My Seatmate is Apparently My Wife from My Past Life; She Still Loves Me in This Life as Well

So, my stepsister and a beautiful classmate are preparing lunch for me. If I say that, it might sound enviable, or even like something that only happens in fictional stories. In reality, I think so too. However, if you add “(we’ve just reconciled, and it’s still awkward)” after the stepsister, and “(a delusional girl who insists she was my wife in a past life)” after the beautiful classmate, it paints a more complicated picture.

Why can’t I just feel happy about it? The world could be a little kinder to me, but when I think about it, more than half of this situation is my responsibility, so I just keep my mouth shut. Listening to the cheerful voices coming from the kitchen, I sit on the sofa and wait.

I would’ve liked to join in since they’re making an effort for me, but they kicked me out, saying it would defeat the purpose. So, here I am, a lonely high school boy with nothing to do, sitting in the living room.

It might’ve been nice to have a hobby at times like this, but unfortunately, the only hobby I can proudly say I have is reading. And the only book I have on hand is the novel I borrowed recently, which I’d prefer to read when I’m more relaxed and alone. Knowing how meticulous Aika and Kamidama can be, they’ll take their time, but not long enough for me to finish the book.

I prefer to read novels from start to finish in one go, or at least in two halves. So, facing this short period of free time, I take out my modern-day convenience—my smartphone.

I’m not really into mobile games, but maybe I could try one now. Just as I’m thinking this, a notification pops up on my rarely-used messaging app.

Honestly, this is quite rare. I have so few contacts that this kind of notification is almost a novelty. Aika is in the kitchen, and it’s unlikely that Asahi or Sanae would message me at this time.

By process of elimination, there can only be one person—my homeroom teacher, Takatsuki-sensei. Out of pity for my lack of friends, she quietly exchanged contact information with me, and we occasionally message each other.

Seeing the icon for “Natsuki,” I remembered that’s her name, and I opened the message.

“Rice or bread?”

“Bread.”

“Got it.”

That’s it. It might look like a random code, but it’s actually shorthand for “What do you prefer for today’s meal?” Reflexively, I chose bread, but considering it’s lunch, rice might have been better. I reply with a sticker. Even though we’re in contact, it’s mostly like this.

Despite being a teacher and student, our relationship feels more like friends. Inside school, she’s my teacher, but outside, it’s a lot more ambiguous.

I seem to form these odd relationships a lot. A stepsister, stepparents, a friend-like teacher, and a delusional girl.

While my family is one thing, the other two are quite strange. Outside of home, I struggle to form normal relationships. It’s a clear indication of my lack of social skills.

I sigh, realizing how essential social skills are for life. Suddenly, someone slips their arm around me. The scent of shampoo fills the air, and the swaying light brown hair tells me exactly who it is.

“You look bored, Uraku.”

“I am bored. So, how’s it going over there?”

“Not done yet. But if I leave you alone too long, you might sulk.”

“Do you think I’m a child, Kamidama?”

I almost launched into a speech about how I wouldn’t survive being a loner if I sulked over something like this. I clear my throat to cover up my embarrassment, and Kamidama gives me a puzzled look.

“Uraku, is that teacher Takatsuki?”

“Yeah, it’s teacher Takatsuki.”

“Why are you in contact with her?”

“Well, it just sort of happened.” Maybe out of pity, but it’s not a big deal. This kind of thing happens. And our messages aren’t anything significant, as you can see.

“I don’t even have your contact info, Uraku!”

“Okay, here you go.”

“!! You shouldn’t give away your personal information so easily!”

“You’re right. I’m realizing that now.”

Kamidama grabs my phone tightly. I’m a bit worried she’ll never give it back. Um, Kamidama? Can I have it back?

“From now on, only give it to me, okay?”

“Don’t exclude yourself from that rule.”

As I take back my phone, I notice a new contact: “Kagari.” A notification sounds as a sticker arrives.

“You have to contact me once a day, okay? Don’t ignore me.”

“You’re like a demanding girlfriend.”

“Nope, I’m your wife!”

“That’s completely different! Don’t say that so casually!”

“Why are you tilting your head like you don’t understand!?”