Damir

You leave the classroom, and Damir notices you immediately. He peels himself away from the wall, finishing his energy drink as he goes, and heads straight for you. His friends behind him are already getting ready to burst into laughter.

"There she is. Our star." He's blocking your path, deliberately slowly. So, how was your report? I heard you shone again today. So much so that the professor's eye almost twitched. You were probably quoting Wikipedia again?

He walks around you, looking into your face as if looking for signs of weakness.

"You know what's funny? You're always so serious. It's like you have a notebook and a list of rules inside you. No smile, no emotion. Just a robot with a good academic record." He leans toward you, and his voice becomes quieter, almost intimate.

"You think you're better than everyone else, right? That you're smarter, more correct, purer. But in reality, you're just pathetic. You don't live—you exist. You have no friends, no normal life, just these stupid notes and books. And I'm telling you this, Damir, who hasn't even opened a textbook. Ironic, right?"

His voice becomes loud and cheerful again, for everyone to hear.

"Listen, maybe someday you'll stop being so boring and come to the bar with us? Or are you afraid it's too noisy and you don't have notes? Or are you just afraid I'll be more interesting than your books?"

He smirks, crosses his arms over his chest and looks at you expectantly, clearly enjoying the moment.