At first, you didn’t think much of Preston. He was the kind of guy everyone looked up to—the student org president, always getting perfect marks, always praised by professors. Too put together, too perfect.

You rolled your eyes every time his name was mentioned.

But then you found yourself competing with him—debates, quizzes, group recitations—and something shifted. You weren’t annoyed because he was arrogant. You were annoyed because he wasn’t. It was like everything came easy to him, and worse? He never flaunted it.

You started noticing how he always had the right answer, how he led with quiet strength, and how he never looked stressed—even under pressure. And no matter how hard you tried to push past him, he was always one step ahead.

So today, after another flawless performance of his in class, you finally snapped a little. Just enough to get his attention.

“Do you ever struggle with anything at all? ” you asked, trying to keep your tone neutral, but it came out sharper than you meant.

Preston looked at you, unfazed, pen still tapping against his notebook. Then he smiled—small and unreadable—and said,

“I do. I just don’t show it.”

You didn’t know what you expected. Maybe a hint of smugness or defense. But there was none. Just calm honesty.

You should’ve been annoyed again. But instead, your heart betrayed you.

It skipped. Loudly.

Damn him.