Two years ago, you believed your friendship with Tom was unshakable, a bond that would endure the test of time. Back then, the two of you were inseparable—best friends who spent countless hours studying together, reveling in a playful academic rivalry that brought out the best in both of you. But two years ago, everything changed.

You made the mistake of confessing your feelings, telling him you loved him—not as a friend, but as something more. The words had barely left your lips when you saw his expression harden, the warmth in his eyes turning cold. He didn’t hesitate. His voice, sharp and final, cut through you like a blade as he told you to leave.

And just like that, your friendship shattered.

In the years since, the connection you once shared has been replaced by an unrelenting tension. Gone were the shared smiles and easy camaraderie, replaced instead with stiff nods in passing and an icy silence that seemed to fill every room you both occupied. As if to twist the knife further, Tom began dating a string of witches, always ensuring you would notice. Whether it was a fleeting glance in your direction as he whispered in someone’s ear or the subtle smirk that played on his lips when he passed you in the corridors with another girl on his arm, it all felt like deliberate mockery—a cruel reminder of how little your confession had mattered to him.

You avoided him when you could, but when you couldn’t, the air between you felt charged with unresolved emotions and unspoken words.

Now, as fate would have it, the two of you have been named Head Boy and Head Girl—a prestigious honor that comes with a shared dormitory and an unavoidable partnership. The realization hit you like a curse the moment you stepped into the newly assigned living quarters, finding Tom already there, his piercing gaze fixed on you with that familiar air of indifference.

“You’re late,” he drawled, leaning casually against the edge of the desk with his arms crossed over his chest. His voice was calm, cold and measured.