A hundred days before the college entrance exam, my mother would stay up late with me every single night, keeping me company while I studied.

But on the day of the exam, she went insane.

She stood at the door, blocking my way, refusing to let me leave the house.

And just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, my father—who had never shown the slightest interest in me or my life—suddenly stepped in.

He shoved my mother aside and urged me to go.

I stood frozen, overwhelmed by the chaos, as they started yelling at each other.

“Sweetheart, trust me,” my mother pleaded, her eyes wide and desperate. “I’ve been reborn. The road to the exam site will collapse. Going there is suicide!”

“No, honey, listen to your father,” he said, glaring at her. “She’s lying. She just doesn’t want you to outshine her illegitimate child.”

My mother’s face turned crimson as she pointed a trembling finger at him.

“You bastard! You know the road will collapse! You’re trying to kill our daughter!”

My father snapped, “Stop twisting the truth! In our past life, you were the one who stopped her from taking the exam. And she died in misery because of it!”

I didn’t step in to stop them like I used to.

I just laughed coldly, turned around, and slammed the door shut behind me.

They didn’t know the truth.

I had been reborn too.

——

The moment I opened the door that morning, and they both started saying the exact same things they had in my past life—I knew it.

It was real.

I had come back.

Leaning against the door, my chest rose and fell rapidly. My heart was in turmoil, memories of pain and betrayal crashing down on me.

It wasn’t until I heard my mother’s triumphant laughter from the other side of the door that I snapped back to the present.

“See? My daughter still listens to me,” she said smugly.

My father didn’t reply, but I knew one thing for certain.

I couldn’t stay here any longer.

I quickly stuffed a few essentials into my backpack and swung the door open.

My mother’s victorious smile froze on her face.

“Where are you going with your backpack?” she asked, startled.

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I looked calmly at my father.

“When you’re done arguing,” I said flatly, “take me to the station. If we’re late, I’ll miss the bus.”

My father, still holding a cigarette between his fingers, paused for a moment. Then he flicked it aside and walked over to me.

As he passed my mother, he raised his eyebrows smugly, clearly enjoying the moment.

I acted like I didn’t see it and followed him out the door.

My mother reached out, trying to stop me one last time.

“Think carefully, my daughter,” she warned. “Going with your father might cost you your life.”

I glanced back at her, emotionless, and shook off her hand.

“I’ve studied for this day for nine years. Even if knives fall from the sky, I’m going.”

She opened her mouth again but said nothing.

She only sighed as I walked away.

Unlike her, my father was thrilled to be the one sending me off.

He pedaled the old bicycle with energy, as if he’d been waiting for this day his whole life.

At the station, he gave me a rare piece of advice.

“Camila, study hard, okay? Don’t let your mother or me down.”

I suppressed a bitter smile, nodded, and boarded the bus.

The driver was standing at the front, counting passengers.

I didn’t need to count.

There were 19 of us—every one of us a girl.

In our village, boys and girls take the college entrance exam at different locations.

I didn’t know if it’s like that elsewhere, but my mother always said it’s how it’s done here.

I glanced out the window, my heart pounding as we neared the road my mother had warned me about.

Suddenly, I stood up and rushed to the driver.

“Excuse me, Sir,” I said anxiously, “can we take another route? My mother said this road will collapse today.”

The driver paused and frowned.

“Nonsense,” he said gruffly. “We’ve been using this road for decades. It’s never collapsed once.”

I bit my lip, hands clenched into fists, a flicker of unease growing in my chest.

“But my mom is certain—”

The driver cut me off, clearly annoyed.

“You believe your mom that much? What is she now, a prophet? Can she predict the future or talk to gods?”

“I… my mom said she’s reincarnated.”

I mustered the courage to say it—but as soon as the words left my mouth, the whole bus burst into laughter.

Everyone laughed—except for the driver.

He glanced at me in the rearview mirror, expression unreadable.

“Little girl, where are you from? Who are your parents?”

I hesitated before replying truthfully, “My father is Austin Connor, and my mother is Lia Grayson.”

The driver let out a low, ambiguous chuckle.

He shot me another side glance, then shrugged.

“Alright, alright. Go back to your seat. I promise you won’t die today. Just sit tight and relax!”

I nodded and quietly returned to my seat, though my heart was anything but calm.

He might have sounded confident, but as the bus merged onto the highway, everyone fell silent.

A heavy tension filled the air.

Somewhere in the distance, faint sounds of rockslides echoed down from the mountain.

All eyes were locked on the road ahead.

The driver slowed the bus as we approached the stretch my mother had warned about.

Then—boom—a thunderous crash.

A large rock came tumbling down the slope.

The driver slammed the brakes. The bus screeched to a halt—barely stopping in time, just inches from the boulder.

Still visibly shaken, the driver wiped sweat from his brow, shot me a quick look, then climbed down to check the road.

He moved the rock himself and got back on board.

The tension in the bus had doubled.

No one said a word, but the fear lingered in every breath.

Luckily, the rest of the highway passed without further incident.

I exhaled in relief and finally remembered to check my backpack.

As I rummaged through it, I realized something horrible—I had forgotten to bring a pen.

Clutching my bag, I walked back up to the driver.

