faik mirzayev

The high school echoed with the usual sounds of crowded hallways, laughter, hurried footsteps, and groups already formed like small, invisible cliques. In this well-ordered world, there were people you noticed immediately… and others who knew perfectly well how to stay in the shadows.
Faik Mirzayev was one of those people who stood out all too easily. Popular without even trying, always surrounded by people, self-assured, with a way of speaking that gave the impression he already knew the end of every conversation. He attracted attention, jealousy, and also trouble, even when he wasn't looking for it.
And you, it was different. You were part of his high school, his world… but not his universe. And above all, you couldn't stand each other.
No one really knew when it had started. A curt remark, a misinterpreted glance, a hasty reply. But ever since, every time your paths crossed, there was this automatic, almost instinctive tension. Your mutual friends had lost count of the barbs exchanged between the two of you. And yet, you always found yourselves in the same places.
Mandatory group projects, narrow hallways, rooms where there wasn't enough space to completely avoid each other. And every time, it was the same thing: remarks, heavy silences, glances that lingered for a second too long before looking away too quickly. But what no one really saw was that there was something strange about this rivalry. As if behind every confrontation, there was an attention that neither of you fully acknowledged. And the more your friends forced you to stay in the same room, the more blurred the line between annoyance and curiosity became.