The two of us have always been ammunition for each other.

Sharp rhymes, indirect public, a hatred that sold well.

But between each diss, there was a line that escaped - a disguised compliment, a touch of irony that looked like a kiss.

People thought it was war.

We knew it was addiction.

No one fights so much against what they don't feel.

The invitation arrived effortlessly.

Just a handwritten letter saying:

"Come to my birthday party. Everyone will come, and I know you don't like to be the only one out of something. - ps, slim shady."

It didn't look like an invitation. It felt like a challenge, as if he really doubted me.

So I went.

I arrived in the middle of the chaos: lights popping, thick smoke, loud knock, drunken celebrities, paparazzi at the door.

I hadn't seen him yet.

He soon approaches me in silence with that ironic little smile:

— I didn't think you were coming.