The first day of freshman year, a charity case showed up in our dorm room. She was schlepping a battered duffel bag that looked like it had been through a war, and her eyes were glued to the durian on my desk. Just then, I saw the comments pop into my vision, translucent and glowing: 【OMG, poor baby. She grew up in some backwoods town in Appalachia, she has no idea what a durian even is.】 A wave of pity washed over me, a familiar, stupid ache. I immediately offered her a piece. Later, more comments flooded my vision: 【Look at her clothes, they're literally falling apart. I bet she got them from a dumpster. If only someone would give her a new outfit.】 【She’s staring at her roommates’ skincare products. She’s so envious but she'd never say anything. She's terrified they'll think she's pathetic.】 My sympathy went into overdrive. I didn't just give her my barely-used designer clothes and La Mer products. I loaded her student dining card with ten grand and told her to go nuts. I never imagined that on graduation day, Maya would stand on stage and accuse me of being her personal tormentor. “She forced me to eat her leftovers, to wear her dirty, blood-stained underwear! I worked two jobs to save up money for my meal plan, and she stole my card to buy thousand-dollar steaks for herself!” “I endured that for four years! Is it a crime to be poor?! Do I deserve to be humiliated just because I don't have money?!” Overnight, Maya became a viral sensation, a symbol of resilience. I, on the other hand, was doxxed and canceled. It ended when an unhinged internet "crusader" posed as a maintenance guy, got into my apartment, and hacked me to death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the first day of freshman year. 1 It was September. The air in the dorm still hung thick with the last, sticky breath of summer. I stood in the middle of Room 403. The familiar, sterile smell of old linoleum and cheap paint. I dug my nails into my palm. The sharp sting of pain was a welcome confirmation: this wasn't a dream. I was really back. Back to four years ago. The day the nightmare began. *Creeeak—* The dorm room door swung open. I let out a slow, shaky breath and turned around. A girl was dragging a ridiculously overstuffed, beat-up duffel bag, shuffling into the room like she was trying to make herself invisible. Same faded, ill-fitting clothes. Same downcast eyes that refused to meet anyone's gaze. Maya. She dropped her bag with a soft thud and timidly looked up. Her eyes, however, were like spotlights, darting around the room, taking everything in. They swept over our other two roommates, already unpacking, and then landed on my side of the room. To be more specific, they landed on the spiky, pungent behemoth on my desk: a premium Musang King durian. Her nose twitched, almost imperceptibly. Her eyes, wide with a kind of raw curiosity, were locked on it. And right on cue, the familiar, semi-transparent text flickered into existence in front of my face: 【My heart breaks for her. Grew up dirt poor in the mountains, probably never even seen a fruit like that.】 【Look how curious she is, but she's too scared to ask. I'm crying. ??】 【Can't the rich roommate just offer her a piece? Our girl would be so grateful.】 A tide of hatred and disgust rose in my throat, so powerful it almost choked me. In my last life, it was these comments, dripping with fake sympathy and self-righteousness, that turned me into a complete idiot. They made me nurture a venomous snake that repaid my kindness by sinking its fangs into me, leading to my brutal murder. *"She didn't just force me to eat her scraps and wear her disgusting, used clothes! She made me use her expired, dollar-store skincare, trying to ruin my face so she’d feel better about herself!"* *"And worse, the second I deposited my hard-earned paycheck onto my dining card, she’d take it and blow it on a hundred-dollar steak! That was my food money for two months!"* *"I lived like that for four years! Just because I'm poor, does that mean I deserve to be someone's plaything? I was trying so hard, so damn hard just to survive!"* *"I'm sorry... I just can't take it anymore... I don't think I can go on..."* Her tear-streaked performance at graduation. The looks of disgust and contempt from the crowd. The frantic, weeping phone calls from my parents after our number was leaked. The dull thud of the blade hitting my bone... The memories exploded in my head. 2 “Hey there.” My own voice sounded eerily calm. Maya jumped like a startled deer, her head snapping down as she nervously twisted the hem of her worn-out t-shirt. “I-I’m sorry, I just… I’ve never seen one of those before…” I smiled, tapping the durian with a manicured nail. “You know what this is?” “Is it… a durian?” she whispered, her gaze still glued to it. She swallowed, a perfectly timed, delicate motion. “I’ve only seen them on TV. It smells… interesting.” 【She really hasn't! Come on, give her a taste!】 【She’s so precious and shy. My heart can’t take it.】 【The roommate seems nice enough. C'mon, share a little, please! ?】 