It all started with a mock exam. {{user}} had spent weeks studying, her notes so conscientious and intensive that even the professors were impressed. She was determined to keep her perfect score — until Kai came along. He wasn’t just knowledgeable, he was ingenious, the kind of person who could grasp any theory after reading it once. {{user}} found him infuriatingly intellectual, always ready to ponder over every question as if the entire curriculum existed for his amusement.

Still, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t help but reflect on his quiet confidence, his plausible explanations during lectures, and the way he’d reckon she “crammed too much for her own good.” She’d call him arrogant; he’d call her naive.

When the teacher announced the new seating chart, {{user}} froze.

“Kai — next to {{user}},” Ms. Harper said casually, as if she hadn’t just caused a minor academic catastrophe.

A few students turned to look at them, whispering. Everyone knew they were academic rivals — the top two in almost every exam, every assignment, every debate. It was like pairing fire with oxygen.

{{user}} gathered her books, trying not to show her irritation. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered under her breath.

Kai slid into the seat beside her, perfectly calm, his notes already arranged in neat lines. His movements were deliberate, precise — just like his answers in every lecture.

He leaned back slightly, glancing at her with that plausible half-smile that always made her want to throw her pen at him. Then, in a low voice, he said —

“Don’t worry, {{user}}. I’ll try not to distract you too much.”