I was reborn, sent back to my teenage years alongside the boy I grew up with, the boy with autism. This time, Trey pulled his hand from mine, clumsily bought a bouquet of flowers, and gave them to the girl he saw as his sun, Stacy. All because Stacy loved to tease him with crude, flirty jokes. After being subjected to her relentless teasing, something in him clicked. He thought he was cured. In my past life, I had spent over a decade caring for him, painstakingly teaching him how to express his own likes and dislikes. I never imagined the first thing he’d learn to express so casually, so cruelly, would be directed at me: “You’re… annoying. Not as likable as she is…” I looked down from the window. On the lawn below, a girl and a boy were wrapped in an embrace. She was bold; he was shy, pulling away with a blush. Fine. This was for the best. I didn’t want to spend another lifetime tethered to a patient. 1 “Hey, are you really autistic?” Stacy tilted her head, a playful grin on her face as she poked Trey’s arm. “Because you weren’t so quiet last night… when you were in bed. What happened to the autism then?” Trey’s ears flushed a deep crimson. His usually stoic face broke into a flicker of startled surprise. “I… I didn’t…” The classroom fell silent for a beat before erupting in a flurry of whispers. “Oh my god, did you guys hear that? Trey actually spoke! Isn’t that the second time today?” “Hilarious. Guess the unconventional methods work faster. Unlike some people…” The speaker shot a pointed glance in my direction before trailing off. I kept my face impassive, my eyes fixed on the book in my lap, pretending I didn’t know they were talking about me. It was true. This was the second time Trey had spoken voluntarily today. The first was when our teacher had tried to rearrange the seating chart to put me next to him. He had, for the first time ever, voiced his own opinion. “I don’t want to.” The words were so fluid, so natural, that even the teacher was stunned into silence at her desk. After a quick call with Trey’s mother, the teacher had nodded, relieved. “Alright then, no changes.” “And Stacy, tone it down. Stop picking on Trey.” I stood up, and before I could even take a step, Trey spoke again, his voice dripping with revulsion. “I told you, I’m not taking the meds anymore.” “For every pill you try to give me, I’ll just throw one away.” For a moment, I was lost in a daze, the past and present blurring into one. Trey’s tone, the look in his eyes—it was identical to before. The whispers of my classmates wormed their way into my ears. “God, isn’t Rochelle embarrassed? Trey must be so sick of her. Who wants someone chasing them with pills after school every day?” “And have you noticed how much he talks around Stacy? He seems totally normal.” “Brooding, quiet boy and the cheerful, popular girl? I ship it!” And Stacy, the so-called cheerful girl, was now smiling as she gently pinched Trey’s pale cheek. “Really? Am I that special to you?” “Look at you, blushing again. So cute.” Trey’s eyelashes fluttered. He quickly averted his gaze, and for a split second, his eyes met mine. In that instant, they turned cold as ice, all the vibrant emotion from moments before completely gone. A thought struck me. Could he have been reborn, too? Was that why he refused to sit next to me? Heh. Even better. 2 After school, Trey slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked out of the classroom ahead of me. Charles, the driver waiting at the school gates, did a double-take. “Sir? Aren’t you waiting for Miss Rochelle?” Trey’s lips were pressed into a thin line. He didn’t answer. Charles was used to it. He shot a disapproving look at me as I trailed behind. “Miss Rochelle,” he said, his voice low, “why weren’t you keeping up? If something were to happen to the young master, how would I explain it to Mrs. Montgomery?” See? He called me “Miss” out of habit, but he never truly saw me as anything more than the help. I suppose that’s what happens when your family loses everything. “Charles, let’s go.” Trey, who rarely spoke, suddenly gave a command. Charles was so surprised he forgot the lecture he was about to give me. “Young master? You… you spoke to me?” Charles grinned foolishly, so caught up in the moment that he didn’t notice a stranger approaching. “Wow, Trey, is this your family’s car?” “How much does something like this cost?” Charles frowned, about to shoo Stacy away, but then he saw Trey open the car door himself. Trey