After graduation, the entire senior class went a little wild. It was the season of confessions, the air thick with hormones and the scent of cheap cologne. But the main event—the one everyone was waiting for—was Shane, the school’s golden boy and quarterback, finally confessing to me, Nora, his childhood sweetheart. I stood by the back door of the classroom, my cheeks burning. Just as my fingertips were about to graze the powder-blue envelope in his hand, a man in a sharp, tailored suit barged in. He snatched the letter and ripped it to shreds. He claimed to be Shane from ten years in the future. Twenty-eight-year-old Shane. "Don't tell Nora you love her. She isn't the one," the man said. He grabbed eighteen-year-old Shane by the arm and pointed toward a girl in the corner, wearing a faded, oversized hoodie. "See Sophie? In ten years, you’re going to love her with a passion that burns the world down. You’ll die for her. Since you’re destined to be with her, why waste the next ten years?" Teenage Shane looked at him like he was insane. He shoved the man away. "You're crazy! I only love Nora!" But the confession was ruined. The older Shane stuck around, claiming he was there to help his younger self "see his heart clearly." And gradually, I noticed Shane changing. When Sophie tripped in the hallway, Shane rushed her to the ER, forgetting that I had been waiting for him at the carnival for over an hour. At the team dinner, he instinctively remembered that Sophie hated peanuts, picking them out of the Kung Pao chicken—and putting them on my plate, forgetting that I was allergic. When it rained, his umbrella always hovered over Sophie’s head first, while I stood right next to him, getting soaked. These tiny shifts were like paper cuts on my heart, bleeding me dry one drop at a time. Then came the day we submitted our college applications. "Nora, I'm sorry," Shane said, his eyes darting away, unable to meet mine. "I can't go to Stanford with you. The new AI program at South State is a better fit for me." My blood ran cold. I knew exactly why. South State was the only school Sophie’s mediocre grades could get her into. He grabbed my hand, using that pleading tone I used to find adorable. "Come to South State with me? That way we can still be together. I’ve always listened to you before, just let me have this one thing, okay? I’ll listen to you for the rest of my life after this." His words felt like needles. I pulled my hand away silently and nodded. But the moment I turned around, I finalized my applications. I sent my acceptance letter to a top university in London. Shane, if your love isn't exclusive, then I don't want it at all. Chapter 2 The day my acceptance letter arrived, I felt an eerie calm. I pulled out the giant storage bin from my closet. It was filled with everything Shane had given me over the years. Childish crayon drawings, limited-edition sneakers, a necklace engraved with our initials, a thick stack of movie stubs, the study notes he’d stayed up all night to write for me... Once, these were my treasures. Now, I carried the box downstairs to the dumpster and threw it all in without hesitating. As I turned to leave, I saw two figures arguing nearby. Twenty-eight-year-old Shane, in his expensive suit, was gripping teenage Shane’s wrist. Young Shane, his white dress shirt billowing in the wind, looked furious. "Let go of me!" "Why are you looking for her?" The older Shane’s voice was strained. "You need to go be with Sophie! She’s the one you actually love!" "Bullshit!" The boy yanked his hand free, his face full of teenage defiance. "I only love Nora. Can you just disappear, you psycho?" "Really?" The older man sneered. "Then why did you give up Stanford and your future for Sophie?" The boy froze, his voice dropping. "Who said I did it for her?" I didn't want to watch this absurd drama anymore. I turned to leave, but Shane saw me. He rushed over, grabbing my wrist, his voice instantly softening. "Nora! You said you wanted to see that new romance movie, right? I bought tickets. Let's go, okay?" "No," I said, my voice flat. Shane’s smile faltered, then he pleaded again. "Are you still mad about the college thing? You already agreed to go to South State with me. The program there really is good. Just this once, indulge me, please?" His eyes drooped slightly at the corners—his signature 'puppy dog' look. It used to work every time. Now, I just felt numb. Before I could answer, he half-dragged me into his new sports car. The older Shane followed, looking grim, and slid into the backseat. The atmosphere in the car was suffocating. Older Shane glanced around and spoke abruptly. "You just bought this, right? Change the air freshener. Sophie hates 'Starry Night,' she likes fruity scents. And the strawberry milk in the console—toss it. Sophie is lactose intolerant. Get soda crackers." Teenage Shane’s knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. "Are you done? I’m going to say this one last time. I only like Nora. I will never, ever like that Sophie girl!" Older Shane acted like he didn't hear the outburst. "Is that so? Because later, you love her to the bone. You drink until your stomach bleeds for her. You wait outside her apartment all night. You even..." He listed every crazy, romantic thing the "future" Shane did for Sophie. I sat in the passenger seat, every word an ice pick to the chest. I looked out the window, the blurring streets matching the blur in my vision. At the theater, Shane bought a massive bucket of caramel popcorn—my favorite—and shoved it into my arms. During the movie, he leaned in to whisper jokes about the plot. The screen’s light reflected on his handsome profile. I watched him, feeling dazed. Memories flooded back. Three years old, dragging his pillow to my bed. Seven years old, fighting a bully for my hair clip. Twelve years old, skipping class to hold my hand when I had a fever. I couldn't understand. How could this boy, who had carved me into his very existence, turn into the man in the backseat? How could he love a plain, manipulative girl like Sophie so desperately in ten years? But everything happening lately forced me to believe it. Suddenly, Shane’s phone buzzed violently. The name on the screen: Sophie. He glanced at it and hung up. It rang again. He hung up again. After the fifth time, Older Shane in the seat next to him grabbed his arm. "What's the date?" "The 10th. Why?" Shane snapped. "Answer it! Answer it now!" The older man’s voice was frantic. "It's today! Sophie gets cornered by a gang. To escape them, she jumps from the second floor and breaks her leg. She’s in the hospital for a month! Go!" Shane frowned. "What are you talking about? Even if something happened, it's not my problem. We're just classmates!" "If you don't go, you will regret it! You will hate yourself forever!" Older Shane was practically growling. Teenage Shane scoffed. "If I leave Nora here alone right now, that is what I'll regret!" He silenced his phone and flipped it face down on the armrest. Older Shane stared at him, his expression complex, before standing up. "Fine. You won't go? I will!" He stormed out of the theater. The movie continued, but I could feel that the boy beside me was gone. He was jittery, tapping his fingers, his eyes constantly darting to the face-down phone that kept lighting up silently. Finally, after another buzz, he shot up. "Nora, I... I forgot to get you a Coke. Wait here, I'll be right back!" He lied. He couldn't even look me in the eye. He grabbed his phone and bolted out of the theater. I watched his retreating back, my heart sinking to the bottom of a frozen ocean. He wasn't coming back. Minutes later, my phone buzzed. It was a video message from "28-Year-Old Shane." Chapter 3 I clicked play. The video was shaky, filmed in a dim alleyway. In the frame, the boy I knew so well—my Shane—was red-eyed, fighting like a madman. He was beating a group of thugs with a brutality I’d never seen. Sophie was huddled in the corner, crying delicately. When Shane stopped, gasping for air, she threw herself at him, hugging his waist. "Shane, stop! I'm so scared..." Shane froze, panting, and looked back at her. His voice was a mix of fear and anger. "Are you stupid? Why didn't you call the cops?" Sophie looked up, tears streaming. "I... I don't trust anyone. I only trust you. I called you so many times, but you didn't pick up. I was so scared..." Shane paused, looking at her total dependence on him. Finally, his voice softened. "Set me as your emergency contact. From now on... I won't miss the call." Set me as your emergency contact. That sentence was a poisoned dagger. Once upon a time, he had demanded that of me. When I accidentally dialed him in my sleep and didn't answer, he took an eight-hour train ride just to check if I was alive. I thought that spot was mine forever. It wasn't. The video ended. My heart throbbed with a dull ache. I stared numbly at the screen, unable to process the movie. The lights came up, the credits rolled, and the crowd began to shuffle out. Just as I reached the exit, a terrifying, grinding groan came from the ceiling. Then, screams. "The roof is collapsing! Run!" Boom! A massive crash, a violent tremor, and then darkness swallowed everything. I didn't even have time to react before heavy concrete and debris buried me. Before I lost consciousness, a wave of bleak irony washed over me. Look, Nora. The Shane from the future remembered Sophie getting harassed by thugs. He forced his younger self to save her. But he conveniently forgot—or didn't care—that on the same day, at the same time, you would be buried under a collapsing building. In ten years, he really, truly doesn't love you anymore. I woke up in heavy darkness. "Here! We have a pulse! Hurry!" When I was pulled from the rubble, the sunlight blinded me. I felt myself being moved, heard the ambulance sirens wailing. When I woke again, it was to the smell of antiseptic. The anesthesia was wearing off. I was being wheeled out of surgery. The doctor was speaking. "Surgery was successful. Left leg fracture set, mild concussion, lacerations... just needs rest." The gurney stopped abruptly. I struggled to open my eyes and met a pair of horrified, familiar eyes. Shane. He was walking out of a nearby room. Sophie was leaning weakly against him, a small bandage on her forehead. The older Shane was on her other side. When Shane saw me—wrapped in gauze, pale as a ghost, leg in a cast—the color drained from his face. He let go of Sophie instantly and rushed to my gurney. "Nora? What happened?" His voice was