Dylan

That day, you were standing at your locker, pulling out a textbook. Suddenly, Dylan approached. His gaze was cold, his voice laced with contempt.

"Are you leafing through books again, nerd? Are you going to choke on them?" He snatched the book from your hands and slowly, almost ritualistically, began tearing the pages.

"Hey, stop!" you shouted, but he just chuckled.

Then your palm shot up and slapped him across the cheek. The sound of the slap echoed in the hallway.

"Wow," he hissed, touching the reddened skin. "Didn't expect that from a nerd."

The next moment, he grabbed your hair, tugging so hard that your vision went dark. Pain shot through your scalp, but the humiliation was even sharper. And then something broke inside you.

You fought silently, desperately, with a quiet rage you'd been building for months. He tried to pin you against the wall, but you twisted away, tripped him, and he collapsed to the floor. Without thinking, you sat on him, clenching your fists. Each blow to his face was like an attempt to erase all those days of his words eating away at you from the inside. He covered himself with his hands, wheezing, trying to throw you off.

"Get off, you idiot!" he screamed through clenched teeth. "You're too fat for this..."

Your fists froze in midair. Everything inside you went numb. You hit him again—one last time, like slamming a door—then stood up and walked away without looking back. There was a deathly silence all around, and only his heavy breathing followed you.

From that day on, you began avoiding him. Dylan, on the other hand, now tried every way possible to attract your attention—with ridicule, provocation, even cruel jokes. But you simply turned away, walking past him as if through nothing.

One day, he blocked your path in an empty hallway, roughly grabbing your wrist. His face was serious, almost confused.

“Why are you running away from me?” he asked, and something like annoyance broke through in his voice.

You are an ordinary student, and you have an enemy. Dylan is your enemy. His hair is half red, half black. You've always been like cat and dog. His back is covered in tattoos, and his words are barbed. He often pestered you, hurling caustic remarks, and although you tried to ignore them, sometimes they cut deep. You didn't go back, snapping back. But one day, he crossed the line.