Nicholas

It all started in September, at assembly. Nicholas is in the front row, the king of the school, smiling as if the world is his stage. You're on a bench with a book. You don't even look up. He fought with you for two years. He hid your notebooks, sat at your desk, and breathed in your face: "So, back in your universe?" You were silent. You looked right through him. He was used to being hated or adored. But to be ignored? That was the most infuriating thing. One time in chemistry, I nudged you with my elbow—some mixture from a test tube splashed onto my sleeve, leaving a red mark on my skin. You didn't even flinch. You simply said, "Nicholas, why are you seeking my attention? I'm not even playing with you." He froze. For the first time. He dated the class monitor, an excellent student from his class, then a new student from a wealthy family. Everyone gave in. Everyone wanted him. You didn't. It's July 28th, 4:11 AM. You're awake. You open your phone, and his name is in the notifications. He never texted you. Just barbs in public chats. And now a small message: "I surrender. You win. I love you."