Cerita Pendek & Novel

My roommate, Florence Myers—who happens to be from a low-income family—is obsessed with AI. She relies on AI to determine whether the food she eats will bring her good or bad luck, and she even lets AI plan her daily outfits. On our very first day of orientation, she refuses to lock the window, claiming an AI dating app has matched her with her soulmate. I warn her that our dormitory is located deep in the mountains and leaving the window unlocked is dangerous. Florence threatens to end her life if I don't let her have her way. "Cora AI said my true love will break through the window tonight!" I don't want to pick a fight, so I wait until she's sound asleep and quietly lock the window shut. However, when I wake up in the middle of the night, I catch a thief climbing in through the window. I'm about to call for help when Florence clamps her hand over my mouth, looking ridiculously excited. "Don't make a sound, Cleo! I just woke up to unlock the window, and he showed up! This is fate. We're meant to be!" Her cheeks are tinged pink. "If I go over and greet him right now, do you think he'll confess his love to me first?" Ignoring her attempts to stop me, I decisively call the cops and have the thief arrested. I think this matter's behind us, yet on the night orientation ends, Florence corners me against my bed, shoving the latest news headline in my face. "This is all your fault! The thief from that night is the richest man's long-lost son! You ruined my chance to marry into wealth!" The very next second, she strangles the life out of me. … When my eyes fly open again, I realize I've been reborn back to the very first day of college. This time, I scoff, grab my luggage, and walk out the door. Since Florence wants a love story that begins with a home invasion so badly, I'll gladly step aside and let her live out her dream!

The day I receive my acceptance letter from a top-tier university, I'm over the moon. On my first day of school, I pick up some greens and sauteed chicken from the cafeteria and place them on my tray. A single bite of the greens sends a wave of spiciness straight to my head. I scramble for water, desperately trying to cool the burn. My parents, who tagged along to help me settle in, immediately confront the cafeteria manager. "What is wrong with you people? Students come here from all over the country! Why would you make simple greens devilishly spicy?" The manager looks at us in confusion. "It's just seasoned with a couple of dried chili peppers. It's not spicy at all." Refusing to back down, I drag over a few students nearby to taste it, but everyone says it isn't spicy at all. My parents quickly soothe me, saying it's probably just a regional taste difference, and tell me to eat the pickled olives we brought from home instead. I nod through my tears and scoop a generous portion over my pasta, planning to make do with the meal. To my horror, a huge mouthful of olive pasta hits me with that exact same searing heat! The explosive spice makes my throat swell and constrict at an alarming rate. No amount of water helps, and breathing grows harder by the second. In the end, I suffocate to death. Even as I draw my last breath, I can't wrap my head around it. It's just olive pasta without a speck of chili in sight. How could it possibly be that spicy? When I open my eyes again, I'm back to the first time I sat down with my tray in the cafeteria.

When my wife, Whitney Novak, abandoned me on the mountaintop once again to rush off and take care of my younger brother, Aaron Novak, I was kidnapped on my way home. For three days and three nights, I endured unimaginable torture. The one call I managed to make for help was coldly hung up on. The day I finally dragged myself home, battered and covered in wounds, my family was celebrating Aaron's latest achievement. Whitney frowned in irritation. "Today's supposed to be a celebration. Who are you trying to disgust by showing up looking like that? Are you trying to make everyone think we've been abusing you?" My family looked at me with nothing but contempt. "You're worthless. You'll never measure up to Aaron. It should've been you who died instead." Later, they got exactly what they wanted. I really was dying. But if I was nothing more than a worthless failure, why were they crying?

My father-in-law, Arthur, was the rightful heir to the Mosby family fortune. When he insisted on marrying, Judith, my mother-in-law, who ran a small neighborhood restaurant, everyone said he had lost his mind. One morning over breakfast, Arthur suggested that we stop by Judith's restaurant. "Judith came home yesterday with a burn on her hand." Concern flashed in his eyes. "She refused to tell me what happened." The tenderness between them warmed my heart, so I immediately agreed to take him there. But while we were waiting in line, a broad-shouldered man suddenly shoved Arthur hard. "Move it, old man! You're blocking the way!" I caught Arthur before he fell and shook with anger. "What gives you the right to insult him or cut the line?" The man sneered and tossed a foul-smelling used napkin at our feet. "Because my wife owns this place! I can do whatever I want. Keep talking and I'll have her throw both of you out!" The air went still. All the color drained from Arthur's face, and the luxury bag he had just bought for Judith slipped from his hand. I froze. Could the woman Arthur had adored all his life really be having an affair?

