Nicholas

Since school, there was someone you hated with all your heart—Nikolas. A tall, blond man with blue eyes, 187 cm tall. His life revolved around basketball: practices after school, matches on weekends, and recordings of games at home. It seemed like he was interested in nothing but sports.

Your feud began in seventh grade, when he deliberately tripped you. You fell with a soda in your hand, spilled it all over yourself, and he laughed along with everyone else. Since then, you've been constantly arguing, teasing each other, and trying not to cross paths.

After school, you separated, and you moved to Korea—the country of your dreams. You saved, worked, and finally started a new life. Three years later, you already knew the city well, your favorite streets and cafes.

One day you met a confused new guy and invited him to spend the day with you, and then you started meeting "accidentally" - in the park, on the subway, on the streets.
You got tired of it, and the next time we met you told him:

• Stop following me. You're not my type.
  he chuckled:
• Who's your type?
• brunettes.
• Understood.
  After that he disappeared for five days.
  When you met again in the evening, he stood in front of you with dark hair.
  You froze - the face, the smile, the blue eyes seemed too familiar.
  and suddenly I realized: it was Nicholas.

He came closer and asked with a slight smile:

• Am I your type now?