A Time-Traveler’s Gambit 9

Gervase wasn’t looking at me anymore. He was staring at the dazzling lights of the carousel. “You avoid intimacy, so you push away anyone who tries to get close. You’re indifferent about your job, your food, your living situation. Your life has no ambition, no goals. You could walk away from it all without a second thought. Don’t you see how dangerous that is?”

“It’s not that I think you will kill yourself,” he cut me off. “It’s that if you continue to live like this, you won’t be able to bear it. You will break. Admit it, Stella. You are not strong enough to live this way. If you keep this up, you’ll end up as nothing more than a cold corpse.”

His words were brutal. I took another step back, shaking my head, my mind scrambling. “I think… I think you’re gaslighting me. Trying to convince me I’m sicker than I am. But I feel fine… Gervase just smiled, a faint, cynical curve of his lips illuminated by the park’s garish lights. “Then pretend I didn’t say anything.”

I clenched my fists, about to argue, but he cut me off again, effortlessly changing the subject. “Want to see a movie?”

I blinked, my brain struggling to keep up. “Do we have to do so many things in one day?” The store, the Ferris wheel, now a movie… “Maybe tomorrow?” I said weakly. “I’m really tired. I just

want to go home and sleep.”

He turned back to me, his expression softening. He reached out and touched the tip of my nose with his finger. “Tired?”

I nodded.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Let’s go home.”

Walking back from the car, trailing behind Gervase, I stared down at the empty popcorn bucket in my hands and felt a wave of frustration. I had no idea how it had happened. In the span of a single day–no, half a day–our dynamic had completely flipped. This morning, he was my willing servant. Now, I was the one tiptoeing around his agenda, desperately trying to refuse his plans. The power had been in my hands for a fleeting moment, and now he held it completely. Or perhaps he’d held it all along.

I rubbed my temples. I had to admit it. A genius is a genius. He was terrifyingly smart. A master of psychological manipulation.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, slowing his pace to let me catch up.

“That I’m an idiot,” I said honestly. “This morning, you were at my beck and call. Now, I’m dancing to your tune. It feels like I’ve been completely outmaneuvered.”

“You’re wrong.” Gervase’s voice was a low chuckle. “The power has always been in your hands. My logic and analysis only work on the rational mind. But matters of the heart… they aren’t

rational.”

His finger reached out and gently poked the spot over my heart. “This,” he said, “is where the real power lies.”

The wind was cold, the night air sharp. His touch, even through my thick coat, seemed to send a jolt straight to my

“It’s beating very fast,” he murmured. “Stella, are you going to keep lying to yourself?”

“Are you saying I’m in love with you? I frowned. “No, that’s just-”

heart.

-a physiological reaction to a specific emotional stimulus, not yet classifiable as love.” He finished my thought for me. “What I’m trying to point out, Stella, is that you can still feel someth-

ing for me. You don’t hate me as much as you think you do. My name might be a brand on your soul, a trigger for all your pain, but even so, you still feel a spark. That means all that other stuff, all that pain, isn’t as powerful as you think. Are you still holding onto the past because you can’t let go, or because you’re afraid to face it? Stella, are you going to keep lying to yourse-

If?”

“This is all your fault! If you’d just been a boy, if you’d just been half as good as Gervase…”

“You got beat up at school? Good. Why do they only hit you? You must have done something to deserve it.”

“You jinx! You money pit! I only lose at cards when you’re around!”

“Oh, my life is a tragedy! Why did give birth to such a stupid child…”

My mother’s snarling face lunged at me.

I woke with a jolt, the hum of the air conditioner filling the room. I wiped the sweat from my brow and checked my phone. Two in the morning.

I went to the living room for a glass of water. My eyes fell on the pile of Barbie boxes stacked by the sofa. On impulse, I sat on the floor and began tearing them open, one by one. I ripped them apart, not caring as the tiny combs, clothes, and accessories scattered across the rug. I pulled out the dolls and lined them up in a row.