My family goes bankrupt when I'm ten years old. Just like that, I become a fallen heir overnight. Instead of letting me struggle, my dad, Steven Hollister, raises me with even greater care. He insists that I'm the family's only hope. I spend the next eight years living like a porcelain doll. My skin can't have so much as a scratch. Every meal is measured down to the last calorie. I'm forbidden from taking gym class or touching anything sharp. If I come home with even the smallest cut or scrape, Dad berates me for days. My younger brother, Michael Hollister, on the other hand, is given complete freedom. He skips school and gets into fights. Dad barely gives him a second glance. "He'll never amount to anything," he says with a dismissive wave. "This family is counting on you." On my 18th birthday, Dad excitedly announces that the company is finally going to recover and that we'll be rich again. He throws me an extravagant birthday party, but the guest of honor is a young man about my age seated at the head of the table. During dinner, the stranger openly sizes me up from head to toe before nodding in satisfaction. I assume he's the investor who's about to save my family. That night, I happen to glance at Dad's phone just as the screen lights up. A notification shows a massive wire transfer. The payment note reads, "Final payment received. We'll deliver the goods as scheduled."

I'm a half-baked forensic examiner whose only redeeming quality is the ability to understand animals. The crime scene is inside a lavish villa. The lady of the house lies dead on the floor with a blunt-force injury to the back of her head so deep that her bone is visible. The safe has been pried open, and a million dollars in cash has vanished without a trace. Clear shoe prints mark the backyard wall, evidence that someone has climbed over it. "This one's clear as day. This is a textbook robbery-homicide. The suspect is likely a young male, around six feet tall, has a prior theft record, and knows how to cover his tracks. Check the surveillance footage in the area and look into places where he might've moved the stolen cash." The director of the forensic science center, Egbert Woodward, has been in the profession for three decades and is a widely respected authority. The officers at the scene nod in unison and begin taking notes. I'm the only one who stares at the 30 flies circling the ceiling for a full 3 minutes before taking a step forward and piping up, "Dr. Woodward, this isn't a robbery-homicide. It's a crime of passion. The murderer is the victim's husband!"

My son, Damian Stone, has mild asthma. The doctor has recommended that he train his lungs through light swimming, and it so happens that Damian loves swimming. I've donated five million dollars to Damian's school for a temperature-controlled swimming arena and full-range purifier system because of this. I've even paid a professional safety officer to disinfect and keep an eye on the arena daily. But one day, when I head to Damian's school earlier than usual to pick him up, I find him locked up in the equipment room. He's soaking wet and has his arms wrapped around his trembling knees while using his inhaler. The doors of the swimming arena I've donated have a notice stuck on them that reads: "For Timothy's private use only. No freeloaders allowed."

My 20-year-old daughter was obese. She started gaining weight in middle school, and now she weighed 200 pounds. I worried about her health, so I prepared nutritious meals for her and encouraged her to exercise every day, but she didn't take the problem seriously. "I was born weighing 7 pounds. It's your fault for making me so fat when I was in your womb." For eight years, every time I urged her to lose weight, that was her reply. Just as I was losing hope and considering giving up, I received a FaceTime call from my daughter 10 years in the future. "Mom! Please help me one more time!" My daughter cried on the phone. "I now weigh 500 pounds. I can't even leave home, and I struggle to breathe every day. I feel so miserable!" My heart softened, and I spent $30,000 to send my daughter to a weight loss camp. However, in the camp, my daughter indulged herself and even started a food vlogging channel. "Eat as much as you want, drink as much as you want. Don't take life so seriously. We only have about 80 years to live, so enjoy your food!" I was completely disappointed and chose to respect her decision. My daughter from ten years later cried hysterically on the phone. "The doctor said I don't have long to live! Please stop feeding me!" But this time, the FaceTime call was made to my daughter's phone.

