After Being Reborn, My Ex-Girlfriend Became Obsessed - Chapter 19

When An Yu came out after taking a shower, it was already very late. She looked at the clock on the wall, its hands pointing to twelve, and gently closed the bathroom door.

She had spent too long lost in thought inside the bathroom and had completely forgotten about the time.

The room was utterly silent, the only sound the soft drip-drop of water falling from her hair. Looking toward the bed, she saw the neatly spread quilt slightly raised by a figure beneath it, perfectly still. It seemed Lin Duxi had gone to sleep early.

An Yu only gave her damp hair a rough rub with the towel. Once it was half-dry, she prepared to sleep as well.

The bed in this room was set against the wall. Lin Duxi slept on the outer side, covered by a quilt, her calm face faintly visible, peaceful and quiet.

There was no way for An Yu to slip in from the wall side, and she didn’t want to wake Lin Duxi, so she carefully prepared to climb over her. Just as she lifted her leg, Lin Duxi suddenly turned in her sleep. The rustling of the quilt startled An Yu.

She froze mid-step, one foot suspended in the air like a statue. After a while, hearing only a few soft murmurs from Lin Duxi, who otherwise remained asleep, An Yu finally dared to continue climbing past her.

She spread out her quilt and lay comfortably on the bed, switching off the light. In the quiet whispers of the night, the day’s exhaustion seemed to dissolve into the softness of the mattress. Before she could even savor the comfort, she heard faint, pained murmurs from beside her.

Turning her head toward Lin Duxi, she saw clearly under the moonlight that her brows were knitted together, her expression contorted in discomfort, her lips parting as if whispering her pain.

An Yu’s heart sank. She leaned closer and finally caught what Lin Duxi was muttering:

“It hurts… so much… it hurts…”

Her breath brushed against An Yu’s skin, carrying an inexplicable chill despite the warmth of the room.

Frowning, An Yu reached out to check her forehead for fever, but the temperature was normal.

She withdrew her hand, thinking. Suddenly she remembered—when she’d gone to pick up Lin Duxi from that party, she had also leaned into her arms, frowning and murmuring about pain. And tonight too, she had drunk alcohol.

Could it be from drinking and then catching a chill?

A report she had once read surfaced in her mind. If even a minor celebrity like her couldn’t always avoid forced social drinking, carefully avoiding drunkenness whenever possible—then what about Lin Duxi?

Had she been like this for years?

An Yu’s chest tightened, as though pricked by a needle, and from that pain welled up a bittersweet ache—something she could only name as heartache.

She stopped overthinking, reached out her hands, and gently massaged Lin Duxi’s temples, hoping to ease her pain.

Sure enough, after a short while, the furrow between her brows gradually smoothed. The weight in An Yu’s heart also began to lighten. Soon, though, fatigue from barely a few hours of sleep last night—layered with today’s exhaustion—overtook her. After just a few blinks, she could no longer resist and drifted into sleep.

Night deepened. Silver moonlight spilled through the half-drawn curtains, coating the floor and blankets in a pale sheen.

In the silence, the quilt on the bed rustled suddenly. Lin Duxi’s eyes snapped open. The next second, a wave of searing pain hit her, forcing her to grit her teeth and gasp for breath. Her hand instinctively reached for her pocket to find her medicine—only to freeze halfway.

On this trip, she hadn’t brought her medicine at all, precisely to avoid An Yu discovering it.

Helpless, Lin Duxi clutched her head with both hands, trembling, biting down hard to keep from making a sound. Her whole body shivered as she endured the torment in silence.

She didn’t know how long it took before the pain finally ebbed. Breathless, like a fish stranded on shore, she gasped for air, her strength completely drained. Her heart pounded violently as though it would burst from her chest, while a sheen of sweat covered her skin. Wiping her damp forehead, she pulled down the quilt for air—only to catch sight of An Yu’s sleeping face turned toward her.

Too tired, An Yu slept deeply. None of Lin Duxi’s earlier movements had disturbed her in the slightest. She lay there, quiet as a doll.

Lin Duxi couldn’t help but smile faintly.

