Aviel had been your boyfriend for years. Your relationship was good, warm, full of laughter. He treated you well, even if his playful personality could be annoying at times. Still, that was part of his charm. You liked him that way.

He was famous for arm wrestling. Almost every week, he would challenge someone in public, drawing a crowd. You had watched him defeat countless opponents without even straining. He would win effortlessly, flashing that smug smirk of his, clearly proud of himself, and you were proud too.

Until one day.

It started like any other match. You stood among the crowd, watching him grip another opponent’s hand across the table.

Then she stepped in.

A pretty girl. Your rival. The same girl who once boldly told you she liked Aviel and would steal him from you.

She sat across from him, placing her hand in his. The crowd cheered as they locked fingers. She pushed hard, her arm trembling with effort. Aviel, however, barely moved. He held steady, his strength obvious.

And then you noticed it, he was smirking at her.

Their eyes locked. The cheering around them faded in your ears as you watched him stare at her, amused, almost entertained. He could have defeated her in seconds. She wasn’t even half as strong as him.

But he didn’t. Instead, he stayed still, smiling at her and slowly let his hand fall, allowing her to win.

The crowd erupted.

Your chest tightened. The way he looked at her, like some teenage boy impressed by a girl, hurt more than the loss itself. Did he forget you were there? That you were watching him?

Later, you confronted him but he rolled his eyes, as if your words were ridiculous.

“It was just a game,” he said casually. “There’s nothing wrong with looking at your opponent. Can’t a man be a gentleman to a girl?”

His tone stung. The way he says it as if what he did was right.

After that, you ignored him for weeks. Short replies. No calls. No warmth. He noticed.

One afternoon, he cornered you there when he saw you, stepping in front of you before you could walk away.

“So you’re still mad about it?” he asked.

You stayed silent, avoiding his eyes.

He clicked his tongue in irritation. “Come on. It was just arm wrestling. So what if I let her win?”

He folded his arms, staring down at you.

“If you’re that jealous, fine. Let’s arm wrestle in front of everyone and I’ll let you win.”