On my 18th birthday, my phone suddenly had a few extra messages. The sender claimed to be me—from ten years in the future. “This isn’t a prank.” “Go to the Computer Science Department and find William Walker.” “He might seem withdrawn and cold right now, but in the years to come, he’ll be the one who loves you the most in this world.” “Save him. Promise me you won’t let him die for you this time.” My name is Violet Brooks, a freshman at Westwood University, and I just turned eighteen last week. This birthday was definitely the strangest I’ve ever had. My dad gave me a new phone that day. After a shower that night, I laid on my bed, switched the SIM card to my new phone, and started downloading my usual apps. Just as I was moving things over, a notification flashed on my screen with a new message. I glanced at it, and it simply read: “Go to the Computer Science Department and find William Walker.” I’d never heard of anyone named William Walker. It had to be a mistake, right? Ignoring it, I continued my app downloads until another message popped up: “Hurry, you have to find him before Christmas, or it’ll be too late!” This time, the sender’s tone was so intense that I felt compelled to respond, so I typed back, “You must have the wrong number.” The reply came instantly: “No, I’m looking for you, Violet Brooks.” The weirdness of it made me double-check the sender’s number—and that’s when I noticed something bone-chilling: the messages were coming from my own phone number. Imagine that: it was exactly midnight, and I was messaging…myself. Was this some elaborate prank, or a ghostly midnight message? I took a deep breath, tried to steady my hands, and finally typed back, “Who are you?” The screen stayed silent until morning. I almost forgot about the whole thing, but then last night, while staying up late for a club interview, the clock struck twelve, and my phone pinged with the same message: “Go to the Computer Science Department and find William Walker.” That was the second time. I had to figure out what was going on. “Who are you? Is this a joke?” I asked. The answer came back quickly, and it made absolutely no sense: “I am you, ten years from now.” Yeah, right. What a ridiculous prank. I reminded them, “April Fools’ Day was six months ago.” “It’s not a joke. If you don’t believe me, I can prove it. You’re in 2020, and you have a crush on Chase Emerson, right?” My brain froze. Chase Emerson was a guy in our club, a year older than me. He was charming and sweet, and a lot of people called him the “perfect senior.” He had been extra kind to me, and I liked him, but I’d never told anyone. How did this person know? Almost as if reading my mind, the message continued, “Don’t question it. I know because I am you—ten years in the future.” I threw caution aside and asked, “So, did I end up with Chase in the future?” There was a pause before the answer came, “Yeah, you got married.” I barely had time to blush before my phone lit up with a series of messages: “But he’s got nothing to offer in bed, he’s a massive jerk, and if you stay with him, he’ll blow through your money, hook up with your friends, and even try to kill you!” My jaw dropped, and a sad feeling crept in. Seriously? Was my future that tragic? Maybe realizing the sidetrack, the future me quickly got back to the original point: “We’re running out of time. Listen to me—go to the Computer Science Department and find William Walker.” “Right now, he seems distant and cold, but in time, he’ll be the one who loves you most.” “Promise me you’ll save him. Don’t let him die for you this time.” I asked her who William Walker was, why he’d die for me, and what would happen, but my messages seemed to disappear into a void. I checked the time. It was exactly five minutes past midnight. Apparently, this strange, time-crossing conversation had its own strict schedule.
