Zeke

Your birthday falls on February 14th. For any girl, it should be synonymous with romance, armfuls of roses, and tender confessions. But you truly hated this holiday. It all started in elementary school, when your classmates singled you out for cruel ridicule. At the head of your personal hell stood Zeke—the class leader and the main generator of caustic nicknames. Everything flew from his lips: your "nose is too crooked," you "fat," when in fact you were fragile and thin. Childhood cruelty knows no bounds, and Zeke took advantage of this, turning every day at school into a test of your endurance. A particularly sophisticated form of torture were the school "love boxes." Every year, cardboard boxes were placed in the hallway where students dropped valentines, which volunteers would then anonymously deliver to each classroom. And every year the scenario repeated itself: all the girls around you were drowning in pink postcards, and your desk remained empty. Zeke never missed a chance to loudly mock your loneliness in front of everyone. The others followed suit, taking up your shame. After many tears, sleepless nights, and persuasion, your parents finally gave in and transferred you to homeschooling. Years within four walls healed your wounds. By eleventh grade, you had changed beyond recognition. You had grown taller, your childish angularity was replaced by graceful, girlish curves, and your features became chiseled and noble. But most importantly, your character had hardened. The frame of blind kindness and vulnerability cracked, leaving in its place a strong armor of confidence. You had to return for your senior year to take exams, and you felt stronger than ever. School greeted you with the fresh smell of paint after a major renovation. The new principal imposed a strict dress code from the get-go, transforming the motley crowd into an elegant student body. A hushed murmur rippled through the aisles as you entered the classroom. Several pairs of eyes looked you up and down, appraisingly, with obvious interest. The teacher introduced you, and you confidently walked to the empty seat next to a pretty brunette. Before you could even touch the back of the chair, the woman next to you smiled warmly: — Hey, remember me? Well, we were kind of friends in elementary school. I'm Sydney. You smiled back, politely exchanging a few words with her. The lesson that had just started prevented you from starting a conversation, so you immersed yourself in your notes. After the bell rang, Sydney prompted you to go to the lockers on the first floor and pick up your uniform from the class president. You expected to see some exemplary straight-A student, but the reality made your heart skip a beat. A tall, athletic guy stood by the lockers. Broad shoulders, confident posture, a carefully folded set of clothes in his hands. When he turned his head, you recognized him. Zeke. Your worst childhood nightmare. He had matured, his boyish features sharpened, turning into a masculine, devilishly attractive face, and something new, deep, appeared in the depths of his dark eyes. An old resentment stirred inside you, and, obeying your first impulse, you decided to avoid any communication. Stepping forward, you abruptly snatched the uniform from his hands and turned, preparing to leave. But you weren't allowed to escape. Zeke reacted instantly. His fingers gently but firmly gripped your elbow, forcing you to stop and turn to face him. "Stop, " his voice, now low and velvety, sounded very close. "You remember me, right?" You lifted your chin, looking at him with cold indifference, although inside everything was taut as a string. "You? No. Should I?" you snapped, trying to free your hand. Zeke didn't let go. His gaze slid attentively, almost enchanted, over your lips and eyes, lingering on the hair spilling over your shoulders. A strange, warm, and slightly bewildered smile played on his lips. — Oh, come on. Did the ugly duckling really become a white swan? You've... become incredibly beautiful. There was no longer the mockery in his tone. It was filled with genuine, overflowing admiration, sending thrilling shivers down your spine.

Your birthday falls on February 14th. For any girl, this should be synonymous with romance, armfuls of roses, and tender confessions. But you sincerely hated this holiday. It all started in elementary school, when your classmates singled you out for cruel teasing. At the head of your personal hell stood Zeke—the class leader and the main source of caustic nicknames. Everything came out of his mouth: your "nose is too crooked," you "fat," even though you were actually frail and thin. Childhood cruelty knows no bounds, and Zeke took advantage of this, turning every day at school into a test of your endurance. A particularly sophisticated form of torture was the school's "love boxes." Every year, cardboard boxes were placed in the hallway where students dropped valentines, which volunteers would then anonymously deliver to each classroom. And every year, the scenario was the same: all the girls around you were drowning in pink cards, while your desk remained empty. Zeke never missed a chance to loudly mock your loneliness in front of everyone. The others, following suit, would follow suit. After many tears, sleepless nights, and much persuasion, your parents finally relented and homeschooled you. Years within four walls healed your wounds. By eleventh grade, you had changed beyond recognition. You grew taller, your childish angularity was replaced by graceful, girlish curves, and your features became chiseled and noble. But most importantly, your character hardened. The frame of blind kindness and vulnerability cracked, leaving behind a strong armor of confidence. You had to return for your senior year to take your exams, and you felt stronger than ever. The school greeted you with the fresh smell of paint after a major renovation. The new principal imposed a strict dress code from the start, transforming the motley crowd into an elegant student body. As you entered the classroom, a quiet murmur ran through the rows. Several pairs of eyes looked you up and down, appraisingly, with obvious interest. The teacher introduced you, and you confidently walked to the empty seat next to…