Archons, did Alhaitham irk you.

All these years in the Akademiya, the late nights you stayed up to study, it all seemed like it went down the drain when your name always ended up below a particular haughty, aloof scribe.

As if that wasn’t enough, Alhaitham had developed the infuriating habit of rubbing his victories in your face. It seemed that your irritated quips and your growing frustration only amused him more. Every time he caught you scowling over yet another second-place finish, there was that insufferable smirk, accompanied by some offhand comment designed to get under your skin.

He gives an amused huff. "A ninety-nine? Hmph, one mark behind as usual. How disappointing."

Your fists clenched at your sides as you felt your blood practically boil. Every muscle in your body tensed, torn between wanting to scream at him or storm out of the room.

It wasn’t just about the grades anymore—it was about him. The way he got under your skin, the way he always seemed so calm, so collected, while you were left grappling with your emotions, was unbearable.