I stared at them for a long time, until my eyes burned.

My whole life, they had told me:

I was weak.

I was useless.

I was stupid.

I was worthless.

When you hear something enough, you start to believe it.

I picked up a shimmering blue ball gown and chose the prettiest Barbie. I patiently dressed her, styled her hair, and adorned her with a diamond–studded tiara, a necklace, and bracelets. I slipped her feet into tiny, sparkling crystal heels. She stood before me, a vision of perfection, her painted smile serene.

“Am l’afraid of you?” I asked myself aloud. “Stella, are those monsters really worth being this afraid of?”

They weren’t. But I couldn’t seem to control the fear.

“Can I really beat you?”

In the empty room, there was no one to answer. So I answered myself.

“Yes.

The next day, Gervase found me asleep on the sofa. He’d guessed the passcode to my door. “You really shouldn’t use your birthday as a password,” he chided gently.

I woke up, groggy, and ran a hand through my messy hair as I watched him tie on an apron and start making breakfast. “Are you always this free?” I grumbled. “We’re the same age. How come you’re so rich without ever having to work?”

“We’re not the same,” he said, tapping his temple. “I get paid for this.”

“Oh, shut up,” I shot back, but there was no real heat behind it.

After I had washed up and gotten dressed, I came out to find two plates of toast on the table. I took a bite, hesitating. I was about to say something when he cut me off.

“If you’re going to ask me about your psychological state, let’s not. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But you were the one who brought it all up yesterday.”

“I’m not a professional therapist. I just figured you were stuck, and sometimes you have to break something to fix it. I just gave you a push.” He spoke quietly. “Honestly, I hate talking abo- ut it. It’s a pain. If I say too little, you don’t believe me. If I say too much, you think I’m being pretentious. I said enough yesterday. What you do with it is up to you. I won’t interfere, and I

won’t bring it up again.”

I was about to nod when he added, “But there is one last piece of advice I’d like you to consider.”

“What?”

“Have a baby.”

I froze, staring at him.

Gervase just smiled and pushed a glass of milk toward me. “A child is the fastest, most effective way to forge a connection with this world. Have her, raise her the way you wish you’d been

raised. Give her everything you ever wanted but never got. Wouldn’t that be a good way to heal your own regrets?” He added i

ickly, “Of course, it’s just a suggestion. What you do, or don‘ I do, is entirely up to you. Now, let’s go see that movie.”

Just like that, he snatched the half–eaten toast from my hand and changed the subject, leaving my brain scrambling to catch

I guess that’s just how a genius’s mind works. I told myself.

Gervase bought tickets for a horror movie. The theater was filled with couples who shrieked and clung to each other at every jump scare. I watched the girl next to me bury her face in her boyfriend’s chest and felt a pang of awkwardness.

“Why aren’t you scared?” Gervase asked, sounding disappointed.

“I’m immune to these kinds of ghost stories,” I said honestly. “I did some fieldwork in a cemetery with a professor once. It kind of desensitizes you.”

He seemed genuinely unhappy. When the movie ended, he pulled me out of the theater by my sleeve. “You’re watching another one with me,” he insisted. “A Western one this time. Zombies

and vampires.”

“Is this really necessary?” I scratched my head. “Are you that desperate for me to get scared and jump into your arms?”

“I want to have physical contact with you,” he said bluntly, a hint of a pout in his voice.

It suddenly dawned on me. Since he had reappeared, for all his psychological demolition, he hadn’t laid a finger on me. The most he’d done was tap my nose with his fingertip. I found it a

little funny I stepped forward and gave him a proper hug. “Is this okay?”

His body went rigid for a moment. Then he relaxed, melting into the hug and resting his chin on my shoulder. “If I’d known it was this easy, I wouldn’t have bothered with the movie,” he

grumbled. “It’s freezing out. I’d much rather stay home.”

For the next twenty–some days, he spent most of his time at my place. He really did hate the cold. He stole my blanket, took over my sofa, and curled up with my tablet to watch movies. “– The Wi–Fi is slow,” he’d complain.

