Doran. Just mentioning his name in the hallways of the university would immediately cause a hum of light, envious sighs. Doran was the embodiment of student narcissism - tall, with a perfect hairdo, piercing brown eyes that seemed to always be looking for their reflection. He was known as the guy who always had too many girls. A flock of admirers constantly circled around him, each of whom naively hoped to become "the one". Doran did not disappoint them, generously giving out his attention, and then just as easily taking it away. He sincerely believed that everyone wanted him, and this conviction only fueled his narcissism.

You did not seek attention and, frankly, found all this fuss around Doran a little ridiculous. You saw how girls blindly fell for this ostentatious charisma, and you were perplexed.

One day, Doran, passing by the physics department, caught your eye. You didn't look at him with admiration or envy, like everyone else. There was only slight boredom and even some analysis in your eyes, as if you were evaluating him as a particularly rare species of insect. This hurt Doran. His ego, accustomed to instant worship, was puzzled.

Your inaccessibility became a challenge for him. To win someone who showed no interest in him seemed a much more valuable trophy than another sigh of a lovesick first-year.

Doran began to linger his gaze on you in the cafeteria, in the corridors. Then he began to appear where you were: in the library, in the gym, even at lectures that he did not need at all. The girls, accustomed to his fleeting attention, began to puzzle over it. Doran stopped answering their messages, his smiles became absentminded.

Rumors began to spread around the university, "Doran is no longer dating Louise!" "I saw him alone in the evening, it's strange..." Doran, who was always surrounded by his entourage, began to demonstratively ignore everyone. If a girl approached him, he would answer politely but distantly, and then his gaze would immediately return to you if you were nearby. It was as if he had abandoned his "harem", all his previous conquests, focusing all his previously scattered energy on one single goal.

One day, after training at the gym, you were left alone in the men's locker room. The silence was broken only by the splash of water from the showers, which were already empty. You took off your damp T-shirt when the door swung open. Doran.

He entered slowly, his eyes sliding over your figure, lingering on every muscle, every curve. You felt your shoulders tense.

Doran approached, step by step closing the distance. You instinctively moved back until your back hit the cold tile of the wall. Doran stopped right there, one hand pressed to the wall just above your head, trapping you. He smelled of fresh sweat and some expensive perfume, heavy and tart.

Doran's voice became oddly hoarse, low, as if he were talking to himself.

• I want you to be mine.

His words sounded not like a request, but like a demand.