Bound by Fate

Chapter 1

Genevieve

"Evie, Evie, wake up quickly. You’ll be scolded by the teacher for being late," Mamma whispered, gently shaking me awake. As my eyes fluttered open, I could sense the weight of mom’s concern in her words.

I didn’t rely on an alarm clock; mom had become my dependable wake-up call. Despite her struggles with dementia, her internal clock remained surprisingly accurate, nudging me out of bed at six every morning. It was as if her subconscious could sense time without needing to check the clock.

In her mental confusion, mom still saw me as a high school student, fearing I would face reprimands for tardiness from my teachers. It was a routine born out of love and concern, a constant reminder of the past.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I got up, quickly dressed and moved to the kitchen. Taking charge of the morning tasks had become second nature to me. Mom's various health conditions required careful meal planning, with strict restrictions on oil, sugar, and salt.

I divided her meals into two insulated lunch boxes and placed them neatly on the table. Boiling water for the thermos and ensuring everything was in order became part of my daily routine. Despite her memory lapses, I was grateful that she could still manage some aspects of her daily life, like going to the bathroom.

Sitting down at the table, I served myself a bowl of cereal, finishing my breakfast quickly. The dishes would have to wait until I returned in the evening; for now, my focus was on ensuring everything was ready for the day.

As I performed the morning rituals, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of gratitude and determination. Grateful for the moments of clarity, mom retained yet determined to navigate the challenges of each day with patience and resilience.

Before leaving for college, I made sure to lock the kitchen door. It was a precaution I couldn't afford to overlook. Mom's forgetfulness had once led to a dangerous kitchen fire when she attempted to cook. Fortunately, I had been home to extinguish it before it escalated.

"Mom remember to eat lunch and dinner, drink water when thirsty, wipe after using the bathroom, and flush the toilet," I said, gently kissing her forehead. It was a daily routine we followed to ensure she remembered the basics of self-care. With a tight hug, I said goodbye once more, locking the front door behind me.

As I made my way to college, my thoughts wandered back to three days ago when I woke up and found myself back in my freshman year. The initial shock had given way to deep gratitude for this second chance. This time, I promised myself to be more cautious, to appreciate each moment, and to live life to the fullest.

I am currently enrolled in the music major program with a minor in business at Victoria Art University, renowned for its excellence in the arts and nurturing talented alumni in music, acting, and dancing. Despite being a special-needs student, I was discovered for my singing talent. Luckily, I have a natural knack for singing and had the chance to hone my skills when my family's situation allowed in the past. In terms of academics, I've consistently ranked at a middle level compared to my peers in high school, so getting into a top school with a full scholarship was a dream come true.

My residence was just across the street from the university campus, an ordinary building with a remarkable history. It had been an old residential building for years, witnessing the changes and progress around it. Over time, it had become weathered, a testament to the past.

Originally located within the campus boundaries, but urban development and road construction later split it, pushing the building to the outskirts of the university. It unintentionally became a haven for those who hadn't moved to newer housing, mostly impoverished individuals navigating university life or new young professors.

As a special-needs student with a challenging family situation, the university provided me with a small one-bedroom apartment, a gesture of considerable compassion. Despite its limited space, it had a kitchen and a bathroom. I felt grateful and repeatedly thanked the school leaders.

My picture and apartment were even featured in the local newspaper, sparking discussions among my classmates. They would point me out, saying, "That’s the special-needs student." Their words didn't bother me; having shelter and food was more important.

Years later, after my death and transformation into a wandering spirit, I lost sense of time in the mortal realm. Initially, I remained aware when people mentioned me, drifting around to listen. However, as references to my name grew scarce, I slipped into a semi-conscious state, only fully returning to awareness when someone called out to me. Without those calls, I gradually faded into a quiet, unconscious existence.

After my reincarnation, settling into a daily routine proved surprisingly smooth. Student life revolved around simple tasks—practice, study, eat, sleep—each day like clockwork. But unlike most students, my plate was fuller; I juggled multiple part-time jobs to cover my expenses and mom’s medical bills, despite the school waiving my tuition.

***

When the final morning class dragged on, I slipped out quietly and hurried to the cafeteria.

"Ma’am, a Mexican salad to go!"

"A chicken fettuccine alfredo, with extra broccoli, no mushrooms, to go!"

"Greek salad to go!"

"Chicken wrap with a side of ranch to go!"

Arriving early during a lull, I darted between windows, taking orders and swiftly packing meals. By the time the throngs of students flooded in like zombies besieging a city, the orders were nearly complete.

Using eco-friendly cloth bags borrowed from market vendors, I packed the meal boxes one by one and hoisted them onto my shoulders. Each bag swinging as I ran against the tide of people toward the dormitory building.

Since the school didn’t offer on-campus delivery services, students craving food but preferring to stay indoors had to trek to the cafeteria. Taking advantage of this, I posted an advertisement on the school forum offering to purchase food for the female dormitory, charging a small fee per order. Many students welcomed the opportunity to avoid the bustling cafeteria and enjoy their meals in the comfort of their dorm rooms.

In this society, there were always individuals willing to pay for services, and I found myself continuing this job until the end of my days, garnering a few loyal customers along the way.

