THYME'S POV:
Talking with Dom was like looking in a harsh mirror. I saw the cage I'd built around my own heart. For too long, my confusing, unnamed feelings for Meta were stuck because of one big fear: what my family would think. I was terrified they'd look down on me, terrified of being rejected all over again. But Dom's words cut right through that fear, leaving me exposed, but strangely free. "They already treat you differently since the accident, Thyme. Why let them control your happiness now?"
He was totally right. Why should I keep breaking myself for a family that always made me feel like an outsider? That thought was freeing, but also scary. It wasn't about them anymore, it was about me: Would I be happy if I tried to understand these strange feelings?
That answer, though just a quiet whisper inside me, was a loud, clear yes.
There was still that unsettling shadow: the scarred Meta, that terrifying vision from another place, another time. He hadn't shown up since that last awful encounter. Maybe I was safe… for now. It was a cold, thin comfort that made me shiver, but I pushed it away. For now, I decided to ignore that lurking dread. I had to focus on the immediate, real problem: Meta himself.
It had been three days since our last weird encounter, and Monday arrived, bright and unforgiving. My decision was like a fragile anchor in my messed-up head, but the thought of seeing him still tied my stomach in knots. And if I wasn't anxious enough, I was now basically famous on campus. Photos of Meta and me were everywhere online, fueling endless whispers and stares.
I was halfway to my class, trying to disappear into the crowd, when two girls suddenly blocked my path.
"Sorry, can I help you?" I tried to sound polite, but I didn't feel it. My heart pounded. Please, not today. Just let me get to class.
The taller one, her eyes sharp, like a predator's, smirked. "Nothing. Just wanted a closer look at the charity case Meta seems so interested in." Her eyes slid over me, a quick, dismissive glance from my worn shoes to my worried face. "Honestly, I don't see the appeal."
A cold, unwelcome shiver ran down my back. Her stare felt like a physical jab, meant to hurt, but I held myself still. She had her opinion, I guess, and I had the right to ignore it. I tried to walk around her, my eyes fixed on the path, on escaping.
"Where are you going? I'm not done talking!" Her voice, thin with annoyance, got louder. I kept my face calm, but inside, every nerve was buzzing, twitching with the urge to bolt.
"To my class," I replied, my voice flat, stubbornly trying to keep moving. She blocked me again, her face hardening, her sharp eyes getting even angrier, burning with a cold fury.
"Is this how you were raised? If someone's talking to you, you should listen! How could Meta possibly like someone with no manners and no class?"
My ears, extra sensitive from anxiety, picked up the quiet shift in the murmurs around us. Students were gathering, their phones secretly pointed our way, recording. A hot wave of irritation, strong and new, started to build inside me, boiling over. I was going to be late, and this girl was purposely making a public show of me.
"No manners? No class?" My voice, to my surprise, had a new, firm edge to it, the words just coming out. "Then what would you call yourself? Blocking someone's path, yelling at them just because I don't want to listen to your nonsense? Who, exactly, is lacking manners here?"
Her eyes widened in shock, her anger suddenly gone. I kept going, a strange, reckless confidence rushing through me, powering my words. "You're the one who blocked my way, all because of made-up rumors. Who lacks manners now—confronting someone who clearly doesn't want to talk to you?" My gaze held hers, steady. "And let me be clear: there is nothing between Meta and I."
A flicker of satisfaction, a small win, showed in her eyes. But then, my own words, fueled by a sudden, bold confidence I didn't know I had, just came out. A dangerous whisper that grew into a reckless shout.
"Yet."
Her jaw tightened, her face changing from surprise back to pure, screaming rage.
"Not now," I continued, the words spilling out, unstoppable, my brain screaming at me to shut up. "But soon, there will be. And when that happens, that's when I'll listen to your nonsense." I glanced at my watch, faking a dramatic sigh, a final touch to my terrible performance. "For now, I need to leave, before I'm late for class."
YET?! Did I say YET?! Idiot! Idiot! Idiot! My inner voice was a panicked, blaring alarm echoing through my head as I spun around. I had just dumped gasoline on a roaring fire.
"What did you say?!" Her voice was a furious, guttural shriek, but I didn't wait. I turned and ran, sprinting as fast as I could towards the faculty building. Her friend, frozen in shock, grabbed her arm, holding her back as the crowd grew even bigger, buzzing with the electric fallout of my disastrous words.
I skidded to a halt at the entrance of the lecture hall, my lungs burning, raw, gasping for air. The adrenaline from my sprint still buzzed through me, making me feel lightheaded. Just as I caught my breath, ready to sneak into class, Dom's hand clamped down on my shoulder.