“So the diligent, helpful persona was all an act?” I teased.

He shook his head. “Back then, if I wasn’t helpful, you would have kicked me out. It’s different now. You see me as a friend. You wouldn’t throw me out so easily.” He let out a huge yawn. “I” m gonna take a nap. I’ll make dinner when I wake up. Don’t you dare order takeout. Even if you do, I won’t let

you eat it.”

So bossy. I rolled my eyes. But his words lingered. You see me as a friend. Had I really started to see him that way? Not so long ago, I’d hated his guts.

I glanced at him, already asleep on the sofa, my eyes tracing the line of his brow, his closed eyes, the gentle rise and fall of his throat. I sighed. As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I

didn’t hate him anymore. It was strange how quickly emotions could change.

In the days that followed, Gervase didn’t bombard with any more grand pronouncements about my psyche. He barely mentioned my mental state. We just lived. We cooked, we ate, we played rock–paper–scissors to see who had to do the dishes. He’d coax me into watching horror movies with him, and we’d both shriek at the jump scares, then play video games to calm

our nerves.

Outside, the winter wind howled inside, the apartment was warm and cozy. Gervase had even acquired a kitten from somewhere, a tiny ball of fluff that now purred contentedly in his lap.

blinking at me.

“Don’t make a fuss,” Gervase murmured, his long fingers stroking the

live on the streets.”

I shot him a glare. He just grinned.

en’s head. “Sweetheart, we’re still guests in her territory. If she kicks us out, Daddy’s going to have to take you to

normal life isn’t as scary as you think,” he said one day, his voice soft. “And intimacy doesn’t only bring pain. Humans are social creatures, Stella. We need relationships to fill our lives. Try accepting someone’s kindness. The result might not be as bad as you fear.”

On the last day of the month, standing in the crowded city square, Gervase told me, “I have to go.”

He pulled a bracelet from his pocket. A small, golden charm dangled from it, engraved with a single word

Imade this myself,” he said. “If I give it to you now, you won’t refuse it, will you?”

I bit my lip and let him fasten it around my wrist. “Thank you,” I whispered.

ace.

Thank you for not confessing your love. Thank you for leaving without making it about feelings. Thant

for giving this strange chapter a beautiful, uncomplicated ending.

Over the past month, I’d asked myself again and again if I could ever accept him. The answer was no. The shadow he cast over my childhood was too long, too dark. Even if I tried to ignore

I would always be a thorn in my side. And besides that, the chasm between our intellects was just too vast.

“I know you won’t accept me,” he said, his head bowed, his voice hoarse. “The best we can ever be is friends. Sometimes… it feels so unfair. I never did anything wrong, yet in your court, I was sentenced to death from the start.

My head drooped. A strange sadness pricked at my eyes. I was about to say something when he spoke again.

“That’s why I can’t accept it.” His voice was firm now. “I’m not going to be your friend. I’m going to be the father of your child.”

1 snatched my hand away. I should have known better than to have any expectations.

Gervase just laughed. He waved over a kid selling balloons and bought every single one he had, pressing the colorful bouquet into my hands.

“I heard that if you let go of balloons, your troubles fly away with them.” Under the bright city lights, his face was achingly gentle. “Stella, I hope you are never, ever unhappy again.”

The rainbow of balloons bobbed above my head. My eyes began to sting. He took my hand, his glove warm over mine, and helped me slowly release my grip. The balloons soared into the sky. A cheer went up from the crowd around us, a wave of noise and life and earthly chaos.

“This world is still a beautiful place, isn’t it?” Gervase asked quietly.

I nodded.

“You have to actively seek out that beauty. You can’t just wait for it to fall into your lap. But you… you don’t have to worry about that, Stella. I’ll bring all the beautiful things in the world to

you.”

As he spoke, he pulled a small box from his pocket. Inside was a diamond ring. It was large and brilliant, catching the light with a subtle, elegant fire. He slipped it into my coat pocket, sto- pping me when I tried to take it out.

