Chapter 4
The crystal chandelier in the Italian restaurant cast harsh, cold light. I sat by the window, feeling like an unwelcome intruder. Wearing my only decent black dress, I looked shabby among all the suits and business attire.
Across from me, Mrs. Brown's son—a thirty-five-year-old man named Marcus—was sizing me up with critical eyes, as if appraising merchandise.
"A substitute teacher?" Marcus cut his steak without looking up. "To be honest, at my age, I need someone with stable income. Is this... even a real job?"
I gripped my utensils tighter, forcing a smile. "Education is meaningful work..."
"Meaning doesn't pay the bills." Marcus finally looked at me directly, setting down his knife and fork. "My family's law firm brings in seven figures annually. I need a partner who's my equal. Do you understand what 'equal' means?"
Each word cut like a sharp blade into my already fragile self-esteem. I thought of Kelvin's words on the desk—"Bloom wore a blue hair clip today, it matches her eyes perfectly"—such innocent appreciation compared to this naked disdain.
"I understand. We're clearly not compatible." I stood up, my voice eerily calm. "I'll pay the bill."
Marcus watched me pull out crumpled twenty-dollar bills, laughing mockingly. "A substitute teacher's salary—even this meal must hurt your wallet, right?"
Compared to Kelvin's innocence, these people were so shallow.
I threw down the money and walked away, Marcus's contemptuous snort following me. The sunlight outside was blinding, and I felt the entire world mocking me—31 years old, single, career failure, not even worth a snob's attention.
But a voice in my heart was screaming: At least there's still that world on the desktop, at least Kelvin is still waiting for me.
This thought suddenly filled me with an urge to escape—escape this reality full of disdain and coldness.
I practically ran back to Jefferson High, my heels clicking urgently on the hallway floor. As sunset painted the empty classroom, I rushed toward that desk.
The desktop was covered with frantic, messy handwriting that screamed panic and desperation.
"Angel! Something terrible happened! Bloom didn't come to school today!"
My heart clenched violently.
"Classmates said something happened at home! She's been crying alone all night!"
No... please no... My hands began to shake.
"I want to find her, but I don't know where she lives. Angel, can you help me? I know you can see the future—you must know where she is! Please!"
I collapsed into the chair as memories from fourteen years ago crashed over me like a tsunami.
It was the night of March 16th, 2012.
"I'm a grown man—how would I know how to take care of a girl... she'd be better off with your mother..."
"She's so withdrawn and strange, I need a fresh start... and the teachers all say she's not adjusting well at school..."
Seventeen-year-old me huddled in the stairway corner, listening to my parents downstairs discussing my fate like unwanted furniture. Every word was a dull knife slowly sawing through my heart.
"Nobody wants me... truly nobody wants me..."
Then came a knock at the door.
"Hey, Bloom!" The golden-haired boy stood at our doorstep, his smile brighter than stars. "I came to take you out for a walk!"
My parents froze. Kelvin ignored their complicated stares and charged upstairs: "If none of you want her, I do!"
Those four words thundered through the entire house.
I remember crying as I ran out with him, remember us racing along the beach, remember the sea breeze drying all my tears, remember it was the first time I felt chosen, needed.
"That was my first time being chosen... first time feeling needed..."
The warmth of that night still burned in my heart, but reality's chill instantly pulled me back.
I snapped my eyes open, tears blurring my vision. Kelvin's writing on the desktop still waited for a reply—he had no idea that night would completely change both their destinies.
What if... what if I prevented that meeting?
If Kelvin never found seventeen-year-old me, he wouldn't fall in love with me, and he wouldn't die in the art building fire trying to save me.
My hand hovered above the desktop as my heart waged the cruelest battle: "If I prevent that meeting, maybe he won't fall in love with me... maybe he'll survive..."
But that would also mean that beautiful night of running on the beach would never happen. That moment when I first felt loved would be completely erased from history.
With trembling hands, I picked up the pen: "Angel senses she might be at a relative's house on Westbrook Avenue, heading west."
Completely the wrong direction.
"Thank you, Angel! I'll go find her right away!" Kelvin's writing radiated gratitude.
I stared at those words, gripping the pen tightly, emotions churning inside me. Finally, I wrote nothing more and gently set the pen down.
I knew what I had just done. I had personally severed fate's red thread, ensuring that the night which saved my soul would never happen.
Back in my apartment, I collapsed on the sofa, staring at the empty room. On the wall hung a seascape I'd painted at seventeen—created after Kelvin took me to the beach that night, full of warm golden hues. Now it looked more like a dream that would never come true.
My phone buzzed with another demanding text from my mother: "There's a doctor to meet tomorrow. Remember to dress presentably."
I turned off my phone and closed my eyes. In this cold reality, I was a 31-year-old failure. But in that desktop world, I was saving a young man's life.
Maybe such a price... was worth it.
That night I barely slept, replaying that decision over and over. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw my seventeen-year-old self crying alone on that lonely night.
While Kelvin searched futilely in the wrong direction.