nervously fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “If you like it… it’s yours.” Stacy’s eyes went wide. “Hahahaha! Do you even know what you’re saying?” “You’re really going to give it to me?” Trey nodded earnestly and stepped out of the car, gesturing for her to get in. A muscle in Charles’s jaw twitched. He stared at Stacy in disbelief. Anyone who knew Trey knew that he hated anyone invading his personal space. It had taken me six months just to be allowed to ride in the same car with him. But Stacy was different. For Trey, she was the exception. A first. She patted his head like he was an obedient puppy. “Oh my god, you’re so naive. Aren’t you afraid of being taken advantage of?” “Alright, I’ll stop teasing you. See you tomorrow, my sweet little desk mate.” She walked away humming, radiating pure joy. Trey seemed to catch her infectious happiness, a small smile playing on his lips. He watched until her figure disappeared completely before turning around and, right in front of me, slamming the car door shut with a loud thud. Charles had forgotten I even existed. His usual professional calm was gone, replaced by an eagerness to race home and tell Trey’s mother everything he had just witnessed. The car sped off, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust. I glanced at my phone. My rideshare was five minutes away. Good thing I hadn’t counted on them. 3 That night, the Montgomery mansion next door was filled with joy and laughter, while our house was suffocating in silence. “What happened? Why didn’t you come home with him?” “Can’t you even handle a simple task like looking after someone? I’ve wasted all these years raising you!” My mother cautiously handed my father a cup of tea. “Don’t yell at her. Calm down.” But he swatted the cup away. It crashed to the floor, shattering into sharp, glittering fragments. He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Our villa, already sparsely furnished, felt even emptier with one less person in it. My mother sighed, her voice soft. “Rochelle, did you and Trey have a fight?” “You know how he is, honey. He’s a simple boy. You just need to be more patient and understanding. Our family’s future depends on the Montgomerys…” Back when my father hadn’t gambled away our family’s fortune, we were on equal footing with the Montgomerys. At least, we didn’t have to bend over backward to please them at the slightest suggestion from Trey’s mother. I paused in my cleanup of the broken porcelain. “Mom, I’m a senior this year. I’ll be in college soon. I can earn my own money and build my own life.” “Why do we have to pin all our hopes on the Montgomerys, and on… him?” “Your father will change! The Montgomerys lent him money. He’s going to turn things around.” Her voice grew quieter, lacking any real conviction. But Mom, don’t you know? Even if I did exactly as you wished and fawned over Trey, Dad would never have been able to kick his gambling habit. He didn’t stop until he’d mortgaged this very house—the last symbol of his pride—and then jumped from the roof. In the end, we were left with nothing, completely dependent on the Montgomerys’ charity. My hand clenched instinctively. The sharp pain of a porcelain shard digging into my palm jolted me back to the present. My mother gasped, gently disinfecting the wound. Just then, a notification lit up my phone. It was a message from Trey. [You’re disgusting. So annoying.] [Stay away from me from now on.] People with autism often seem to lack social graces. They speak bluntly, without considering the feelings of others. In my past life, I spent more than a decade with Trey, painstakingly teaching him how to express his dislikes in a constructive way. Not through hitting, breaking things, or cruel words. He was a slow learner, but he had made progress. Once, when his mother offered him a glass of warm milk to calm his nerves, he hadn’t smashed it like he used to. He had simply said, calmly, “I don’t want it.” His mother had cried with joy. I had stood by, a small smile on my face. Even though, hidden beneath my long sleeve, was a permanent scar from a burn he’d given me with a cup of hot water. I lowered my eyes and typed a reply. [Fine.] 4 The next morning, my father grabbed my arm and dragged me to the Montgomerys’ front door, a sycophantic smile plastered on his face. “Is Trey here? He hasn’t left yet, has he?” The Montgomerys’ butler gave him a cool, dismissive glance. “The young master left some time