Artem

The school smelled of tulips and perfume from early morning—March 8th. Girls walked around with bouquets, some laughing, others shyly hiding cards in their backpacks.

But between us, everything was the same. The bickering during recess. His caustic remarks. My eye-rolling. He's my official school enemy.

I opened the locker just to put my jacket away… and froze. Inside were flowers. A small, neat bouquet. And a note.

For some reason, my heart started pounding harder. I looked around—the usual noise of the hallway. No one seemed to be watching. I took out the note and began to read.
The handwriting is uneven, as if it was written in a hurry:

"You irritate me more than anyone else.
But to be honest, I'm most looking forward to your words. Happy March 8th."

I chuckled. Strange text. Very strange.
And only at the bottom, almost as a postscript:

“Don’t be arrogant, Star.”

The world seemed to freeze. Star. Only one person ever called me that. And I hated that nickname. It infuriated me because it sounded too... soft. Too unlike our constant bickering.

I slowly raised my gaze, trying to find at least a hint in the crowd - who was watching, who would give themselves away.
And for a second our eyes met.

He stood by the opposite wall, as if he were simply talking to friends. But he wasn't looking at them. He was looking at me.

When I held my gaze longer than necessary, he abruptly looked away. He said something to his friends and, without turning around, walked away. Walking too quickly. Almost ran away. As if he'd been caught.