Chapter 6: Walking Through Snow and Memory

After school, Natalie and I had classroom duty.

Most students left in small groups, and only a few top students remained, heads down, still studying.

Outside, the sky was growing dark, and snowflakes began to fall.

Mason silently wiped the blackboard.

“So, how did Mason suddenly fall so hard for you?”

Natalie teased me quietly as she swept the floor.

“He’s the campus golden boy—so many girls like him, but he only likes you. It can’t just be because of some weird dream, right?”

“Why couldn’t he have dreamed about me?”

I kept my head down, rinsing the mop, unsure what to say.

Things were heading in a direction I didn’t want.

When I finished mopping the last tile, Mason stopped Natalie, glancing at the trash can.

“How about you go ahead? I’ll take out the trash.”

Natalie shot me a knowing look, grabbed her bag, and dashed off.

“That’s fine. Thanks, I owe you.”

She was gone in a flash.

I looked at the overflowing trash can, wondering how I’d manage it alone.

But Mason had already grabbed one end of the rope handle, his tone tentative.

“Harper, let’s take out the trash together.”

When I didn’t respond, he added:

“I could do it alone, but sometimes my back hurts.”

“You probably don’t know, but I have hereditary ankylosing spondylitis. It flares up out of nowhere and hurts so much I can’t even sleep.”

I said silently in my heart, I know.

In my last life, Mason always worried his back would flare up before concerts, so he’d take meds for days in advance—spine meds and stomach meds, since the former hurt his stomach.

He’d keep taking them until the concert was over. I always hated how drained he looked after. Those pills took more than just the pain.

But you couldn’t take them too often, or you’d build resistance, and they wouldn’t work next time.

So when he was home, even if he was in pain, he’d try not to take too much.

Sometimes, the pain kept him up all night. He’d sit by the bed, holding my hand, asking me to tell him stories from my novels.

“Honestly, I’m just a pill junkie. Who knows when I’ll die.”

He’d say it with a crooked grin, looking all carefree, but he was dead serious inside.

“Everyone’s waiting for my new song. I don’t want to let them down.”

“My singing style really wrecks my voice. I don’t know how many more years I can keep going, but I’m greedy—I want to sing as much as I can.”

He was the kind of genius who could write a hit song in ten minutes, but he never slacked off for a second.

I’d tried to persuade him.

“Maybe just sit for this concert—don’t dance.”

“No way.” His tone turned serious in an instant. “Concerts are a big deal for singers.”

“How can it be a real show without dancing?”

Then, worried I’d be freaked out by his seriousness, he’d add, half-joking:

“Besides, if I don’t dance, what’s the point of these abs?”

He’d grab my hand and put it on his abs.

“Babe, see? Solid, right? I worked hard for these.”

He was cocky and earnest all at once. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes, but deep down, I loved it.

“Let’s go.” I sighed, grabbing the other end of the trash can rope.

A satisfied grin tugged at Mason’s lips.

We left the school building. The ground was slick with snow, so we walked slowly. I worried he’d slip, and he kept his head down, lost in thought.

Ever since he got famous, we’d never had a chance to walk side by side like this again.

Our lives were filled with fans, paparazzi, and media—always hiding, always running. Sometimes I wondered if we’d ever get to just be us again.

A chill landed on my head. I reached up, instinctively trying to brush off the snow.

“Don’t move.” Mason’s low voice trembled slightly.

After a moment’s hesitation, I let my hand fall.

We really did walk together in the snow, until both our hair turned white, as if we’d lived a lifetime together.

If only he weren’t Mason Hale. That would be so much better.

But he was.

So this was as far as we could go.

On the way back, I brushed the snow from my head bit by bit.

Mason reached over and snagged my hair tie, his tone casual.

“Give it to me.”

Before I could refuse, he slipped the little bear hair tie onto his slender wrist.

The moonlight highlighted Mason’s sharp features—his straight, strong nose, his tightly pressed lips, even the curve of his mouth like he owned the night.

I sighed inwardly.

Let’s call it a return favor for the Christmas tree he gave me in our past life—the one covered in little bears, always standing in our home.

When I left school, I waited at the bus stop for the 109 bus.

Mason followed me the whole way.

I frowned, puzzled.

“You take the 109 too?”

His house was right by the school.

He just nodded and got on the bus with me.

When I got off, he waved.

“Harper, see you tomorrow. My stop’s one further.”

Wow, he was even willing to ride an extra stop just to keep me company.

But for him, maybe there’d only be a handful of chances in his life to waste time like this.

After graduation, his time would be scheduled down to the minute.

Let him waste it, then.

I pretended not to notice and said goodbye.