I woke up with a loud "bang".
Not the sound of my door slamming.
Not the sound of my husband dropping a pot while cooking.
But the sound of… tables and chairs hitting the wall, accompanied by an extremely unfriendly voice:
"Hey, you guys try stepping over this line."
I jumped up, my heart skipping a beat.
Before my eyes… was not a modern bedroom.
But an old school backyard, mossy walls, the smell of spray paint rising, and a group of male students standing in a circle as if about to fight.
I looked down at my hands—small.
Legs—thin.
The uniform—outdated in style.
I had traveled through time.
Back to the time… of the 17-year-old boy who would later become my husband.
And at that moment, the crowd parted, revealing the main character of the melee:
A tall, thin young man, with a loose black coat, hair falling over his eyes, a gaze colder than Mars at night.
He put one hand in his pocket, the other twirling a basketball as if nothing serious was happening.
He turned around and said the sentence I wanted to curse the most:
"Women are just ephemeral. Success is forever."
I stood there dumbfounded.
Là anh.Là
My husband.
But the worst, coolest, and most arrogant version of him.
A self-confident gangster who declares his life, but in the future, he will panic when I frown, and even wipe my shoes for me just because "wife can't get dirty".
I want to cry.
But the boys started to snicker, and my young husband glanced at me as if I was an NPC character who had just loaded into the wrong position.
"The girl who just transferred school?" He asked.
I nodded, my heart pounding like a drum.
He looked me up and down, his eyes indifferent but making people unable to breathe.
Then he said exactly one sentence:
"What are you looking at? Don't like me."
Me: "…"
Sorry, but in 10 years you will be the one begging me to kiss your forehead before going to sleep, you know?
But I can't say it.
I can't reveal that I am your future wife.
Can't change the time too much.
I took a deep breath, decided to start Plan 001: Make a surprise first impression.
I walked straight towards him.
The boys were startled, thinking I wanted to cause trouble.
I glared at the future bully and said in the calmest voice I could:
"Women are not ephemeral.
And you are... quite frivolous."
The whole backyard fell silent.
He raised his eyebrows.
Then the corners of his lips curled up, a dangerous half-smile:
"You've got guts."
I swallowed.
He stepped closer, very close, bent down to look me right in the eye.
His voice was low, hoarse, typical of a 17-year-old bad boy:
"But hey... don't get involved with me."
Then he turned away.
And I stood there, fists clenched, head burning.
Get involved with him? If he knew that in the future, he would be holding my hand tighter than handcuffs…
I suddenly realized.
The journey of flirting with my husband from the time when he was a gangster…
It officially began.