The next day, I dragged myself to my 8 a.m. class, tired from the night before. With assigned seats, it was easy to see who was missing or late, so I noticed right away when I got to my desk—a breakfast had been placed on it: soy milk, a small order of dumplings, and a chocolate muffin. I turned to my roommate, who’d arrived just before me. “Who brought this?” “No idea,” she shrugged. Then she grinned and teased, “Come on, Vi, isn’t it from Chase Emerson? I mean, he bought you an iced coffee before, and last night you even posted about wanting a chocolate muffin on your Instagram story. Maybe he’s got a thing for you?” That café with the famous chocolate muffins was three miles from campus, and those muffins usually sold out fast. Normally, I would have felt flattered, giving Chase a little boost in my mind. But after those messages, now just hearing his name made me think of that warning: “He’s got nothing to offer in bed.” I practically cringed. Half of his good image was gone, and under my roommate’s playful stare, I quickly denied it: “No, we’re not together or anything.” At 3 p.m., I went to the club interview as planned, and things went smoothly. Chase came over afterward to congratulate me, asking if I wanted to catch a movie with him that evening. Normally, I’d have been happy to accept, but today, with that line repeating in my mind, I could barely stop myself from glancing downward. Chase leaned closer. “I already got the tickets—it’s that suspense movie you wanted to see.” Keeping my face neutral, I declined, “Sorry, I’m busy tonight.” He looked a little disappointed. “Alright. Next time, then.” I exhaled in relief. Then a thought hit me—wasn’t William Walker also in the Computer Science Department? Maybe Chase would know him. Curious, I asked Chase if he knew William Walker, and he nodded. “Yeah, he’s a freshman, pretty well-known this year. Why, do you know him?” I shook my head, improvising, “I have a friend who likes him.” Chase’s expression turned serious, his brows furrowing. “Your friend should probably give up.” “Why? Does he have a girlfriend?” “No,” he replied, his tone grave. “But word is, he’s got issues—like, mental health issues.” Chase shared some rumors about William Walker. Apparently, when William first joined, he was noticed for his sharp looks and mysterious attitude, and Chase’s “campus heartthrob” status was almost dethroned. But then someone dug up details about his family and posted them on the school forum. Overnight, everyone’s attitude shifted completely. The reason was clear: William’s father was a killer, with severe mental issues. William had witnessed his father murder his mother when he was just five years old. His dad, in a violent rage, had stabbed her, then slowly approached him. Miraculously, his father regained control just as he raised the knife, and realizing what he’d done, he ran away, vanishing completely. William’s neighbor found him hours later, huddled in a corner, shaking and staring blankly at the wall. After that, his father went missing, and William was left with a distant relative who quickly sent him off to the Riverside Youth Home. Chapter
The online forum painted vivid scenes. The thread starter claimed to be William’s former high school classmate and said he’d once seen William lose it, pinning an older classmate to a wall after the guy mocked his parents. Some people thought William’s reckless, fearless energy was an inherited trait, and rumors about his “mental instability” spread all over the Computer Science Department. I read every word of those posts, and instead of feeling afraid, I just felt… sad. It was probably those messages affecting me. One forum post even had a candid shot of him—eyes sharp, looking coldly into the camera. I studied that photo for a long time, conflicted, before finally deciding I’d try to meet him myself. Finding William wasn’t hard. I didn’t even need to ask around. Just standing outside the Computer Science building and looking in, I spotted him immediately in the crowd. Unlike most students who dressed in brand-name clothes and buzzed with energy, William was in the back row alone, wearing a plain white t-shirt. Black hair, dark eyes, like an ocean hidden from the sun—he just seemed out of sync with the world around him. Maybe my gaze lingered too long, because suddenly he looked directly at me, catching my eyes with a sharp, almost piercing stare. My heart skipped, and instinctively, I ducked out of sight beneath the window. As soon as I crouched down, I realized how weird it was. I wasn’t a creep—so why was I acting so guilty? When the bell rang, students poured out, and I saw William at the tail end of the crowd, his face calm and distant. Rumors must’ve kept people wary, as he walked alone, a little pocket of solitude in the middle of the busy hall. I couldn’t help myself—I called out, “Hey!” I ran over, phone in hand. “You’re William Walker, right? Hi, I’m Violet Brooks from the 3 The forum posts about William Walker were so detailed, you’d think people were reporting on a local celebrity. One person claiming to be his former high school classmate described a time they saw William snap, pinning a taller upperclassman against a wall. Apparently, the guy had made a rude comment about his parents. Everyone said William had this fearless energy, like he didn’t care what happened to him. Most figured he must’ve inherited it from his dad, so rumors about him having “mental issues” spread quickly across the Computer Science Department. I read all the posts about William. Not only did they not scare me—they actually made me feel sorry for him. …Maybe those texts had already started to get to me. One of the forum posts even had a picture of him, obviously taken in secret. In the photo, he was glancing at the camera with eyes that were both wild and cold. I stared at that photo for a long time, feeling torn, before deciding I’d go find him and see for myself. Finding William wasn’t hard; I didn’t even need to ask anyone. I