The comments scrolled past. I methodically found a seam and pried the durian open. The golden, creamy flesh was revealed, its potent, sweet-and-funky aroma flooding the room. I picked up the plumpest, most perfect pod. But I didn’t hand it to Maya. Instead, right in front of her, I slowly brought it to my own lips and took a huge bite. The flesh was like a rich, sweet custard. Absolutely divine. “Yep, it’s a durian. A tropical fruit,” I said, my voice bright. “A bit on the pricey side, though. This one was almost a hundred bucks.” I hummed in satisfaction, took another bite, and flashed Maya my most brilliant smile. “It’s really good. I guess I have my parents to thank. They worked their butts off so I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want, without having to stare at other people’s food and drool.” Silence. The hopeful look on Maya's face froze, replaced by a flash of humiliation and resentment so quick I would have missed it if I wasn't looking for it. I ignored it, picking up the rest of the durian and walking over to my other two roommates, who had paused their unpacking to watch the awkward scene unfold. “Jess, Lauren, you guys have to try some of this. There’s no way I can finish it all myself.” I smiled and offered them each a piece. They were both from comfortable, upper-middle-class families, but not "drop-a-hundred-bucks-on-a-fruit" rich. “Wow, thanks, Ava!” Jess, the more outgoing of the two, took a piece and nibbled it. Her eyes widened. “Whoa, that’s amazing! It’s so sweet!” “Yeah, it really is,” Lauren added quietly, blushing a little. “I’ve never had the fancy kind before. Thank you.” After I’d shared with them, there was one small piece left on the husk. 【She wants some too... Everyone else got a piece, she's feeling so left out.】 【She's never had it before. Just a tiny bite is all she wants. She'll remember your kindness forever.】 【The rich roommate is so nice, I'm sure she'll give the last piece to Maya, right?】 3 The comments popped up right on schedule, cheering Maya on from their invisible sidelines. I saw her out of the corner of my eye. She’d taken a tiny step forward. The hurt expression was gone, replaced with one of pure, hopeful anticipation. Her hands were clasped in front of her, like a good little girl waiting for candy. A cold smirk played on my lips. This was the exact innocent, harmless act that lured me into her trap last time. I actually believed my kindness could heal a wounded, insecure soul. What a joke. I picked up the last piece of durian. Maya’s eyes lit up. But just as she was about to instinctively reach for it, I flicked my wrist and popped it into my own mouth. “Oh!” I gasped lightly, as if I’d just remembered something. I gave Maya a deeply apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, I just remembered. You know, some people are really allergic to durian? Like, anaphylactic shock, can’t-breathe kind of allergic. Since you’ve never had it before, it’s probably not safe. It would be terrible if something happened on the first day. Better to be safe than sorry.” I chewed thoughtfully, my eyes crinkling in enjoyment. “Mmm, so good. Yeah, for your own safety, I won’t share this time. Maybe next time. For sure.” The color drained from Maya’s face. She stared at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. Her lower lip began to tremble as her eyes filled with tears, but she fought to hold them back. This was clearly not in her script. “It’s… it’s okay,” she choked out, looking down at the floor. “I… I don’t deserve to eat something so expensive anyway… Thanks for looking out for me.” She looked like the saddest, most pitiful creature on earth. 【What? Why would she do that? Maya just wanted one bite.】 【This is so cruel. Making her watch everyone else eat…】 【Maybe the roommate really was just worried about an allergy… I hope so…】 “By the way, I’m Ava,” I said, briskly changing the subject. “You must be our new roommate, Maya, right? Your bed is over there, the one by the door. You should get unpacked. Let us know if you need anything.” I pointed to the worst bed in the room—the one right by the noisy hallway, furthest from the A/C unit. Maya followed my finger, her lips pressing into a thin line. She shuffled over to her duffel bag and started dragging it across the floor. Jess and Lauren exchanged a look and started to get up, but I shot them a sharp glance and a tiny shake of my head. They hesitated, then sat back down. Seeing that no one was offering to help, Maya had to haul the heavy bag to her bed all by herself. 4 Just then, the zipper on her bag, which hadn’t been closed properly, gave way, and a few items of clothing spilled out onto the floor. They were all old, faded, and frayed at the edges. “Oh!” she cried, scrambling to pick them up. The comments went into a frenzy. 【OMG, LOOK AT HER CLOTHES! The cuffs are torn! They’re full of holes!】 【My heart is shattered. Her face is so red, she must be so embarrassed. It's not her fault she's poor.】 【That’s probably all she owns. Three outfits she pulled out of a charity bin. I wish someone would buy our girl a new shirt.】 