With my slender physique, I had to maneuver flights of stairs while balancing two hefty bags of takeout, ferrying meals to my customers’ rooms on different floors. Despite the sweat forming on my forehead, I persisted, recognizing that this job was my lifeline, providing sustenance for both me and my mother.

Returning to the cafeteria after the busiest hours had passed, I found it relatively calm, with only a few lingering students chatting or enjoying a post-meal drink.

Approaching one of the counters, I placed my order. "A side of grilled veggies please, ma’am," I requested politely.

The middle-aged woman examined me critically. "Anything else?" she inquired, noting my thin appearance and prominent collarbones.

"No, just this," I replied softly, mindful of the misconceptions surrounding my slender frame. I wasn't dieting; I was simply trying to save money.

She grumbled as she served my dish, voicing her thoughts on weight. "You girls don’t know any better, always on a diet. What’s the point of being so thin like that? Let me tell you, girls who are plump are blessed."

Despite her comments, I remained composed, offering a sweet smile. "Thank you, Madam. Could I also have a boiled egg, please?" I requested, focusing on my goal of making every dollar count.

The woman seemed surprised by my polite demeanor. She gave me a curious look before resuming her usual complaints, yet still obliged by adding a boiled egg to my dish.

I frequented this counter for its more affordable options, a habit carried over from my previous life. The lady behind the counter initially assumed I was overly concerned with my appearance, opting for inexpensive vegetables. However, she soon learned of my financial hardships and began offering a little extra food with each serving.

While my soul wandered, I once overheard her defending me in the cafeteria kitchen. Amidst the gossip about a tragic incident involving a girl outside the school, she vehemently declared, “I don’t believe it! She is not that kind of child! Stop talking nonsense!”

Appreciating her steadfast support, I offered her a warm smile before finding a table.

Approaching the free porridge station, I paused to observe. Although the porridge was ostensibly available to all students, I understood its true purpose—to aid those in need. My admiration for the school leaders grew as I contemplated their efforts to assist students like me.

The provision of free porridge and special treatment for financially struggling students would likely receive positive attention in newspapers, enhancing the school's reputation. However, beyond the public eye, it was clear that the leaders' genuine concern was evident in the richness of the porridge. This was not mere display; it was a tangible manifestation of their compassion.

The cafeteria's porridge was notably thick, substantial enough to serve as a full meal. It illustrated the compassion embedded within our institution—a quality that truly defined a conscientious approach.

As I reached for a spoon to serve myself some porridge, an unexpected disturbance occurred. A used tissue flew into the porridge with a snap, floating on the surface due to the porridge's density. My eyes widened in shock as a sudden realization dawned on me.

He's here!

In the days following my reincarnation, I had been acclimating to my new life, primarily focusing on caring for my mother and contemplating my next steps. The memories of my past life weren't readily accessible; they required specific triggers to resurface.

For now, there were only two people I deeply cared about: my mother and... him. I hadn't yet decided whether to seek him out or how to confront him.

There was no guarantee of encountering him here. After all, he wasn't even from the same university, but from the one next door. Even though our universities share common grounds, the campus was huge. I had intended to wait patiently, carefully weighing my options before taking any action.

However, the tissue landing in the porridge unexpectedly brought back memories of Vincent's past harassment, stirring a sense of urgency within me. I recalled how his torment had begun at this very porridge station.

Behind me, laughter and chatter broke out. "Oops, I threw it in the porridge. Sorry, sorry."

I didn't need to turn around to know that he was surrounded by his usual group of followers.

Wherever he went, he was always encircled by a clique of people, and today was no different.

I stared at the tissue floating in the porridge, contemplating my next move. With determination, I reached out and carefully removed the tissue from the porridge, disposing of it in the nearby trash can. Using the spoon, I deftly circled the contaminated area of the porridge, scooping it out and discarding it before filling my bowl from a cleaner spot.

The group of boys who had been laughing moments ago fell silent as they watched my actions. I could feel their stares, their disbelief evident in their eyes. To them, the porridge was now deemed "ruined," unfit for consumption. What I did might have seemed incredible to them, but for me, it was a practical solution—better than going hungry or spending extra money on food.

In my previous life, he had approached me suddenly while I stared blankly at the tissue in the porridge bucket, unsure of what to do. Although my response this time was different, the outcome remained the same—my bowl of porridge didn't make it to the table before a hand reached out and grabbed my wrist diagonally.

"Hey! This porridge can't be eaten anymore," a deep male voice stated matter-of-factly.

Turning my head, I found myself locking eyes with him—Vincent. His gaze pierced through me, his dark grey eyes radiating an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. He still looked as handsome as ever with his tan skin and brown wavy hair. He was also dressed sharply, but what I couldn’t tear my gaze away from were his eyes.

In my previous memories, those eyes had always been lewd and presumptuous, constantly pursuing me. But as I stared into them now, I noticed something different—sparkling stars and burning flames, a blend of wonder and aggressive desire evident in his gaze.

Caught in a trance, I couldn't help but wonder—did his gaze upon me truly burn with such intense fervor?

I found myself speechless as I locked eyes with him. His gaze, dark and intense, seemed to penetrate through my very being, leaving me momentarily at a loss for words.