An Yu was lying beside her. Even though a quilt separated them, just hearing her soft breathing melted Lin Duxi’s heart into liquid spring, drowning her in an ocean named An Yu.

No escape—and no desire to escape.

The memory of An Yu’s resistance earlier that day resurfaced. Lin Duxi lowered her gaze, her long lashes trembling. Obsessive, stubborn emotions welled in her eyes. She clenched her hands, let out a muted laugh.

An Yu didn’t know—when she saw her reaction earlier, she had been truly devastated. Devastated to the point of feeling like death itself.

Unacceptable. Absolutely unacceptable.

Her hands trembling, Lin Duxi brushed away a strand of hair falling across An Yu’s face, gazing at her intently.

As she stared at An Yu’s peaceful sleeping expression, her own eyes darkened, and unspoken thoughts rose in her heart.

Under the heavy pull of daytime fatigue, An Yu slept soundly. At some unknown moment, a faint fragrance drifted into her nose. Her nose twitched slightly, and the scent tugged at her memories, spreading through her dreams. Subconsciously, she pulled the person beside her closer.

And just like that, the thin sheet of ice between them cracked naturally.

Afterward, An Yu and Lin Duxi maintained the relationship of ordinary deskmates.

They would exchange a few words between classes, ask each other simple questions, or remind the other of the books needed for the next lesson. Other than that, there was nothing extra.

They stayed somewhere between friends and mere classmates.

Yet, it wasn’t completely ordinary either.

Lin Duxi wasn’t the sociable type. If no one spoke to her, she would sit quietly doing exercises, looking every bit the untouchable fairy.

But whenever An Yu was nearby, she would set down her pen, initiate conversation, and even keep track of An Yu’s homework progress. As Shi Yu once teased, it was like An Yu had a teacher sitting next to her.

An Yu found it strange but didn’t think much of it—assuming Lin Duxi was simply being considerate of her desk partner.

Lin Duxi had top grades and a beautiful face. Though she rarely interacted with others, whenever she did, her voice carried a soft gentleness. A girl like that in high school was bound to have admirers.

An Yu didn’t care much about others’ opinions, but she couldn’t help overhearing classmates’ praises of Lin Duxi’s beauty, nor could she ignore the way students from other classes would steal glances when she passed by.

Once, walking down a hallway, she overheard a group of boys joking crudely together:

“That one—top three in the grade—I’ll have her in a week!”

Passing by, An Yu muttered a curse under her breath. The boys flushed red, and when they realized it was her, their bravado deflated instantly. They shrank back, too intimidated to move as she strode past with a cold face.

An Yu almost laughed. So brave when whispering in corners—yet so spineless when confronted.

Things like this happened too often. They slipped into her thoughts unbidden, refusing to leave no matter how much she tried to ignore them.

And they reminded her of something else—back in her first year, she used to get little notes from people wanting to be friends or inviting her out. But by sophomore year, those annoyances had mysteriously vanished. She had found it odd, but also a relief.

Soon came the first major exam of sophomore year. The homeroom teacher stood at the podium, stressing its importance—calling it the exam that would define their college prospects.

An Yu sat at her desk, fighting sleep. The dry autumn breeze rattled the branches outside, scattering golden leaves across the ground, dazzling in the sunlight.

She sneezed, perfectly in tune with the season.

The person beside her shifted closer. An Yu caught a faint fragrance, drifting to her nose, soothing the dryness in the air, easing her discomfort, and clearing her foggy mind just a little.

“Teacher’s coming,” came a soft reminder.

An Yu snapped back to awareness, hurriedly picking up her pen and lowering her head, pretending to be busy. But her brain quickly slipped back into a haze. Even lifting her head felt impossible.

Her head pounded as though tiny figures were dancing inside it, heavy and aching. Reality and illusion spun around her. Voices blurred at her ear—someone was speaking to her, asking something, in a gentle voice. Out of courtesy, An Yu answered faintly. Then the voice grew more distant.

Just when she thought she could finally rest, someone suddenly scooped her up. Too weak to resist, she leaned limply into their support, half-conscious, as she was led away.

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