I was kidnapped the day my vampire boyfriend, Hades, was going to introduce me to his parents. I barely managed to escape and reached his citadel only to watch him on his knees, kissing Hestia’s hands as he announced. “I accept your arrangement, Dad and Mom. Your decision was better than mine. Hestia is truly a good match for me. As for Ares, I’ll think of a way to get rid of her quickly.” “Hades…” My voice choked, drawing their attention to me. “How can you do that to me? You said you loved me.” Hades turned to look at me, his eyes cold and distant. He dragged me out of his citadel. “You dare bring up our past, Ares? Where were you last night?” “I-I was kidnapped!” I yelled. “Really, Ares?” Hestia followed behind, “You say you were kidnapped, yet you stand tall. Not even a scratch on your body.” “I-I don't know why-” I stopped in the middle to look at Hades ’ eyes that were laced with hatred and disgust I had never seen before. “Y-You are doubting me, Hades?” “My men said you were seen with a mysterious man in a five-star hotel’s entrance. I’m not a fool to not understand what you did last night, Ares.” He spat. “Hades… I-I was really kidnapped!” I sobbed. “No need for explanation. It was already hard for me to convince my parents to accept a human mate, and now, after your bad reputation, it's impossible.” “Ten days later, I’ll take vows with Hestia. You should thank her for allowing me to keep you as my mistress. She is really a kind woman.” “Thank her?” I laughed sarcastically, “No thanks, Miss Hestia. No need to share your man with me. Please keep him to yourself.”

Everyone believed I was the perfect good girl. Yet no one knew that every night, right under the nose of Blackport's most ruthless mafia Don, I was tangled up with his heir and my own stepbrother. It was not until the fifth year of our secret affair that I overheard him speaking with his right‑hand man, Carlo Vitale, through the cracked door of the casino's top‑floor office. "Boss, you deflowered your own stepsister when she was 18. You've been stringing her along for 5 years, and you're still not going to make it official?" My heart clenched. Quietly, desperately, I waited for Giuliano Falcone's answer. Giuliano flicked his custom Zippo open and shut, smiling like he did not care. "You said it yourself. She's a dirty little secret. How would you even bring that into the light? "If it weren't for getting back at her harlot of a mother for destroying my family, I never would've touched her. "I've already proposed to Viviana. Only a Moretti Principessa is fit to stand as the Madre of the Falcone family." I did not break down. I did not storm in and demand answers. I pretended I had heard nothing, turned around, and walked into the darkness. On the day of Giuliano and Viviana Moretti's wedding, he stationed his suited Soldati at every entrance to the venue, terrified I would show up and cause a scene. What he did not know was that I was already sitting in first class on a flight to Bellavista, and I was never coming back.

The day before the SAT, strange comments suddenly appear before my eyes. "In a while, your childhood friend, Savannah Dunham, will come to you complaining about a stomachache. She will ask you to accompany her to the restroom. "She'll give birth there, then accuse you of being the baby's father. Since you'll be at the scene and she'll personally identify you as the father of the baby, the police will arrest you on the spot. By the time the truth comes out, you'll have already missed the SAT." The very next moment, Savannah clutches her stomach and grabs my arm. "Benny, my stomach hurts. Can you come to the restroom with me?" Every word she says and every move she makes matches the comments exactly. Then, another comment appears. "Her boyfriend is Michael Crowley, the one who always comes second. If you miss the SAT, Michael will become the top scorer this year." I shake off Savannah's hand immediately. "I'm sorry. Ms. Kirkland asked to see me. She said there's a problem with my exam admission pass. You'll have to go by yourself."

The company booked a lodge at Osprey Lake for the Labor Day weekend retreat. All 35 other people in the company were invited, and I was not one of them. My team lead even posted a group photo from their kayaking trip in the chat, captioned with "One less person and the boat rides lighter." I did not reply. I turned off my phone, bought some tamales and a beer, went back to my apartment, and slept for 15 hours. When I woke up, I had 203 missed calls. The latest voicemail was my team lead, practically in tears. "Please, man, I'm sorry! Just pick up the phone!" I grabbed another slice and took a bite. I took one weekend off. How was the company already falling apart?

