---Theise POV.
Of all the ways I thought I would die, getting hit by a car while crossing the street wasn't on the list. Especially not a car driven by someone I knew. Someone I trusted.
Especially not… my own family.
But let's not jump ahead. That part comes later. Let me start from the beginning.
My name is Theise. And ever since I can remember, I've been quiet. Not mysterious-quiet or interesting-quiet. Just the kind of quiet that makes people forget you exist in this damn world.
Back in high school, I was the girl sitting in the last row, the one teachers never called on because they couldn't remember my surname. I wasn't unpopular because I did anything wrong—I was unpopular because I didn't stand out. I was painfully shy, the kind of girl who would rehearse what to say in front of the mirror for days… and still end up not saying anything.
And of course, I had a crush.
He was the kind of guy every girl had a crush on. Tall, effortlessly cool, with a smile that could make you forget your own name. And me? I was just the girl who stared at him from behind her thick glasses and then looked away every time he looked in my general direction, sometimes we look at each other eyes but maybe I was just too delusional. I never dared speak to him. How could I? He was everyone's dream guy, and I… well, I was everyone's afterthought.
I didn't have friends. Not even one. And no, I'm not exaggerating. I spent my lunch breaks reading books under the stairs or pretending to scroll through my phone just so I wouldn't look completely pathetic.
And my family? They didn't like me much either. I don't know when it started, or maybe it was always that way. I always felt like the outsider in my own home a.k.a outcast. My siblings ignored me, my parents barely spoke to me unless they were pointing out something I did wrong. I tried to please them. God, I tried. But no matter what I did, it was never enough.
I used to think things would change when I grew up. That maybe if I just achieved something big, something they never expect that I can get, they would finally look at me and say, "We're proud of you, Theise."
So I worked. I studied hard. I pushed myself through college, then med school. I became a doctor. One of the youngest in my field. I worked in a busy hospital, spent sleepless nights on call, saved lives.
But none of that changed anything.
I was successful. Accomplished. But still alone. No friends. No support. My family remained distant, cold. Sometimes, I wondered if they even remembered my birthday. And as strange as it sounds, I kept hoping they'd suddenly care. That maybe one day, they'd call me not because they needed something, but just to say they missed me.
And then, one day, they did call.
It was my mother.
She sounded softer than usual. "Hi, Theise. We're just going through something right now. Do you think you could help us out with a bit of money? Just until we get back on our feet."
I didn't even hesitate just for a second. I said yes.
Then the next week, they called again. A different story. Different reason. More money.
Then again. And again.
And even though they never really explained why they needed it, I kept giving. Because I thought—maybe this was it. Maybe they finally saw me as part of the family. Maybe they finally trusted me, believe in me and even loved me.
But the truth?
They saw me as a bank. A bank where they can effortless get a money spend tirelessly.
Eventually, my savings ran out. Every cent I had worked for—gone. When I told them I couldn't send any more, that I was broke, they laughed. Literally laughed. "You? A doctor? Broke? Don't joke around Theise. You've got money. You just don't wanna give us."
But I didn't. I was drowning in debt. Between student loans, rent, food, and giving them money I never asked back for—I had nothing left.
I didn't cry. I didn't scream. I just... felt tired.
Then came that night.
I had just finished a 12-hour shift at the hospital. My feet were numb, my shoulders ached, and my mind was foggy. It was past midnight. The streets were almost empty. I was walking home, crossing at a pedestrian lane, when I saw it. Headlights. Bright. Fast.
Too fast.
I didn't even have time to scream or even run for my life.
The car hit me.
And as my body slammed onto the concrete, pain shooting through every nerve, I saw the driver.
It was my father.
In the passenger seat—my mother.
And in the back? My brother. My sister.
They didn't look surprised.
They didn't even get out of the car to help me and the worst part is--- they laughed.
Everything went dark.
But I didn't die. Or maybe I did. I don't know. Because when I opened my eyes, I wasn't in a hospital.
I was in a basement.
My basement.
The same one I used to live in during high school. The one my parents made me stay in, like I was some kind of burden they needed to hide. Same cold floor. Same tiny window. Same creaking bed.
I looked around, heart pounding.
Was this a dream?
I stood up, ran to the mirror in the corner—and nearly fainted.
I was younger. Smaller. My hair was all over my face. Literally, I look like ghost though I never seen before. But gurl the way look....
I looked like I was fifteen.
Grade 10.
"What the hell…"
My knees gave out. I sat back on the bed, breathing hard. Was I dreaming? In a coma? Dead?
But everything felt too real. The smell of my body. The weight in my chest. The familiar ache of being that girl again—the invisible one. But this time, I wasn't scared.
I knew things now.
I remembered everything.
The people I thought I could trust. The family who tried to kill me, no they really killed me.
And the boy I could never even talk to.
I had one thought, loud and clear:
This time, things are going to be different.
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