I was burying myself in work when a friend request popped up on my phone. [Hi. Guess who.] [Don't be so cold.] [Fine, I won't disturb your class. It's Lucas Asher.] My finger froze. I frowned and typed back: [Stop playing jokes. My husband is already dead.] [W-what?! You’re calling me husband already?!] The person on the other end only seemed to register the word "husband," sending a string of shy emojis. Impatient and angry at someone impersonating the dead, I hit the video call button. I wanted to scream at them. The call connected. A flushed, panicked teenage boy appeared on the screen, wearing a Saint Jude’s Prep blazer. I froze. "Husband?!" The person on the other end... was Lucas Asher from ten years ago!!! 1 I slammed the "End Call" button. I pressed my hand against my chest, feeling my heart hammering against my ribs. The boy on the screen—his face was red as a ripe tomato. His eyes dodged the camera, but they were full of hope. He looked like he was living a dream he never thought would come true. How is this possible? My fingers trembled as I typed a message. [Are you... really Lucas?] [Of course!] He replied instantly, his excitement piercing through the screen. A second later, another text popped up. [Why aren't you in your uniform? The Headmaster is doing dorm inspections tonight. You’ll get written up.] "Dorm inspections"... for me, that was ten years ago. I took a deep breath and typed slowly. [Because where I am, it is October 24th, 2025.] The typing bubble paused. A moment later, Lucas sent a giant question mark. [???] I stared at the screen, hesitated for a second, then typed the truth. [I am your wife. I am Elena Vance from the year 2025.] The other side fell into a weird silence. 2 I didn't wait. I video-called him back immediately. Lucas’s face appeared on the screen again. The tips of his ears were bleeding red, his voice shaking. "You... you're actually my wife?" Sure enough, compared to "2025," the word "wife" was what panicked him the most. I rested my chin in my hand, smiling at him. "Don't believe me?" He gulped and looked away. "You're making it up..." "You have a mole on your inner thigh. Every night, when things get intense, you force me to look at it." "?!" "And when that happens, the low groan you make is actually quite sexy." Lucas practically boiled over. He looked like a cat that had been splashed with hot water. Even his neck turned pink. "You—" He wanted to call me shameless. But then he realized something... technically, he was the one doing those things! He choked on his words, looking like he wanted to cry. "I... I am so shameless!" 3 "You're not shameless. You had a crush on me for three years before you dared to say hello. You’re very disciplined." I smiled, enjoying the sight of the mortified boy on the screen. Lucas covered his face with his hands, silent. After a long time, he whispered, "What about you?" "What?" "Do you... look at me every day because..." His voice trembled. He tried to muster up the courage but still didn't dare look me in the eye. "...because you like me too?" I paused, falling into memory. Ten years ago, Elena Vance wore thick black glasses and ran between classrooms. A typical nerd. Lucas, on the other hand, was the school's golden boy. We had zero intersection. The only connection? He always stood by the school gate. And every time I walked in, I glared at him. Please. He was the only person in the entire school who scored higher than me in Calculus. He didn't even study hard, yet he beat me every time, forcing me to be eternally second place. Who wouldn't be mad? But this silly boy... He mistook my hostility for longing. 4 Looking at the shy boy on the screen, I couldn't bear to tell him the truth. I deliberately changed the subject. "So, when did you start liking me?" "W-who said I like you?!" Heh. The innocent puppy wants to play tough? I casually selected a few carefully posed "thirst trap" photos from my gallery and hit send. [Stop staring at that stolen ID photo every night. Look at these instead.] The screen on the other side went chaotic. Click. He hung up. The chat remained silent for three full minutes. Lucas was probably steaming, his brain short-circuiting. Finally, clutching a tissue to his nose, he sent a voice message. His voice was so tense it cracked. [I... I don't look at it every night!] A second later, realizing he just admitted to looking at it some nights, he frantically deleted the message. I was laughing so hard I couldn't stand up straight. 5 From that day on, I logged on punctually every night. I chatted with Lucas for the thirty minutes after his evening study hall. It was the only window our timelines connected. Every night, the puppy would crumble under my teasing, ears burning, shy but stubborn. But during the day, in his timeline, I was still High School Elena with the heavy backpack. I’d walk past him in the hallway, eyes forward, cold and distant. And Lucas? Every time he saw me, he’d steal glances, twisting his backpack straps. He looked nervous as hell, like a criminal hiding a secret. The contrast was addictive. Finally, one night, he couldn't hold it in. [Where am I? The Lucas from ten years later?] My heart sank. I had slipped up on the first day... had he figured it out? Sensing my silence, Lucas typed carefully. [Is it... do you and Future Me have a bad relationship? Are you separated?] I let out a breath. Kids are easy to fool. I typed quickly: [He’s just on a business trip.] He pouted, his voice message sounding a bit aggrieved. [So when he comes back, you won't be able to talk to me anymore?] The boy's voice was clean and clear, filled with tentative hope. I froze. I didn't expect that question. He was just a green high school boy; how could he say something that made my heart race like that? Before I could reply, another message popped up. [Then... can you secretly spend more time with me while he’s gone?] Great. The puppy has gone rogue. 6 Lucas's message was still on the screen, carrying the thrill of last night. I touched the glass. The morning light filtered in, casting a warm glow on my desk. Just like the boy who didn't dare look me in the eye ten years ago. But time never stops. I pushed open the office door. My gaze landed on the framed photo on the desk. This used to be Lucas’s office. At 27, he was a successful, sharp-edged CEO. But since he died, my name is on the door. In the photo, we are smiling sweetly. The picture-perfect power couple. Now, looking at it makes me sick. The secretary's desk outside is empty. But from her seat, she would have had a clear view of this photo. I chuckled. When Lucas was cheating, did he ever feel guilty looking at this picture? 7 Three years into our marriage, he cheated with his secretary. A girl fresh out of college. That day, he came home early. He stood in the living room, looking at me with complicated eyes, as if gathering courage. "She... she looks like you." I put down my book and raised an eyebrow. "Hm?" "She... really looks like you." He paused, then added, "Like you when you were young." When I was young? I looked at him and almost laughed. "So, you think I'm old now?" I leaned back on the sofa, amused. "Your excuse for cheating is that she looks like me?" Lucas opened his mouth to explain. But eventually, he just looked at me silently, his eyes dark and unreadable. I smiled, mocking him. "You should go back and look at 17-year-old me. I wasn't nearly as pretty as her." He didn't speak. I was too lazy to ask more. That night, I drafted the divorce agreement. The next day, we went to City Hall. But while we were waiting for the final decree, he died. It was sudden. Clean. No last words. We had no children. I was the primary beneficiary. I inherited his company and everything he left unfinished. As for the young secretary, she vanished like smoke after his death. She never caused me any trouble. Now, standing in his office, looking at his legacy, I felt nothing. Everything was exactly as he left it—files open, coffee cup on the corner of the desk. As if he just went to a meeting and would be back any minute. But he wouldn't. I looked down at the photo frame face-down in the trash can. My lips curled slightly.
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