On the day I moved into my freshman dorm, my mother posted a screenshot of a six-hundred-dollar wire transfer in the family group chat. [Giselle, you can't go without at school. Mom will always have your back.] The relatives all praised her as a generous, open-minded mother. Behind the scenes, though, she told me to click decline on the money, and sent me a chart instead: the Family Attendance Chart. [Reply to messages within ten seconds. Answer video calls within three. Every violation costs you ten dollars.] After she'd starved me sick a few times, I never dared miss one of her check-ins again. Then came today's anatomy class. My hands were submerged in formaldehyde, and I missed six of them. By the time I'd scrubbed up, she'd already docked my allowance for the month into the negative. Her voice message was gentle, laced with hurt. "Giselle, you've disappointed me so much. Your allowance is zeroed out. Think hard about what you've done." I fainted on the way back to my dorm, my blood sugar crashing from hunger. When I came to in the campus infirmary, my brother had sent me a message. [Mom's so generous. She gave me six hundred as a dating fund so I could really enjoy the whole college romance experience. Bet you got some too, huh?] Staring at my bruised, IV-punctured hand, I suddenly felt like a joke. Calmly, I went to the nurses' station, signed off on refusing the rest of my treatment, and blocked every one of their contacts. This kind of love, the kind you had to clock in for just to be handed a scrap of it? I didn't want it anymore.

On the third New Year’s Eve since I reunited with my parents, I bumped into their former adopted son, who stole the happy life that I was supposed to have for the past twenty years. Adam Scott was once an arrogant, wealthy young man. However, he was now working as a food delivery rider. As he was more than ten minutes late delivering the food, he kept apologizing to me. “Sir, I’m really sorry. The roads are slippery because of the snow. I fell and spilled your food. “I can compensate you twice the amount. Please don’t leave a negative review for me.” Before I could speak, my parents already teared up and comforted him out of habit. “Don’t worry about the food, Adam. Are you hurt? It’s New Year’s Eve; come in and join us for dinner.” My hand tightened around the doorknob as I reminded them, “Mom, Dad, we only have enough utensils for three people.”

From the day I was born, Mom never treated me like her daughter. I was Catherine Baldwin's older sister, the example Mom used to keep her in line. When Catherine stole ten dollars from Mom's purse to buy stickers, Mom made me stand facing the living room wall all afternoon. Then she pointed at me and told Catherine, "Look at Allison. For every dollar you steal, she stands there for an hour. You do the math." When Catherine refused to eat her vegetables, Mom stopped giving me breakfast for three days. I got so hungry that I snuck into the kitchen and ate cold leftovers straight from the fridge. When Mom caught me, she didn't yell. She simply turned to Catherine and said, "See how hungry Allison is? Keep being picky, and you'll be the one who goes without food next time." When Catherine started dating in middle school, and a teacher caught her passing notes to a boy in class, Mom sent me to the school in her place. She made me stand in the main office and read Catherine's written apology aloud in front of the teachers. Halfway through, my voice gave out. Mom snatched the paper from my hands and finished reading it herself, slowly and clearly, making sure everyone heard every word. Afterward, she pulled me into the hallway and said, "Catherine has a reputation to protect. I couldn't let her be humiliated in front of her teachers. You're her sister. It's your job to take the fall for her." I was 15, and Catherine was 13. By then, I had already been punished for her, gone hungry for her, and humiliated myself for her. It took me years to realize that was only the beginning. The worst was yet to come.

The day my son, Nathan Cardin, turns one month old, we are both kidnapped. Our kidnapper demands that I call my wife, Jennifer Surton, so that he can demand ransom money. Since the phone is placed on loudspeaker mode, everyone can hear her scoff. "Asking for money again? You sure are going all out with your act this time." I'm about to explain when I suddenly hear someone sigh and lament. [Oh dear, how did I end up with the same start even after being reborn? Daddy is completely unaware that Mommy is currently busy gathering funds, after her first love claimed that he's now burdened with substantial debt due to helping her with her company.] Just as I'm wondering who said that, a man's voice comes over the phone call. "Jen, save me!" The call is abruptly cut off. While the kidnapper dials Jennifer's number over and over again, I hear that voice speak once more. It sounds incredibly young. [Daddy, don't bother wasting your energy. In our previous life, Mommy came to rescue us with the money, which resulted in her first love getting killed by his debtors. In her terrible grief, she set us both on fire and burned us to ashes.] Dozens of tries later, Jennifer finally picks up again. "Can't you be a little more understanding? What do you think is more important—Rick's life or you buying a new car?" Gazing at Nathan nearby, I grit my teeth and answer, "Go and save Hendrick. He's more important." In my mind, I vowed, "Don't be scared, son. I'll make sure that we both live on in this life."