simply went to the window of his classroom and looked in. Among the sea of students, he stood out immediately. His vibe was so distinct. Most college students around here wore brand-name clothes and had a certain carefree energy. But William was different. Sitting alone in the back, he wore a plain white t-shirt, dark hair falling into his equally dark eyes, like a shadowed lake with no sunlight reaching its depths. I compared him to the photo from the forum. No doubt, this was him. Maybe I was staring too long because he suddenly looked straight at me. Our eyes met, and his gaze was sharp, cutting. Caught in the act, my heart skipped a beat, and, completely flustered, I crouched below the window, hiding from view. It only hit me afterward how ridiculous that was. I wasn’t a spy, so why was I hiding like one? When the bell rang, everyone started pouring out of the classroom. I stood on my toes to catch sight of William, who was trailing at the end, a calm and distant look on his face. Thanks to the rumors, people kept their distance, walking in groups while he was completely alone, wrapped in a quiet solitude that felt almost suffocating. I couldn’t help myself—I called out, “Hey, you!” I jogged over to him, holding up my phone. “You’re William Walker, right? Hi, I’m Violet Brooks, from the Design Department. Can I add you on WhatsApp?” This was the first time I’d ever approached a guy like this. My heart pounded, but William stopped and looked at me, somewhere between surprised and… curious. “You know me?” His voice was calm and steady, surprisingly gentle. Trying not to seem overeager, I answered, “No, but I’d like to get to know you. If that’s alright?” William’s face went blank. “No, it’s not alright.” He brushed past me with a firm, “Don’t follow me.” Um… excuse me? Does he realize how quickly he’s pushing me away? When midnight rolled around, another message from the future came in, as predictable as clockwork. The same line as always, like some persistent command: “Go to the Computer Science Department and find William Walker.” Remembering what happened earlier, I replied, frustrated, “I went today. Are you sure he’s the right guy? He doesn’t even know me, and he definitely doesn’t like me.” Underneath the frustration, I also felt a tiny bit hurt, though I wasn’t even sure why. Was it because I’d made a fool of myself? Or… because it was William? That one look he gave me through the window stayed with me. Maybe I felt a little… smitten. After two full minutes, the future-me replied. “No mistake. I’ve read his journals. All through school, he’s been quietly in love with you. Neither you nor I ever noticed it.” A quiet, years-long crush. I tried to remember if I’d ever noticed him, but I couldn’t. So I asked, “When did William start liking me?” Unexpectedly, future-me replied, “I don’t know.” “His love… it was too silent. I never sensed it.” “Anyway, you need to watch out for Chase Emerson. He’s a total fraud who’ll stop at nothing to hurt you. The only reason he failed in my world is because William gave up his own life for me. I want to save him. I want him to live.” I promised future-me I’d protect William. From that moment, I came up with a plan. First things first: avoid Chase Emerson. I had once liked him because he was kind to me, but I wasn’t a fool. After learning he was a walking disaster, I’d happily take the midnight train out of town before dating him. Second: find a way to get close to William. I went to the school’s message board, found his class schedule, and on mornings when I didn’t have classes, I brought two breakfasts and confidently walked into his classroom, sitting down right next to him. He looked like a startled hedgehog, all his spines raised. “What are you doing here?” His voice was as cold as steel. He was cute like this. Though his journal had supposedly recorded a long crush, in real life, he seemed determined to keep his distance from me. A classic case of saying one thing and doing another. I handed him a breakfast sandwich and coffee. “I brought you breakfast.” He tensed, studying me before giving a quick push, “I don’t want it.” But his eyes had given him away; I could tell he was tempted. He was a complete contradiction.
I admit I have my own agenda. My 28-year-old self only asked me to save William’s life, to make sure he survived, but here I am at 18—wanting him to be mine. The breakfast I brought him turned into a playful tug-of-war, back and forth between us. It was enough to catch the attention of the students sitting in front, who turned around with faces full of shock, as if they couldn’t believe someone would actually sit next to William, much less chat with him. When the bell rang, I took a deep breath and firmly grabbed his hand, pushing the breakfast into it. Softly, I said, “Come on, skipping breakfast isn’t good for you. I brought this just for you—take it, okay?” I was pretty good at being persuasive, and, sure enough, William froze the instant I held his hand, like he’d been jolted. This time he didn’t push it away, but he did set the breakfast on the corner of his desk, as if he didn’t plan on eating it. I sighed inwardly, telling myself there was plenty of time for him to warm up. But by the third day, he’d clearly had enough. He blocked my way in the hall, gripping my arm. To put it lightly, he looked like a cornered animal, all bristling intensity. “What exactly are you trying to do?” If anyone else had confronted me like that, I’d probably have bolted. But the look in his dark eyes, an angry shield that barely hid something raw and vulnerable, didn’t scare me—it made my heart ache. And before I could stop myself, I said, “I think I…kind of like you. So could you…like me back?” William’s hand dropped away. A second later, he broke into a grin. It was the first time I’d seen him smile, and it was dangerously captivating. Whatever fondness I’d felt before surged into something stronger, something dizzying.
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