Last time, it was this little "accidental" spill that had me packing up a huge bag of my own nearly-new designer clothes for her the very next day. Those same clothes she later claimed I forced her to wear, including "dirty, blood-stained underwear." This time, I just watched, my expression blank. Maya stuffed the clothes back in her bag, her cheeks and the rims of her eyes a blotchy red. “S-sorry, I didn’t pack very well…” “It’s fine,” I said coolly. “It’s move-in day, things are chaotic. But just so you know, the dorm rooms are pretty small, so try to keep your personal stuff contained in your own space, okay? We don't want to clutter up the common areas.” Maya’s body went rigid for a split second. She mumbled a quiet “Okay,” and went back to unpacking her few meager possessions. A moment later, she pulled out a generic, unlabeled bottle of lotion. She glanced at the collection of glossy bottles and jars on my vanity—the La Mer, the Drunk Elephant, the Augustinus Bader—and heaved a perfectly calibrated sigh of longing and despair. Naturally, the live feed started up again. 【She’s secretly looking at her roommate’s skincare. You can see the envy and sadness in her eyes. I’m dead.】 【She's probably never used anything but soap and water on her face. This is heartbreaking.】 【And she’d never dare ask for any. She’s too afraid of being judged for being a country bumpkin.】 I felt nothing. In fact, a dark humor bubbled up inside me. The very La Mer cream I’d given her in our last life became "expired, no-name poison" in her sob story. Let’s see how you spin this now, Maya. I picked up my toner, ostentatiously patting it on my face. “Hey Jess,” I said loudly. “Wanna hit the mall this weekend? I’m running low on a few things.” Jess, caught off guard, replied, “Oh, yeah, sure! I need to grab some stuff too.” Maya’s movements slowed to a crawl. She was listening intently, the disappointment on her face becoming more and more pronounced. I paid her no attention. After she finished unpacking, she just sat on the edge of her bed, looking lost and out of place. When dinner time rolled around, Jess and Lauren asked, “Hey, you guys wanna go to the dining hall?” Maya was silent for a few seconds before pulling a small, worn cloth pouch from her pocket. She carefully unfolded it, revealing a few crumpled dollar bills. She counted them, then said in a voice as quiet as a mouse, “I, uh, brought my own food. You guys go ahead.” She reached into her duffel bag and pulled out an old metal tin. Inside was a dry piece of bread and what looked like a few pickles. 【I’m actually crying! That’s all she’s eating?!】 【She's so used to hardship. Grew up never having enough to eat, probably went a whole year without meat. This is just normal for her.】 【If only the rich roommate had a heart and would just take her to dinner. Our girl would repay her a thousand times over!】 5 Here we go again. The same damn script. Last time, this was the scene that broke me. This, and the relentless stream of pity-party comments. I was so overwhelmed with guilt that I immediately took her dining card, loaded it with ten grand, and told her it was ours to share. And my reward? She accused me of stealing her "hard-earned part-time job money" to buy myself "hundred-dollar steaks." The truth was, to save her the embarrassment, I gave her the card to use as her own. I mostly ordered takeout anyway. On the rare occasion I ate at the dining hall, I paid with cash. Those hundred-dollar steaks? She ordered every single one of them herself. “Okay, then. We’ll head out,” I said, my face a mask of indifference. “I heard the West End dining hall has a pretty decent grill. I’m thinking of trying their New York strip tonight.” Maya’s head shot up, her eyes flashing with a familiar, greedy light. She was waiting, expecting me to say, “Why don’t you come with us?” I didn’t. I just grabbed my wallet and walked out of the room with Jess and Lauren. As the door clicked shut behind me, I could have sworn I heard the sound of a choked sob from inside. Walking down the hall, Lauren finally broke the silence. “Ava… you seem a little… cold to Maya.” Jess nodded in agreement, looking at me with curiosity. I stopped and looked at them both, taking a deep breath. “Jess, Lauren,” I said, my voice low but firm, carrying a weight they couldn’t possibly understand. “Listen to me, and remember this. No matter how pathetic Maya seems, no matter what sob story she tells you, do not give her anything valuable. Especially not cash. If you feel like you absolutely have to help her, make sure you have a record of it. A receipt. A text message. Something.” “Why?” they asked in unison, completely baffled. “Because some people are not poor in pocket, they’re poor in spirit. And helping the wrong person isn’t just a mistake. It can get you killed.” I glanced back at the closed door of Room 403, my eyes like chips of ice. Your show is just getting started, Maya. And so is my revenge. This time, without my bottomless bank account to fund your "resilient poor girl" narrative, let’s see how long you can keep the act up. You don't just owe me an apology. You owe me a life.
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