ago. Mrs. Montgomery has instructed that Miss Rochelle should get to school on her own from now on.” The butler offered a tight, apologetic smile. “You understand our young master’s condition. We can’t have him being overstimulated.” My father’s expression froze. He shot me a furious glare. I ignored him, dodging the slap he aimed at my head and walking calmly toward school. When I entered the classroom, I saw Trey and Stacy huddled together, sharing breakfast. “Jules, I don’t have an appetite. I just want a piece of you.” “Hey, how come you’re not eating your sausage…” “Oh, right. I remember. You have your own.” Trey, who had been eating with quiet refinement, turned beet red. “Don’t… don’t say things like that,” he stammered. Stacy’s friends roared with laughter. “Stacy, you’re wild! You could probably make a mute person talk, let alone someone with autism.” Stacy raised an eyebrow, triumphant. She grabbed my arm as I walked by. “Rochelle, back me up here.” “He doesn’t really have autism, does he? He’s just an introvert, right?” “I mean, he can’t only talk this much around me.” I pulled my arm away. Before I could say a word, Trey cut in. “You’re different.” “She’s like my mom,” he said, nodding toward me, “nagging and annoying.” “Not cute like you.” The other students’ faces were a mix of amusement and ridicule. They were all enjoying the show. A profound weariness washed over me. I felt tired for the old me. Before I was assigned to be Trey’s keeper, I was the envied daughter of a wealthy family. But to fulfill my duty, I humbled myself, catered to his every whim, and yielded to him in everything. Even a dog shows gratitude after a few days. In my past life, if it hadn’t been for that car accident on the way to the courthouse, I would have been shackled to him forever. And still, he was like this. He had learned how to communicate normally, how to smile at strangers. But with me, he was always sharp, cruel, completely disregarding my feelings. Was it really Stacy’s sunny disposition that had changed him, made him a little more normal? No. It was the result of my decade of tireless effort in our past life. But everyone just took it for granted, handing all the credit to Stacy. I looked Trey straight in the eye and smiled. “Well, I certainly don’t have a son as old as you.” 5 In my past life, my future had been mapped out for me by Trey’s mother. Trey was going to the Crestwood Conservatory, so I had to study music therapy, a niche and unpopular field. Using the music he loved to heal him—in his mother’s eyes, it was the perfect plan. It didn’t matter that I had no aptitude for music, or that the degree would be useless for finding a job. As long as it was useful for Trey, that was all that mattered. As a reward, the Montgomerys would provide my father with capital and business opportunities. Back then, at school, Trey was often triggered by loud noises or unexpected movements. He would have a meltdown, becoming anxious and agitated. He’d flip desks, uncontrollably digging his nails into his own skin until his hands were bloody. I would have to put down my notes and, under the complicated stares of our classmates, gently comfort him. Right. Where was his “little sun” then? Oh, she was in the crowd of onlookers, whispering with everyone else. Trey could lie to himself, but I hadn’t forgotten. On his eighteenth birthday, the Montgomerys threw a lavish party. It wasn't just to celebrate his coming of age, but to showcase to the world his miraculous recovery. At the party, Stacy was the guest of honor. She wore a custom-made gown, a diamond necklace sparkling at her throat. Under the bright lights, she stood with her arm linked through Trey’s, greeting guests with a radiant smile. They looked like a perfect couple. I had no appetite, so I slipped out into the garden as the party was winding down. There, I stumbled upon Stacy and Trey, laughing together. She was holding a bouquet of sunflowers. “Why did you get me these?” she asked, with a playful pout. “Everyone else gives roses…” Trey’s reply was serious. “You’re warm. Like a sunflower.” “When I see you, I’m happy.” “What about Rochelle? Didn’t you two grow up together?” “What is she like?” I stood in the shadows, watching his expression clearly. He frowned, a look of cold annoyance on his face. “She’s like this.” He gestured vaguely toward the ground. At the clover. Not the lucky four-leaf kind. Just a weed. The evening air was thick and warm. The cicadas buzzed restlessly. Their