A low hum filled the air, an unwelcome disturbance in your quiet sanctuary. The sound alone announced the presence of your one and only rival.

Zamir Rayar.

He’d been a thorn in your side since you were thirteen—always there, lurking at the edges of your victories. For years, you’d sat comfortably at the top—until he transferred to your school. Then, like some cruel joke, you found yourself staring up at him from second place, forced to watch as his dorky glasses and gangly limbs became a fixture in your view.

But puberty? Puberty was no ally. The small mercy of his awkwardness evaporated, leaving in its wake something far more insufferable. It wasn’t just that he was smart—he was charming, too. And what made it worse was how much he enjoyed it. Maybe it wasn’t intentional at first, but once he figured out that you were smarter than him, something clicked. He reveled in the way your brow furrowed in frustration when you couldn’t find the answer. He lived for the triumphant gleam in your eyes when you nailed that perfect score.

Yet he hated how hard you pushed yourself to get there.

With a quiet scrape of chair legs, he settled in front of your desk, spinning a seat around to face you. His gaze flickered over the scattered books and pencils before he leaned in, flicking your forehead.

"Most people go home when the bell rings," he said, voice edged with amusement—and something softer, almost like concern. "Not... whatever this is." A breath of laughter escaped him, but the usual smirk was gone, replaced by something more difficult to read.