Chapter 2

In my original life, I attended a prestigious high school in the city. But in this alternate timeline within the diary, I was now living with my grandfather in the small rural town of Linwood, where I had somehow become Mia’s classmate.

Mia was one of the top students in our grade, but she sat alone in the far corner of the classroom, her desk isolated from everyone else’s. Nobody wanted to sit next to her.

Dragging my desk over, I placed it beside hers and smiled.

“Our new seating arrangement. Let’s make it work, seatmate.”

Mia nodded shyly. Sixteen-year-old Mia was soft, timid, and completely adorable.

If I wanted to change the future and prevent Mia from taking her own life ten years later, I’d have to start by dealing with Ryan. Mia had once told me that Ryan died in June 2013, crashing his motorcycle on a stormy night.

To save Mia, I needed to achieve two things:

1. Prevent Ryan’s death in two months.

2. Minimize Ryan’s influence over Mia.

Mia and I were in the top-tier Class One, while Ryan was in the bottom-ranked Class Nine. During evening study hall, Ryan would often come to our classroom, knocking on the window by Mia’s desk.

With two fingers, he’d make a beckoning motion, signaling for her to sneak out with him.

He was trying to lure her away from study hall to hang out with him.

Mia hesitated, her indecision written all over her face.

When she didn’t move, Ryan started mouthing words dramatically, waving his arms and jumping around outside the window like a lunatic.

Just as Mia began to rise from her seat, I grabbed her wrist.

“Mia, you hit me in the back earlier, so now you owe me. Sit down and explain these questions to me as compensation.”

Mia looked guilty and reluctantly nodded. “Okay.”

I tore a page from my notebook, wrote a bold note on it, and stuck it to the window:

SHE’S NOT GOING.

Then I mouthed a simple, clear message to Ryan: Get lost.

I’d graduated from one of the best universities in the country. I thought I’d breeze through some tutoring to make Mia feel accomplished.

Turns out, I’d forgotten most of the material over the years.

Mia giggled at my confusion, grabbed a scrap of paper, and began patiently explaining the problems to me.

Each time she finished a question, I showered her with praise.

“You’re amazing, Mia. A total genius.”

She tried to keep a straight face, but every now and then, I’d catch her sneaking a little smile.

Girls like her deserved compliments—lots of them.

Over time, Mia seemed to rediscover a sense of pride in her studies. Whenever Ryan came knocking, asking her to ditch class and ride around with him, she’d brush him off by saying she had to help me with homework.

At least for now, my future wife’s attention was shifting ever so slightly toward me.

Ryan wasn’t the type to give up easily. Knowing Mia didn’t have much pocket money, he’d often sneak into Class One and leave cheap snacks in her desk drawer.

Every time Mia found one of his snacks, her face would light up with joy.

I’ll admit—I was jealous.

Before and after we were married, I’d spent so much effort picking out gifts for her: jewelry, designer bags, luxury makeup, even handmade items I spent hours on. She’d always react with a polite, distant smile.

But now here she was, grinning ear to ear over a packet of junk food.

How could someone so hard to please be this happy over Ryan’s cheap snacks?

One day, I pulled out a peach-flavored jelly cup from her desk, turned, and casually tossed it into the trash.

“You’re allergic to peaches,” I said, rolling my eyes. “He can’t even get that right. Some ‘thoughtful’ gift.”

Mia’s expression darkened. “Ryan said that while everyone else in the world throws mud at me, he’s the only one who brings me flowers. How could you ruin something so precious?”

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose.

From then on, I started bringing Mia breakfast: milk and eggs to start her day, fresh seasonal fruit after meals, and occasionally some high-end snacks.

“This is what it looks like when someone really cares about you,” I said, smirking as I handed her a small box of chocolates.

“Compared to this, that cheap stuff shouldn’t even catch your eye. Got it, Mia?”

She looked down at the treats, then up at me, her cheeks flushing slightly.

“Got it,” she mumbled.

“Good,” I said, leaning back with a grin. “Smart girl.”

On the weekend break, Ryan pulled up on his motorcycle, helmet still on, and called out to Mia.

“Mia, don’t go home. Wouldn’t want to interrupt your mom and her ‘clients.’ Look, I’m being generous here—why don’t you crash at my place instead?”