Falling for the Goddess

"Chuck..."

Perhaps because Adrian Blake had brought up the past, Sara Hart once more dreamed about her high school days.

It had all begun after her middle school graduation.

Her grandmother, the person who had raised her, had passed away after a long illness. Left without a guardian in South City, her father brought her to North Capital and used his connections to get her into the prestigious High School.

South City was a city of gentle breezes, lush greenery, and serene waterways. North Capital, on the other hand, was hot and stifling. Apart from the maze-like alleys of the old districts, the city was dominated by towering skyscrapers and endless concrete.

Sara had grown up in the company of her grandmother. From her first steps to her first secrets, her grandmother had been her constant companion, her guiding light in a world where her parents were absent.

Her grandmother's sudden passing was a devastating blow.

In the haze of grief, she moved to North Capital, began high school, and entered a life she had once eagerly anticipated. But nothing seemed to matter anymore.

She still attended classes, completed her homework, and took exams—dutifully going through the motions like an emotionless automaton.

Her grandmother had once told her, "My dear, you are the most wonderful little girl in the world. You must grow up healthy and happy."

Sara couldn't manage happiness, but she couldn't allow herself to crumble either. She wouldn't let her grandmother worry about her, even from another world.

She didn't remember her classmates' names, nor could she recognize most of their faces. Her interactions with them were limited to handing in homework, receiving test papers, and exchanging basic courtesies.

To her peers, she was distant, introverted, and unfriendly. But Sara didn't care.

She was a shadow in her own class, invisible and silent.

The turning point came after the midterms of her first semester. The seating arrangements changed, and she was paired with a new deskmate—a boy.

She couldn't quite remember his face or name anymore. It was only after countless accusations from Lisa Moore that she managed to piece it together: the boy's name was Chuck Smith.

They hadn't exchanged many words, but she remembered him as kind and helpful—someone others considered the class heartthrob.

At some point, the girls in class started ostracizing her. She didn't feel much of a difference since she hadn't been close to them to begin with.

But small acts of malice began to surface: her assignments would be "forgotten" during collection, her test papers would mysteriously go missing, and her books were sometimes soaked with water.

Chuck Smith, along with a friendly girl from the row ahead, would occasionally step in—handing her papers or calling out those who were targeting her.

Looking back, Sara realized that in the eyes of hormonal teenagers, such small acts of kindness could be interpreted as romantic interest.

And Chuck Smith, known for his indifference toward girls, suddenly defends her? To his many admirers, she had become an enemy.

The hostility peaked when Lisa Moore and her entourage cornered her, accusing her of stealing Lisa Moore's boyfriend.

Sara had stood there, blank and unresponsive, as their voices rang out in an endless loop of insults. Their faces blurred into a monochrome haze, and she felt... nothing.

Once they had vented their frustrations and issued their threats, they left, satisfied. Sara couldn't even recall most of what they'd said.

Her strategy was silence. Let them tire themselves out and move on.

Her life continued unchanged.

On Christmas Eve, the school was abuzz with excitement. Students exchanged apples and cards, treating it as a grand celebration.

Sara sat quietly at her desk, watching her classmates' desks pile up with gifts. To her surprise, she found several cards and apples on her own desk, including a beautifully wrapped apple in a transparent box with a delicate 3D card featuring a lifelike Santa Claus.

She had no idea who it was from, nor did she care to find out. She pushed the gifts to the corner of her desk, leaving the cards unopened.

During the evening self-study break, she had just returned from the restroom when Lisa Moore and her group blocked her way at the sinks.

Most of the other students, seeing the confrontation, quickly dispersed.

Lisa Moore's gang cornered her inside the restroom. After another round of verbal abuse, they doused her with a bucket of ice-cold water.

The frigid water soaked her head to toe, chilling her to the bone. Her hair clung to her scalp, and her lips turned pale as she shivered uncontrollably.

Pioneered by her silent reaction, Lisa Moore clapped her hands satisfactorily, leading her posse away.

Sara stood motionless, staring blankly as the classroom bell rang in the distance.

In another life, in South City, she would have fought back. She would've splashed water on them or at least defended herself.

But now, with her grandmother gone, no one would be waiting outside the school gates to scold her with warmth in their voice or check her for bruises while nagging all the way home.

What was the point of fighting back when no one was left to care?

Sara's life was devoid of color. She was simply existing.

The rain had started to fall as she wandered aimlessly.

Raindrops pelted her as she walked, soaking her already-drenched clothes. The cold pierced her skin like needles.

She didn't know where she was going or what she should do.

Then, a black umbrella suddenly appeared over her head.

Startled, she looked at the hand holding it—long, slender fingers, elegant and composed.

When she looked up, her gaze met a boy's refined, youthful face. His features were delicate and aloof, his expression calm yet slightly tinged with boyish immaturity.

"Sara..."

Her name fell softly from his lips.

Sara awoke with a start, her heart pounding as her eyes flew open.

Her breath caught when she met Adrian Blake's gaze, his eyes filled with quiet concern.

Her lips trembled, her voice barely above a whisper, soft and laced with vulnerability.

"Chuck..."