“Sir,” I said timidly, “I forgot my pen. When we reach town… could we stop somewhere so I can buy one?”

He frowned, clearly displeased.

“Why are you so careless? Everyone else comes prepared. You, on the other hand, keep forgetting things.”

I dropped my head, lips trembling, on the verge of tears.

The driver sighed.

“Alright, alright. I’ll take you to buy them when we get there. But next time, make sure you’re prepared. If you forget anything else, I’m not helping you again. Got it?”

“Yes,” I whispered and returned to my seat.

The bus later stopped in front of a small roadside store, and the driver led me inside.

As I browsed the pens, I didn’t expect to see him.

Peter Sebastian—the class monitor—walked in.

Surprise flickered across his face the moment he saw me.

“Camila? What are you doing here?”

Caught off guard, I quickly hid the two dollars in my hand and walked up to him, embarrassed.

“I forgot my pen… Peter, could you lend me some money?”

Peter was known in our class as the “little rich guy.” He was smart, polite, and completely doted on by his family. His parents gave him more pocket money than he could ever spend.

His ears turned red as he quickly dug through his backpack for money.

After fumbling around for a moment, he pulled out a red bill and handed it to me.

“Is this enough?”

Before I could respond, someone called out his name from the bus, urging him to hurry.

Peter’s cheeks flushed even deeper. He shoved the bill into my hand and ran for the door.

“I—I’ve got to go, Camila. See you in college!”

I looked down at the hundred-dollars note in my hand and couldn't help the bitter smile that tugged at my lips.

College? Did I even stand a chance of making it there?

I walked over to the counter and placed the pens down.

Then I glanced up at the driver beside me.

“Sir, can I buy a case of drinks too?”

He was in the middle of an animated chat with the store owner, but both of them froze when they heard my request.

The driver blinked.

“A whole case? What for?”

“It’s way too hot, and my classmates have been waiting on the bus for ages,” I said. “I want to treat them to some drinks.”

The driver raised an eyebrow but didn’t say a word. Instead, the store owner leaned across the counter, eyeing me curiously.

“You got enough money for that?”

“I do.”

I pulled out the hundred-dollars bill with an innocent smile.

“My mom gave it to me before I left—just in case.”

The driver and the store owner exchanged a quick, silent glance.

The store owner nodded and pointed to the corner of the shop.

“The water’s over there. Go get it yourself.”

I shook my head.

“Sir, can I have a cardboard box? I want to buy the ones in the refrigerator.”

He bent down, grabbed an empty box, and tossed it over to me.

“Thanks!” I said quickly, and ran to the fridge to start filling it with cold drinks.

As I packed the box, I overheard the store owner whispering to the driver behind me.

“You think this girl’s genuinely kind-hearted, or...?”

The driver lit a cigarette and let out a soft chuckle.

“Who knows? Every year there’s always someone who thinks they’re clever—until they realize it was all for nothing.”

They both laughed quietly.

My hand froze mid-air. I glanced back but said nothing. Then I dropped the last two bottles of soda into the box.

Back on the bus, I walked down the aisle, handing out drinks.

“Sir,” I said to the driver, offering him a cold soda, “thank you—for taking me to buy a pen and for driving us here.”

He looked at me, didn’t say a word, then reached into the box and grabbed a different bottle.

I gave an awkward smile and continued passing out drinks to the other students.

The rest of the ride was calm—until we neared the exam site.

Suddenly, the driver’s face turned pale. He slammed on the brakes.

In the front seat, Maria Quinn leaned forward.

“Sir, what’s wrong?” she asked, concerned.

The driver gritted his teeth, hesitated a moment, then said,

“Nothing.”

He restarted the engine, but less than two minutes later, he pulled over again and unbuckled his seatbelt in frustration.

“Stay in the bus. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He jumped out of the vehicle and disappeared into the woods.

I looked away, letting my gaze fall to the digital clock on the dashboard.

2:20 p.m.

When the driver returned and climbed back into the bus, the timing was—perfect.

We entered the city, the streets growing denser, the traffic heavier.

As we turned onto Maple Road, red lights blinked from all directions.

Without hesitation, the driver stepped hard on the accelerator.

I gripped the front seat tight, my eyes fixed on the countdown clock flashing on the screen.

Here it comes!

A red sports car came out of nowhere—screeching past from the side.

The sound of metal grinding.

A sudden jolt.

Glass exploded from the front windshield, shards flying everywhere.

Even though I’d braced myself, I was still thrown forward by the impact. My body slammed into the front seat, hard.

My head buzzed. I gasped for air.

As the world slowly came back into focus, I stumbled to my feet and moved toward the front.

The driver was slumped over the wheel, blood trickling from his forehead.

I shook his arm—nothing.

Quickly, I reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

Luna Madison, her arm bleeding, hurried over to me in a panic.

“Camila, is the driver dead? What do we do?”

I sneered.

“Better if he is.”

The bus went completely silent.

All eyes turned to me, wide and stunned.

I ignored them, pushed past Luna, and climbed out through the shattered window.

Outside, a crowd had already gathered.

Strangely, no one looked surprised.

They caught me gently as I dropped down and quietly set me aside.