:
"I knew it! I knew she liked me too! I can feel it, when I call her Bloom, the light in her eyes! She's just too shy to express it!"
"She's the most beautiful girl, not because of her appearance, but because of her soul! Others can't see it, but I can! Her little flower drawings contain entire universes!"
"I'm going to work hard to become someone worthy of her! I want to protect her, love her, give her the best of everything!"
I buried my face on the desk and cried silently. Every word pierced my heart like a needle. These words, these promises, these beautiful dreams... all turned to ash because of that damned fire.
But seeing Kelvin's hopeful and loving words on the desk, I knew these well-intentioned lies were necessary.
At least in this timeline, at least in these conversations, Kelvin could live with hope, could believe that a beautiful future was waiting for them.
I wiped away my tears and wrote back: "She's lucky to have someone who loves her like you do."
"I'm the lucky one!" Kelvin's handwriting was full of gratitude. "Thank you, Angel. Knowing our future is so beautiful, I feel incredibly happy. I'll treasure every day, I'll work hard to become a better person!"
I put down the pen, looking at these hopeful words, my heart breaking.
How long could these lies last? What would happen when I could no longer fabricate more beautiful futures? What consequences would come when the truth was finally exposed?
But at this moment, seeing Kelvin's happiness, I told myself—perhaps these well-intentioned deceptions were more precious than cruel truths.
At least now, in that timeline of 2012, there was a boy named Kelvin looking forward to tomorrow with hope.
And perhaps, that was enough.








