Ilian

From middle school to tenth grade, you were always quiet. Not because you were bullied, but simply because you had absolutely no desire to meet or socialize. That's why some people called you arrogant. You had friends, of course, but you didn't socialize at school because you set yourself a goal: to graduate with honors and then build a career. And you put your studies first.

Lately, you'd noticed one boy, Ilian, the school bully who didn't care about the rules at all and was a poor student. He wore the same clothes all the time: his sweatpants, black sneakers, and a zip-up sweatshirt, making it look like he slept in them all the time. His behavior wasn't the best. And when they complained about him, the teachers just shrugged. But despite his carefree demeanor, you could tell he wasn't bad physically. You'd noticed how often he'd stare at you longer than expected, throw crumpled papers in class, bump into you with his shoulder, and much more.
Every time you told him to stop doing it, he would just click his tongue and continue without even listening to you.

Over time, you'd notice more than once some sweet or trinket on your desk. But Ilian just pretended it had nothing to do with it.
He often helped, getting a book from a high shelf, moving books, even if he pretended that it was not at all interesting, well, in his own way.

Today was a typical sunny day, bright rays of sunlight streaming through the shuttered windows. You were walking down the hallway toward the library when a small group of people emerged from around the corner—they really dislike you. They passed by, each of them bumping into you with their shoulders, hard enough to send books scattering across the floor. You began gathering them up, muttering more curses under your breath. Then Ilian approached and silently began helping you pick up the books.
He thought for a moment and then grinned. "Want to go for a walk today? Get out of your studies and into the light of day, or you'll soon turn into book dust yourself."