“Think of it as a souvenir,” he said. “Stella, I believe this isn’t the end for us. Take good care of my cat. Don’t lose her before I get back.”

Then, his voice low and full of a strange certainty, he said, “Stella. Wait for me.”

I didn’t really understand what was supposed to happen when he came back. But life had to go on, and waiting for someone… well, it was something to look forward to.

Back in my apartment, I saw the messy pile of sunflower seed shells on the coffee table, the half–peeled orange, the scattered cat food on the floor, the mountain of Barbie boxes in the corner, and the kitten napping on top of it all. It was a mess. It was chaotic. But it felt… like a home. It was warmer than the perfectly neat, sterile box I had lived in before.

Maybe creating a close relationship wasn’t so terrible after all.

I was too lazy to clean. It’s hard to go back to a simple life after you’ve tasted luxury. The thought of living alone again now felt strangely unsettling

I went over and stroked the kitten’s head. “What do you say? Should I get a big dog to keep you company?” A really big one. A dog the size of a person.

The cat hissed in protest.

I laughed. “You wish. A dog that big costs a fortune. I can’t afford it.” I sighed.

After I went back to work, life settled back into a quiet routine. But some things had changed. I no longer turned down invitations from my colleagues. Even if I knew someone was a total weirdo, I’d go along, just to experience the sheer diversity of the human species.

When nightmares of my past woke me in the middle of the night, I no longer cried into my pillow or stared out the window until dawn. I would tell myself, “I can beat you. I will not lose to a

bunch of psychopaths.” And I’d close my eyes and go back to sleep.

Then one night, I had a dream. My parents were yelling at me again. But this time, I flipped the table, grabbed a kitchen knife, and chased them for three blocks.

It felt amazing. The thrill of fighting back made my scalp tingle. I threw the knife away and roared at the sky.

And then I woke up.

I was still smiling. I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face, patting my own cheeks. “Good job,” I told my reflection. “You’re finally making some progress.”

Everything was getting better.

It was only then that I realized it. Gervase hadn’t lectured me or preached He had subtly, imperceptibly, shifted the entire trajectory of my life upward. I spent a long time trying to

figure out how he’d done it, then gave up.

“I can’t compare myself to a genius.” I told myself. “I’m good enough. I’m the best.”

I thought everything would just keep getting better.

Until the day I got a call from my aunt. She was crying.

My mother had tried to kill herself.

That evening, I sat alone by the river. The wind whipped strands of hair across my face, stinging my cheeks. My aunt’s sobbing voice echoed in my head. “Stella, you’re her only child! She always made sure you had food and clothes! She’s really not going to make it this time, you have to come back and see her one last time! What parent doesn’t love their child? Stella, you can’t be this heartless! Your own mother tried to kill herself, and you won’t even come back?”

Go back? And then what? Get screamed at again and run away like a coward? But what if she was really dying? What was I supposed to do?

My eyes blurred with tears. On pure instinct, I opened my contacts and found Gervase’s number.

on’t bother calling, Stella.”

I heard his voice and spun around. “I’m right behind you.” He sat down beside me. “Your mother is fine. She’s in the hospital, recovering well.” He spoke calmly, his words a soothing balm. *– Just send her some money. She won’t bother you again.”

My hands and feet were still ice–cold. “So that’s what this was about,” I murmured. “Money.” And I had been torturing myself over it. It was pathetic.

“Not all parents love their children,” Gervase said gently, sitting beside me “Stella, you have to accept it. They don’t love you.”

I looked down, saying nothing. I felt utterly defeated. The fragile progress I had made had shattered so easily.

This time it was a lie, Gervase continued softly. “But what about next time? What if something really happens to them? Can you honestly say you wouldn’t go back? I’ll say it again. your mental state isn’t strong enough to handle their pressure on your own. You need a new family, one bound by blood, to finally cut their influence out of your life.”