"Thyme, what the heck were you doing?!" His voice was a harsh, disbelieving whisper. I just stared, confused, until he pushed his phone into my shaking hand.
The sounds from the hallway blurred into a low, roaring buzz in my ears. It was a video. My video. The entire, embarrassing fight, caught perfectly. My face burned red with shame as I watched myself, loud and unlike me, declare my future plans. The public humiliation felt real, like a heavy blanket suffocating me.
"Someone recorded it," Dom said, his voice flat. "Are you serious, declaring you'll pursue Meta, out in the open? And I bet you still haven't even talked to him about... anything?"
I could only nod, my head heavy, a wave of shame so deep it felt like a punch. How could I face Meta now? That strange, unwanted kiss was already a knot of dread in my stomach, and this public, stupid declaration just added a new, huge problem, making me a total public spectacle.
"You know this video will reach him," Dom continued, his voice grim. "And worse, it'll reach Lance. This is going to get even more complicated. You know Lance will try to stop you."
A cold, paralyzing fear spread through my body, making my arms and legs feel impossibly heavy, each breath a struggle. Lance. Of course. His quiet, obsessive admiration for me was an open secret among our close friends, a suffocating weight I tried to ignore. My bold words had been a foolish, quick reaction, a desperate try to just escape. Now, I'd said something I wasn't even sure about. Argh, I'm the dumbest person alive!
"Stop thinking for now, Thyme," Dom whispered, sensing my panic, his hand briefly squeezing my shoulder in a rare comfort. "You're lucky. Lance won't be in any of our classes today. Let's just get through this."
I nodded, my throat tight with quiet thanks for the break. As we entered the hall, the air felt charged. Every head seemed to turn. Stares and whispers followed us like spotlights, prickling my skin. "Ignore them," Dom murmured, pulling me towards our seats in the back. I forced myself to calm down, looking straight ahead, pretending not to notice the suffocating curiosity and judgment.
Finally, class ended, the bell a sweet, freeing sound. Dom and I waited until every last student had left, the rustle of bags and scrape of chairs fading. I let him leave first, and as my fingers closed around the cool metal of the doorknob, a familiar voice drifted from the hallway, clear and distinct.
"Is Thyme inside?"
It was Meta. My breath caught in my throat. Shit! I need to escape! Now!
"No, Thyme didn't attend the class," Dom's voice, surprisingly steady, lied smoothly. Nice save, Dom! You're a genius!
Driven by pure, raw panic, I bolted towards the other door at the far end of the room. I yanked it open, expecting the usual, boring brightness of the university hallway.
Instead, the world changed.
The first thing that hit me was the smell—not of floor polish and old books, but of roasting spices, charcoal smoke, and a thousand different scents of food and people. The harsh, fluorescent light vanished, replaced by the warm, bright glow of an afternoon sun I hadn't seen moments ago. My foot, which should have hit smooth tile, landed on rough, gritty pavement.
I froze, staring in total disbelief. I wasn't in the school anymore. I was in a busy market. A loud mix of vendors shouting, thousands of people moving through crowded stalls. But no one bumped into me. A woman with a heavy basket walked right through my shoulder, a weird, icy feeling that made me gasp. I was a ghost. An invisible watcher in a lively, real scene.
"What is happening? Where did I go again?" I whispered, my voice thin, shaky, even though I knew no answer would come. This was it. This was the moment to explore. Maybe this mysterious place had the answers I'd been looking for.
The market felt deeply strange, yet somehow familiar. The buildings—old, worn wood and crumbling bricks—the clothes people wore—styles from long ago—it all screamed of a different time. The 1990s. I needed more proof. My eyes darted around, looking for clues, landing on an old man reading a newspaper. My heart pounded fast as I got closer, holding my breath. The paper's name was "Ban Daen," a newspaper I knew stopped printing in 2017. Why was someone reading it in 2025? My eyes flicked to the date. October 1, 1990.
"Wait, what? October 1, 1990?"
My mind spun, trying to understand the impossible. I stumbled into a nearby diner, the sound of dishes and the smell of fried food briefly overwhelming me. My eyes immediately found a calendar on the wall. "October 1990." It was real.
Did I just time travel? Could the scarred Meta be from this time? My head started to ache, a sharp, steady pain, like a nail hitting my skull. I stumbled back out, desperate for a less crowded spot to figure out what was happening, to escape all the sights and sounds. Why did my head hurt so much?
"You are not from this timeline, child."
The voice, a woman's, clear and strong, spoke from right behind me. I froze. A basic, suffocating fear grabbed me, turning my blood to ice. No one should be able to see me. No one.