chirping echoed my own frantic heartbeat, which then abruptly stopped, as if doused in ice water. I saw Stacy stand on her tiptoes and press a kiss to Trey’s cheek. The tips of Trey’s ears turned red. He shyly looked away, and that’s when he saw me in the corner. I felt a profound sense of pointlessness and turned to leave. “Rochelle!” Trey called out, jogging over to me. A faint blush still colored his cheeks. “Your mom came to see me. She still wants us to go to the same university.” “Your mom worries too much. Stacy is clearly a better match for you than I am.” Trey frowned. “But I told my mom I only want you.” I looked up, surprised. He turned his head away. “When I have an episode… I’m ugly.” So that was it. That’s why he only wanted me. He saved his best side for Stacy, leaving only his uncontrolled, volatile self to hurt me. I was to be his glorified nanny, trailing behind him, forcing him to take his medication even when he hated me for it. Managing his emotions, putting him first in everything. Things the delicate “little sun” couldn’t possibly handle. From a distance, Stacy called his name, her voice sweet. “Come on, Jules! I’ll take you to do something you love.” But he didn’t move. I knew he was waiting for my reassurance. He wasn’t blind to my efforts; he just felt entitled to them. I composed myself and gave him a bright smile. “Of course. I’ll always be with you.” He heard my answer and happily ran toward Stacy. The smile vanished from my eyes. Trey, after the SATs, you can take your sunflower and go your separate ways. I will finally leave you, and I will be the most resilient weed you’ve ever seen. I just wonder, when you have your next meltdown, will your little sun still shine so brightly? I can’t wait to see. 6 During my breaks from studying, gossip about Trey and Stacy was unavoidable. They said Stacy had convinced Trey to sneak out of school with her. Or that they had secretly taken a trip to a music festival in the next state. My mom told me that Trey’s mother had waited for them at the train station, her face grim, surrounded by a group of men. She had burst into tears the moment she saw him. She saw a Trey who was vibrant and full of life. Everyone said Stacy was Trey’s salvation, that their story was like a high school romance novel come to life. Even my mom looked at me with pity. “It’s such a shame you and Trey just weren’t meant to be.” I just kept my head down, studying, a world apart from the lively chatter around me. To help the seniors de-stress, the school organized a Christmas talent show. Surprisingly, Trey was scheduled to perform. He stood on stage in a simple white shirt and black pants, his quiet presence enough to capture the entire auditorium’s attention. “Rochelle.” I turned at the sound of my name. He was fiddling with his fingers. “I went to your house to find you. You weren’t there.” Did he really expect me to be at his beck and call? “I moved into the dorms a while ago.” He frowned, clearly trying to remember when I had moved out. He looked like he was about to say more, but I had no interest in listening. Stacy bounced over to him, doing a little twirl in her dress. “Do I look pretty today?” Trey must have nodded because I heard Stacy immediately say, “Then say it. Say ‘I like Stacy.’” I fought the urge to roll my eyes and turned to leave. But Trey’s voice carried clearly. He asked, “What is ‘like’?” Stacy, not getting the response she expected, froze. She quickly recovered, forcing a smile. “You said you’re happy when you see me, right?” “That’s what ‘like’ is.” Trey nodded thoughtfully but said nothing more. When it was his turn to perform, the applause was deafening. In everyone’s eyes, he was no longer the boy with severe autism, but a quiet, composed, and exceptionally talented musician. A cheerful melody flowed from his long, slender fingers. It was hard to believe that someone who seemed so aloof could have such a rich inner world. I clapped along with the crowd, but I knew the truth. This was the piece he had written for Stacy in our past life. Now, he was finally playing it for his sun, out in the open. When the song ended, Stacy, in her formal gown, walked onto the stage to present him with flowers. Everyone was saying they were a match made in heaven. Someone whistled loudly, and the cheers threatened to bring the roof down. I slipped out quietly and stood in the hallway, taking a deep breath.
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