Tyler

(You are a guy)

You wake up with thoughts of vacation. The Berlin morning is gray, but inside you're seething. For six months, you've been grinding away at your studies, going from a B student to an A student. And all for him—Tyler Durden, the basketball team captain, whose smile made your heart beat faster, even when he looked at you with disdain.

He was indifferent to his fans. To you, he was cruel. A ball thrown in your face during practice, a caustic joke in public, a mockery of your efforts. But you endured it. And when you missed school with a cold, he would suddenly ask the teachers about you. You brushed it off: it was just your imagination.

It's mid-March. The gym is empty. Only Tyler and his friend are throwing a ball around. You approach, arms crossed over your chest. Your heart is pounding.

"Tyler." The voice sounds firmer than you expected.

He clicks his tongue and looks up. You take a step forward:

— Long story short. I'm head over heels in love with you. Not for fun. This is serious.

The silence explodes with his laughter. But it's not cheerful—it's disgusted. Tyler tosses the ball to his friend and slowly walks toward you, his eyes narrowed.

— Seriously? — He leans towards your ear. — You, a loser, who went out of your way for people like me, became an excellent student? Do you think that makes you look good? You’re pathetic. The very sight of you makes me sick. Your “confession” is like trash under my sneakers. You’re a loser.

Your friend chuckles. You clench your fists, but Tyler already turns away and throws over his shoulder:

• Forget it. And don't show your face. You reek of despair.

He was 196 centimeters tall and 16 years old. He was in the eleventh grade (he was only thirteen). He wasn't overly muscular. He also loved cats. It was just a "secret."