Chapter 2Reborn to Expose My Fake Depressed Roommate

The dorm room fell silent.

"Maggie, do you not like me?" Alexandria murmured pitifully. "If I've done something wrong, just tell me. I'll change."

Becky shot me a glare before turning to comfort her. "Alexandria, it's not your fault. Maggie is just cold-blooded. She has no empathy at all."

I ignored her taunt.

Empathy was for people who were genuinely struggling, not someone who faked depression and framed others.

...

The next day, Alexandria took her act to another level.

Whenever Becky chuckled at something on her computer, Alexandria would immediately probe, "Are you laughing at me?"

Becky would freeze and frantically wave her hands. "No! I'm just watching a funny video."

Alexandria would lower her head and whisper, "I know I'm too sensitive. I want to change, but I just can't help it."

At lunchtime, Christine didn't invite her to come along. Alexandria sat alone on the edge of her bed, looking hurt.

"Do you guys think I'm a burden, too?"

"No, not at all!" Christine quickly explained. "I saw you were resting, so I didn't want to bother you."

"It's fine." Alexandria shook her head. "I'm used to it by now. I'm always the odd one out wherever I go."

"It's not like that." Becky hurried to her side. "None of us meant it that way."

"Exactly." Christine nodded eagerly. "From now on, we'll go to the dining hall and all our classes together."

Only then did Alexandria finally manage a smile through her tears.

Christine became just like I had been in my previous life, organizing her entire day around Alexandria. She fetched water for her, picked up takeout, and even covered for her with our RA.

She even sent me private messages.

[Alexandria isn't doing well mentally. Can you just cut her some slack?]

I stared at the message but didn't reply.

A moment later, another one came through.

[I know you don't like her, but we're roommates. We have to live together.]

I left that one unanswered, too.

It wasn't that I was heartless, but I'd suffered from clinical depression in my previous life.

I knew what genuine depression could look like. During an episode, even the smallest things could feel overwhelming. The patients would avoid bright lights, loud noises, and crowds.

Sometimes, even opening their eyes and facing another day took everything they had. But they didn't use their sensitivity to force everyone around them to walk on eggshells.

And they certainly didn't take an eyebrow razor to make shallow cuts on their wrists, then photograph the marks to show them off.

That was why I saw right through all Alexandria's performances.

...

Our first major confrontation came a week later.

A heavy thunderstorm was raging outside, so I went to close the balcony door.

Alexandria immediately sat up in bed, her voice trembling. "Maggie, why did you slam the door? Do you have a problem with me?"

I turned to face her. "I was just closing the balcony door."

Tears spilled down her cheeks. "You slammed it on purpose to make a point."

The commotion woke the others in the room.

"Maggie, it's the middle of the night," Becky complained. "Can you keep it down?"

"Alexandria is a light sleeper." Christine sighed. "Could you be a little more considerate?"

"Was closing the door really louder than the thunder outside?" I countered.

"I knew it!" Alexandria burst into tears. "You've been targeting me this whole time."

Then she posted on Instagram.

[Never mind. I'm just too sensitive. I guess I don't deserve anyone's kindness.]

She attached a close-up photo of her wrist. Under the lighting, the shallow scratches were clearly visible, and a dozen comments quickly filled with sympathy appeared beneath the post.

Becky shared it in our suite group chat.

Christine immediately followed up with a message of comfort: [Alexandria, don't take it too hard. It's not your fault. Some people just don't have a heart.]

A few minutes later, Alexandria finally replied: [Please don't blame Maggie. Maybe it really is my fault.]

The group chat was flooded with another wave of consolation. Saying nothing, I took screenshots of every message and saved them all in a folder.

After that, I became invisible in the dorm.

Nobody invited me to get food with them, and nobody waited for me when we were heading to class. That was fine. At least I didn't have to waste time pretending we were friends.

When registration opened for the freshman talent showcase, Alexandria signed up to audition as the host of the orientation gala.

She breezed through both the preliminary round and the semifinals, telling everyone she met that she'd loved being onstage since she was little and that performing was the only thing keeping her going.

Then, two days before the freshman showcase, something happened.

I was walking back from the campus radio station when my phone rang. It was Tracy Trigg, the freshman counselor, and she sounded frantic.

"Maggie, I need you to get backstage to the rehearsal area right now."

My heart sank at the request.

Because everything was unfolding exactly as it had in my previous life.