“So?”

“Will you consider my suggestion?” Gervase’s voice was earnest. “You need a child of your own as an emotional anchor. Create a new blood relative, a family that belongs to you, here in this city. That’s the only way to truly escape that madhouse you used to call home.”

I finally understood. It wasn’t just about having a child. It was about creating an independent family, a stable emotional support system, completely separate from my parents. Once my emotional foundation was solid, they would no longer have the power to hurt me. A husband was too complicated, too risky. But a child… a child would be mine. That was the real logic behind his insane proposal.

My mind cleared. “Okay. I’ll look into sperm banks. Or maybe adopting from an orphanage.”

Gervase stared at me for a moment, then pursed his lips. “IVF is a painful process,” he said quietly. “And most orphanages require you to be married to adopt.”

I was silent. So was he. The only sound was the cold wind whistling over the river. After what felt like an eternity, he spoke, his voice laced with a genuine hurt. “Would it be so terrible… to do

it with me?”

Terrible? No. But it would be… awkward. I glanced at his face, at his wet, puppy–dog eyes. “What if you get married someday?” I mumbled. “Wouldn’t it be weird for us?”

“I will never marry anyone else,” he said without hesitation. “After you’re pregnant, I’ll get a vasectomy. You and our baby will be the only family I ever have.”

To be friends for life. To raise a child together. He was getting crazier by the minute.

“I’m not crazy,” he said, reading my thoughts, his voice full of indignation. He turned away from nie, looking out at the churning water, sulking.

I hesitated, then reached out and gently touched his ear. The moment my fingers made contact, his earlobe turned a brilliant shade of red, like a ripe apple. I looked away, clearing my thro- at. “I don’t think you’re a crazy person.”

I’m very grateful to you, Gervase,” I said softly.

Grateful for pulling me out of the fog. Grateful for always helping me. Grateful for his patience. Grateful for his love.

I had a feeling. A feeling that my life, from this point forward, was going to be tangled up with his. And strangely, I didn’t mind. My first twenty–odd years had been anything but normal. So what if the rest of my life was a little unconventional, too?

“Our baby,” I said, looking at him, “is going to be adorable.”

Gervase’s Story

My name is Gervase. I used a time machine to go back and save a girl.

As the research neared its end, a colleague asked me, “If you could really go back in time, what would you do?”

“I want to save someone,” I said without looking up.

“Your wife?” he smiled. “I’m truly moved by your love story.”

1 smiled back but said nothing more.

My wife, Stella. We grew up together. I chased her from the time we were children. But she always hated me. After being rejected one too many times, I got angry and left home for years, almost managing to forget her.

Until that day, in a swirl of desert dust, I saw her walking toward the research facility in a white hazmat suit. She was so beautiful the setting sun seemed to pale in comparison, casting a soft golden halo around her. She walked right up to me.

“Gervase,” she asked, “can you do me a favor?”

My first instinct was to say yes without a second thought. But then pride kicked in. Why should I? After she’d rejected me so many times. I decided to be difficult. She would have to ask me at least three times before I would deign to help her.

So I said no.

She just nodded, pulled her mask back up, and said, “I understand.” Then she turned and walked away.

I bit my lip, clinging to my stupid pride, and didn’t call her back.

Whenever I think of that moment now, I want to slap myself.

The next time I saw Stella was at a research conference. She was there with her advisor, sitting at my right hand. Her hair fell over her shoulder; she looked so gentle and serene. I didn’t

pay any attention to the meeting. I was too busy breathing in the faint, clean scent of her hair, trying to figure out how to start a conversation.

It’s not embarrassing for the man to be proactive, I told myself.

But when the meeting ended, she closed her laptop, gave me a polite smile, and immediately went to find Mark.

Mark. A clumsy oaf, not half as smart as me, who sometimes went a week without showering. Why was she talking to him?

I watched them, my jaw tight, as their heads got closer and closer. I couldn’t stand it.

“Mark, go check on the experimental apparatus,” I ordered.