The company janitor suffers a heart attack, and I race toward the elevator with him on my back. But the new COO, Alexis Brown, refuses to let us in with the excuse that we're dirty and smelly. I beg her, but she just scoffs and has security pin me to the floor. Then she takes the elevator down and deliberately presses every floor button to delay us. The janitor misses the critical window for treatment and dies on my back. The next day, Alexis calls a company meeting and shifts the blame on me. She tries to fire me for causing a disturbance at work and even demands compensation for her emotional distress. I look at her coldly before putting the security footage up on the big screen. Then, I say, "Ms. Brown, you left your own father to die. He sacrificed everything to put you through college. How are you going to pay for that?"

The day my sister, Megan Slade, was taken back by her wealthy birth family, she begged her parents with tears in her eyes. "Colin Carter's my brother. I'm all he has left. If he can't come with me, then I won't go back," she said. In the end, her parents had no choice but to bring me back home with her. When we first came to the Slade family, the fake heir, Joel Slade, who had lived as their son for over ten years was spoiled rotten and constantly targeted both me and Megan. At first, Megan was annoyed by him. Whenever her parents asked her to be more patient with Joel since he was her brother, she would always say without hesitation, "Colin's my only brother." But later, she never said those words again. Sometimes, she would even compare me to him. "I wish you were more cheerful like Joel. You're always so quiet." That day, she forgot my birthday again. I didn't make a fuss. I quietly made myself a cake. But the moment I finished it, she picked it up and casually brought it to Joel. "The cake Joel ordered got ruined on the way, and he's been upset about it," she said, "just give this one to him." I was so hurt that I didn't say a word all night. Seeing that, she looked at me with impatience evident in her eyes. "You're giving me an attitude over a cake? If you didn't want to share, why didn't you just say so?" Megan snapped at me. Joel made a face. "I told you before that your brother was petty, but you wouldn't believe me. I really don't understand why you brought that dead weight back with you." This time, Megan didn't argue back. So it turned out that even she saw me as a burden now.

Three days after the SAT scores were released, I came across a post asking for advice. [Both my older and younger sons are going to Northbridge for college. How should I split their living expenses so it's fair?] The comments were almost unanimous. [Why is this even a question? They're both your kids. Give them the same amount. That's the fairest way to do things.] I was about to scroll past when the newest top comment caught my eye. The profile picture belonged to my sister. [Don't judge when you don't know the whole story.] [I'm their older sister, so let me be honest. You can't raise two boys the same way.] [The older one is pretty average-looking, and he's awkward and quiet. Even if you gave him money, he wouldn't know what to spend it on. Meanwhile, the younger one is outgoing and handsome, with great style. One pair of his limited-edition shoes costs over $2,000.] [If you ask me, the older one should get $800, and the younger one should get $8,000. Each child should get the amount they need.] Beneath her comment was a reply from my childhood best friend, Whitney Jones. [Couldn't have said it better myself!] [Besides, we'll all be in Northbridge anyway. We can keep your younger brother company, so your mom won't have to worry about him back home.] Staring at the screen, I suddenly laughed until tears blurred my vision. When we were kids, we would play hide-and-seek. All of them would sneak off together, hand in hand, leaving me alone in the dark attic, covering my eyes and counting. Back then, I honestly believed that if I searched hard enough, I would eventually find them and become part of their little world. However, every time I opened my eyes, they had already slipped away with my younger brother, leaving to buy ice cream without me. It turned out nothing had changed since then. They were still walking side by side toward the bright lights of Northbridge, while I remained nothing more than an afterthought, someone brought along just for the sake of the picture. I deleted every university in Northbridge from my list and replaced them with schools in the far south, more than a thousand miles from home. I was done playing the loyal supporting character in someone else's fairy tale. Their game could go on without me.

After passing my veterinary licensing exam, I posted the news online to celebrate. My elderly neighbor, Gloria Vance, immediately fired off a string of messages. [Miles, my grandson's sick. Could you treat him?] [I'm really worried about the boy. He's had a fever for days now.] I slowly typed out a single: [?] Another message came through. [We're neighbors, after all. Just show a little compassion and save the child.] Trying to be kind, I wrote back, [Mrs. Vance, if your grandson's sick, you need to get him to a hospital right away. I can't treat him.] To my surprise, she fired back a voice message. "Aren't you studying medicine? What's the harm in taking a look at my grandson? How can a person be so stingy? "If you won't help, I'll report you to your university and have them expel a student with character as rotten as yours!" I was floored. I study veterinary medicine. How am I supposed to treat a human child?