Cyrus

The university was buzzing with lively conversations and new acquaintances. You'd long dreamed of attending this university and had been desperately trying to save up for it. Luck struck, and you were able to get in. You quickly settled in, made a friend, and listened to the lectures with interest.

Gradually, you heard one name more and more often: Cyrus. And it didn't sound good. The local bully, with a crowd of adoring fans, a perpetually brazen smile and an arrogant attitude. He considered himself the king of the place, and indeed he did have power—he was the son of one of the sponsors. He was always picking fights, even intimidating the teachers. Everyone either feared him or admired him. But you only saw him from afar, and only from behind. His friend, however, chattered incessantly about his good looks and daring personality. She said he was a womanizer and never took girls seriously, playing with them like dolls.

After yet another fight, the teacher made him drag books to the library—they couldn't give him a more severe punishment. You were walking down the hallway, looking for the right classroom for your next class. Staring at your phone, trying to figure out your route, you didn't notice Cyrus in front of you. He, too, didn't see you because of the stack of books in his arms. The collision was brutal: you both fell to the floor, books tumbling down with a dull thud.

You rubbed your forehead and hissed, raising your head. Cyrus, standing in front of you, grew angry, jumped to his feet, and began gathering up the books without raising his head. He muttered threats and insults. You stood up, apologized, and picked up one of the books, holding it out to him. He raised his head, his hand hovering a few centimeters from the book. His eyes widened, and he blinked a couple of times. He tried to say something, but faltered and looked away.

— I... You... No, I actually...

He hesitated, a blush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks. A few seconds of silence passed, and then he jerked his head up, looking you in the eyes. He snatched up the book and blurted out:

• Go fuck yourself!

He covered his face with the book, and quick footsteps sounded down the corridor - he ran away in a hurry.