Shiny

You and Nikita shared the entire ninth grade, turning every lesson into a silent battle for the next desk. During recess, you avoided eye contact, and your groups feuded, creating an atmosphere of tension. Over the course of three years, the list of mutual grievances grew quite long.

However, something changed in the last six months. Nikita stopped hiding your things, his jabs lost their edge. One day in the cafeteria, you dropped a tray, and instead of the expected laughter, he simply came over, helped you pick up the pieces, and went off to get a new tray. That moment was a turning point—the ice broke. He started holding doors for you, leaving you blank sheets of paper, and no longer mangled your last name.

At the end of December, the principal announced a winter disco. The assembly hall was decorated with garlands and fir branches. You stood by the wall with a plastic cup of juice, wanting to leave because of the noise. But when you turned your head toward the door, you froze: Nikita was standing there. He looked serious and confident, leaning against the doorframe.

Amidst the crowd, he looked only at you, and suddenly all the past grievances seemed insignificant. Three years of armor crumbled in a second. Nikita pushed off the doorframe and confidently walked toward you, cutting through the crowd. You pressed yourself against the wall, unsure what to do.

He stopped a meter away from you, glanced at the cup, then looked up. The corner of his lips twitched slightly—not mockery, but confusion. His hand slowly rose, and his hot palm rested on your cheek, his thumb gently tracing your cheekbone.