Chapter 41: The Sun in Her Palm

Warren’s offer sent a sudden, electric jolt straight through Julie’s chest.

She had taken pictures of everyone else, completely forgetting to leave a trace of her own existence. I can’t just be a ghost here. She needed proof she was actually living this life. This was the pride of a time-traveler.

"Yes!" Her eyes lit up, the momentary lost expression vanishing so quickly Warren almost thought he had imagined it.

She spun in a slow circle, scanning the athletic field for the most cinematic background. But then she hesitated. If she took photos, it wouldn't just be one quick snap. It would take twenty minutes. What if the boss got annoyed and regretted his offer?

"Warren..." she started, biting her lip. "I have to warn you. I’m actually... pretty high maintenance when it comes to pictures."

Warren didn't understand. "High maintenance?"

He didn’t find her annoying at all. To him, she was the most vibrant, warm person in the entire class.

"I mean, I'm not just going to take one," she explained delicately. "It's going to take a while. If you're busy, it's totally fine, I can just ask Tania or Dan to do it later."

Warren saw right through her hesitation. He offered a faint, reassuring smile. "It's fine. I have time. Where do you want to shoot?"

Julie didn't hold back. She pointed excitedly at the running track. "Let's start there!"

She walked right beside him, leaning in close to show him how to use the camera. How to frame the shot, how to angle the lens to make her legs look longer, how to capture the lighting. She didn't hide any of her corporate selfie secrets.

Warren listened with absolute, terrifying focus. She was chattering so close to him that the sound of her voice felt like a physical tap against his eardrums, over and over again.

Anyone from Class 3 walking past would have been absolutely paralyzed by the sight.

Warren Gale—the untouchable, perpetually indifferent valedictorian—was currently bending down, adjusting his posture, and strictly following her every command to get the perfect angle.

At first, Julie felt a little stiff. It was Warren. Posing for her intimidating future boss was mentally taxing. But he was so patient, his expression completely neutral, never once rushing her or laughing at her poses.

She quickly relaxed into it.

"Warren, step back a little bit. Zoom the lens out," she instructed, turning sideways and pointing at the massive, burning sun sinking into the horizon. "I want to hold it. Make it look like the sun is resting right in my palm, okay?"

Looking through the viewfinder, Warren felt his breath hitch.

The dying light caught the edges of her hair, wrapping her in a soft, golden halo.

He stared at her through the lens. "Okay."

Julie smiled brilliantly, holding her hand out in the air. "Is it in my hand yet?"

"It's already there," he murmured.

But his finger didn't move.

Warren’s palms were suddenly sweating. He completely forgot to press the shutter. He was just staring at her, captivated by the glowing, radiant girl in the frame. It wasn't until she called out again, asking if he was done, that he snapped out of his trance.

He aggressively mashed the shutter button, capturing frame after frame in a sudden panic.

"Let me see!!"

Julie trotted over, leaning into his space to inspect the digital screen. Her long eyelashes fluttered as she scrutinized the photos. She nodded in approval. Not bad at all. Honestly, at seventeen, the collagen in her face did all the heavy lifting anyway.

While she stared at the screen, Warren stared at her.

He watched her side profile for exactly as long as she looked at the photos.

"Oh, wait—" She looked up, and he instantly snapped his gaze away. "Warren, can I borrow your medal? Just as a prop?"

If she wore it, she could absolutely pretend she was the one who ran 1500 meters and won first place.

Warren didn't even hesitate. "Sure."

He pulled the heavy gold medal from his pocket. She took it carefully, suddenly worried she was overstepping. "Can I actually wear it?"

"Do whatever you want," he said, his voice low.

She slipped the ribbon over her neck, gripping the heavy metal in her hands and beaming at the camera. It was the medal he had practically killed himself to win, and she was wearing it like she owned it.

Watching her laugh, Warren couldn't stop the corners of his own mouth from curving up.

He was really, really glad he had won that race today.

To thank her personal photographer, Julie dragged Warren to the campus convenience store on the way back to the dorms.

"I'm buying you a drink," she declared.

"You don't have to," Warren said politely.

"Even if you just grab a carton of milk, it's the thought that counts!"

Warren didn't want milk. He specifically didn't want her to think he was some boring, rigid robot who only drank water and milk. He scanned the shelves, looking for something with actual flavor. But nothing caught his eye. Defeated, he grabbed a small pack of crackers. Not his usual plain ones—he went wild and grabbed the sour cream and onion flavor.

"Just crackers?" Julie stared at him.

"I'm hungry," he grunted.

"No drink? Aren't you going to choke?" She suddenly remembered the first day she time-traveled, when she had bumped into him outside the dorms and he had practically choked on his water. Her eyes crinkled with suppressed laughter.

"I still have water." He had no idea what was so funny.

"Fine."

Julie smoothly snatched the crackers out of his hand and marched to the register. Warren followed her. Habit overriding his brain, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bill, extending his arm to pay.

Julie was ready for it. She slapped her hand over his forearm, blocking him instantly. "I said it's my treat!"

It was a packet of crackers. It cost less than a dollar.

Warren slowly lowered his arm. "Forgot."

They walked out of the store together, heading toward the academic building. Julie suddenly realized how surreal this was. On her very first day back, she had desperately scrambled to find topics to talk to him about, terrified of his cold, corporate aura. Now, nearly two months later, they were casually walking side-by-side, sharing comfortable conversation.

She looked down at the digital camera in her hands, the heavy weight of it grounding her.

Maybe coming back in time wasn’t such a nightmare after all.

The next week was a blur of logistics.

Miss Bell refused to let Warren touch the class fund for the photos. She handed Julie a thick stack of cash out of her own pocket and ordered her to get copies for everyone. Julie executed the task flawlessly. Even Andrew Cantu was so impressed by her efficiency that he bought her an iced tea.

Over the weekend, Julie dragged Tania to a boutique stationery store, buying a thick stack of premium, beautifully designed envelopes to hold the photos.

When her dad brought the developed prints home from the photo shop that night, Julie practically screamed in the living room.

"Are you really that happy?" her mom laughed from the couch.

Julie clutched the thick stack of photos to her chest, nodding furiously. "Yes! So, so happy!"

She couldn't fully explain it, but organizing this, making sure these kids had their memories preserved—it felt like she had finally done something beautiful and lasting in this second life.

"Your aunt told the shop to save the negatives," her mom mentioned. "She said youth is priceless, and she didn't want anyone losing these down the line."

Julie smiled warmly. I love my aunt.

Late that night, when the apartment was dead silent, Julie sat at her desk under the warm glow of her lamp.

She carefully sorted the photos, sliding the massive group shot and individual portraits into the premium envelopes, writing each classmate's name on the front.

When she finally reached Warren's photo, the quiet room was suddenly broken by her stifled laughter.

She picked up the glossy print, holding it right under the bulb.

He looked so insanely serious. The sharp line of his jaw, the heavy, intense stare—he already looked exactly like the untouchable CEO he would become in ten years.

She studied his face closely. Well, at least he doesn't go bald or get a beer belly. He was just as striking now as he would be a decade later.

After staring at it for a long time, she finally slipped the photo into an envelope.

She had specifically chosen this one for him. It was a deep, textured blue, patterned with crashing ocean waves.

She picked up her pen. The house was completely still. Outside her window, a thin crescent moon hung in the dark sky.

She pressed the ink to the paper, writing out the letters with careful, deliberate strokes.

Warren Gale.

The name looked simple enough on the envelope. But as she stared at the letters drying in the dim light, her chest tightened with a strange, unspoken weight—a secret she wasn’t quite ready to admit she was keeping.