panicked. He reached out to touch me but pulled back, his hand trembling in the air. Older Shane steadied Sophie and looked at me with a flicker of surprise, which was quickly replaced by indifference. I was too tired. I closed my eyes. My doctor sighed and explained to Shane, "This young lady was pulled from the cinema collapse downtown. She was buried deep. Lost a lot of blood. If we'd found her any later..." Shane’s face went grey. He whipped his head around, glaring at his older self with lethal intensity. He turned back to the doctor. "I'm her boyfriend. I'll take her to her room." "She needs absolute quiet," the doctor blocked him. "Wait before you visit." As the nurse pushed me into the room and the door clicked shut, I heard the shouting match erupt outside. "You're me from ten years in the future!" It was teenage Shane, voice shaking with rage. "You remembered Sophie getting harassed by some punks, but you didn't say a word about Nora being crushed in a building collapse? She almost died!" "Why should I remember?" Older Shane’s voice was cold, impatient. "I only care about Sophie. Why would I remember the life or death of someone irrelevant?" "You bastard!" The sound of a fist hitting flesh, nurses screaming, Sophie crying... Inside the room, I lay still. Tears slid silently from the corners of my eyes, soaking the pillow. Someone irrelevant. Chapter 4 So, in ten years, that’s all I am to him. Two words. Irrelevant. Once, he remembered every trivial thing about me. He used to say, "Nora, I don't want to forget a single thing about you." When the commotion outside finally died down, the door opened. Shane walked in, radiating guilt and lingering anger. He sat by the bed, reaching for my hand—the one without the IV. I pulled it away. His hand froze. His eyes dimmed. "Nora, I'm sorry," he rasped. "I really didn't know... I just... I was afraid Sophie would actually get hurt. I didn't want a classmate dying on my conscience. I lied about the Coke because I didn't want you to worry... I never thought..." He apologized over and over. "It won't happen again, Nora. I swear. Trust me." I listened, my heart feeling like a block of ice cracking. I was leaving soon. Going to a place without him. His promises meant nothing now. So I pretended to sleep. For the next few days, Shane barely left my side. He peeled apples, poured water, and tried clumsily to make me laugh. But Older Shane haunted the hallway like a ghost. "Shane, think. Sophie is the one you love. She twisted her ankle, she's alone. You shouldn't waste time here. Nora has nurses. Sophie only has you." Shane told him to get lost every time. "I only love Nora. Sophie needs care? Fine! I'll hire three nurses. Now shut up!" But as evening approached, Shane would get restless. Eventually, he would look at me with conflicted eyes. "Nora... I'm still a little worried about Sophie's situation. I'm just going to check on her, make sure she's okay, and come right back. Wait for me." He went. And he never came back that night. Late that night, my phone lit up. A message from Older Shane: Nora, face reality. The Shane of ten years from now belongs to Sophie. Let go. Save the eighteen-year-old me for her. I don't want to miss a single minute with Sophie. Then, another video. In the video, Shane was sitting by Sophie’s bed, carefully peeling an orange, removing every single white string. "Shane," Sophie’s voice was soft, "will Nora be mad that you're taking care of me?" Shane paused, then spoke casually. "Nora is generous. She won't be mad." I watched the screen, my heart spasming. Yes. I was "generous." Generous enough to leave. To let him have his destiny. The day I was discharged, Shane finally rushed in, looking exhausted. "Nora, sorry, things got complicated with Sophie. You look so thin. Come on, let's go get some good food." As we walked out, Older Shane appeared, supporting a fragile-looking Sophie. "You're going to eat?" Older Shane raised an eyebrow. "Perfect. We'll join. Sophie is hungry." Shane frowned, but seeing Sophie’s timid glance, he didn't refuse. At the restaurant, Shane rattled off a list of dishes—all my favorites. Older Shane knocked on the table. "Why are you ordering things Sophie hates?" "I don't know what she likes," Shane snapped. Older Shane sneered, grabbed the menu, and ordered several bland dishes. Then he shoved his phone in teenage Shane’s face. "Read this. This is what Sophie loves." Sophie’s eyes widened. "How did you know?" Older Shane looked at her with undisguised adoration. "I told you. I am Shane from ten years in the future. And in the future, I love you more than anything." "Enough!" Shane slammed his hand down, grabbing mine. "Nora! Don't listen to him! I only love you!" Older Shane snapped. "What's the use of being stubborn? You're just infatuated with her now. Sophie is your soulmate! In the future, you drive across the state at midnight just to buy her a plushie because she can't sleep! You wish you could take her pain when she's sick! You will break Nora's heart a thousand times for Sophie!" He opened the notes app on his phone again. "Look! Memorize it! Sophie’s likes and dislikes!" Shane looked at the list. Then he looked at the pale girl beside him. He went silent.
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