Stella looked up, startled. She saw me and gave another polite nod. I walked over to her, trying to suppress the storm brewing inside me. “Did you need something from Mark?”

“It’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head. “I won’t disturb you. I should go.” She looked like she couldn’t get away from me fast enough. It made me furious.

That night, I spitefully rearranged the duty roster, assigning Mark to the overnight shift. Listening to his groans of protest, a cold smile touched my lips. Then I frowned. What was I doing? Was I jealous of Mark? Did that mean I still wasn’t over Stella?

The thought didn’t bring me any joy. Annoyed with myself, I went to find Mark. “What did Stella want from you?”

“Who?”

“Stella. The pretty one. The grad student.”

“Oh, her!” Mark’s face cleared. “She was asking if I was part of the time–reversal project. That’s classified, so of course I couldn’t tell her anything. I just said no and she left.”

The time–reversal project? I was stunned. I knew that project intimately. It wasn’t a high–priority initiative at the institute. In fact, I was the one who had started it. I was the project lead

– that

What did Stella want with it?

I went to find her that night. I waited outside the women’s dormitory for what felt like an eternity before she came rushing down. She looked like she had just showered, her skin still flush- ed, smelling of soap. Her hair was still slightly damp.

She looked up at me with wide, confused eyes. “Can I help you?”

“What you want to know…. I can tell you,” I said, forcing my gaze away from the tip of her nose. “But you have to tell me what you plan to do with the information. Corporate espionage was rampant. I was just being careful, for her sake.

She understood. She bit her lip. “I just wanted to know if you were working on a project like that. If it’s classified, then never mind. I was just asking.”

It wasn’t really classified. No one believed it would ever work, so it had a low security level.

“I’m working on it,” I said.

Her

eyes

lit up.

like fireflies in the dark. Bright, beautiful. I will never forget that moment for as long as I live. She grabbed my hand, her voice a desperate plea

“Then, when you succeed… can you please go back and save me? I’ll pay you anything.”

She told me her story. How after college, she had left home, left her parents, and moved to a city in the south. She had been doing fine, until the fourth year, when her mother faked a suici- de attempt to lure her back home. They sold her to a crippled man in their old village. They used the money to buy her cousin an apartment.

They drugged her, tied her up, and left her at the man’s house. A chain was locked around her neck. She couldn’t escape. She was beaten daily. No one knew she was gone. She had no close friends, no one to notice her disappearance, no one to call the police.

Eventually, she escaped. She set fire to the man’s prized brick house and ran in the chaos, finding her way to a police station. Everyone involved was arrested. Her parents were sentenced to five years in prison. A police fund helped her get back on her feet. She returned to the south, went to grad school, and through her work with her advisor, she heard rumors that someone was trying to build a time machine.

“I know it’s a long shot,” she told me, her voice a whisper in the moonlight. “But I have to try. If you succeed, can you please go back in time and save me? Let me not be fooled by the fake suicide. Let me not be afraid to build close relationships. Let me not be terrified of those criminals. Let me live. Properly.”

I stared at her. It took me a long moment to realize my own hands were shaking.

“I will,” I said. I definitely would.

“It’s not too late now, either,” I offered, my voice gentle. “You’re doing well now. Things will keep getting better, right?”

She just smiled, a sad, empty smile, and didn’t answer.

In the days that followed, we spent a lot of time together. We worked on research, crunched data, derived formulas, drew schematics. She was brilliant, just a slow starter. Once she dove deep into a problem, she often saw things no one else did.

In our spare time, we planned the “rescue.” She dissected her past self with cold, rational precision, breaking down her own psyche, teaching me how to unlock her closed–off heart. To destroy and then rebuild. She told me everything.

“Honestly, the best way is to convince ‘me‘ to have a child,” she said one day, her eyes distant. “I know myself. Only a new blood relative will be enough to break my parents‘ control and let me start a new life. Maybe… you can convince ‘me‘ to have a child. Use it to give me a reason to live.”

For once, I didn’t agree with her. I shook my head. “A child isn’t a tool to be used. It shouldn’t be brought into the world that way.”

Stella laughed, a bitter, cynical sound. “And children from a normal marriage aren’t tools? They’re all just fertilized eggs that grow into people. Some use children to trap a partner, some use them to fight for an inheritance, some have them for old–age security. How many people in this world can truly say they had a child for purely unselfish reasons? Selfishness is written into

our DNA. As long as you raise the child to be a mentally sound, decent person, you haven’t failed it.”

Her voice grew colder. “If you think it’s too much to ask, then forget it. I won’t force you.”

She started to pack her things to leave. I quickly stopped her. “Don’t go. I’ll help you.” I swallowed hard. “I was just offering a different opinion. A point for discussion. Don’t be angry.”

Stella’s plan was to use a sperm bank. I knew that, but I pretended not to hear.

At the end of that night, she put down her pen and asked hesitantly, “You’re helping me so much. How can I possibly repay you?”

I was silent for a moment, stealing a glance at her before clearing my throat. “I need a wife.”

Her smile froze. Before she could say anything, I cut her off.

“I’ve always been in love with you. Since we were kids. You know that.” My voice was thick with emotion. “Are you really going to push me away again?”

She hesitated. “I…”

“I was never going to get married,” I confessed, looking straight at her. “If you hadn’t shown up again, I probably would have been alone for the rest of my life. I’m so in love with you. I’m

begging you.”

She looked down, thinking for so long that I started to lose hope. Then she reached up and touched my ear.

“Your ear is so red,” she said, a smile in her voice. “Gervase, I accept your proposal.”

We were married for two years. They were the happiest years of my life. She supported me in everything. When I worked late, she would stay up with me, brewing me a cup of tea. “This will help you stay awake.”

I’d rub my eyes, pull her onto my lap, and nuzzle her neck. “I love you so much,” I’d tell her.

She would laugh. “That’s the third time today. Do you need to hear it again?”

“Yes!”

“Okay then. I love you too.” She’d lean in and kiss me softly on the lips, then tap my head. “You dork.”

It was the happiest I have ever been.

Then her parents were released from prison. She said she wanted to go see them. I wanted to go with her, but she stopped me. “You have more important work to do. Don’t worry, I’ll be

back soon

I reluctantly saw her off. I counted the days until her return. One by one. On the second to last day, I got a call from the police.

They said Stella had poisoned her newly released parents with rat poison. After they were dead, she had called the police herself and confessed. They said she would most likely face the

death penalty.

I was devastated. I tried to see her, but she refused. She told me there was a letter for me in the second drawer of our nightstand. I didn’t care about a letter. I just wanted to save her. I

knelt before the director of the institute, begging him to help. We found an excellent lawyer. I had just started to feel a flicker of hope when the prison called.

They said Stella had killed herself. She had slammed her head against the wall of her cell. It had been a painful death.

I went home and read the letter.

That’s when I learned the truth. She had wanted to die for a long time. Her time with me was just a last–ditch effort, a prayer for a second chance through time travel.

She also wrote that she hated me. That her whole life, her parents had used me to measure her worth. She hated me, despised me, and our two years together had felt like a ridiculous joke

to her.

You’re not a bad person, she wrote. But you and I, under normal circumstances, would have been friends at best. I’m sorry I lied to you. I don’t love you. Being with you was just a way to use my body to persuade you, to beg you not to forget our promise. If, one day, you can go back, I’m begging you, save me. Thank you.

Liar.

She was a liar.

Tears streamed down my face. I collapsed to the floor, my cries echoing in the empty apartment. I cried until I passed out. I woke up in a hospital. My superiors moved me to a new apart- ment, suspended my work, told me to take some time.

I spent one night in the strange apartment, then went back to the home I had shared with Stella. I cried again. I was taken back to the hospital again. After a few cycles of this, I knew I couldn’t go on like this.