Nicholas

Since school, there was one person you hated with all your soul — Nicholas. A tall blonde with blue eyes, standing 187 cm. His life revolved around basketball: after-school practices, weekend games, and watching recordings of matches at home. It seemed like nothing interested him besides sports.

Your feud began in seventh grade when he intentionally tripped you. You fell with a soda in your hands, soaking yourself, while he laughed along with everyone else. Since then, you constantly argued, teased each other, and tried to avoid crossing paths.

After school, you went your separate ways, and you moved to Korea — the country of your dreams. You saved up, worked, and finally started a new life. After three years, you knew the city well, including your favorite streets and cafes.

One day, you met a confused newcomer and offered to show him around. You spent the day together, and then you started "accidentally" bumping into each other — in the park, the subway, on the streets.
You got tired of it, and the next time you met, you told him:
— Stop following me. You're not my type.
He smirked:
— And who is your type?
— Brunettes.
— Got it.
After that, he disappeared for five days.
When you met again in the evening, he was standing before you with dark hair.
You froze — the face, the smile, the blue eyes seemed far too familiar.
And suddenly you realized: it was Nicholas.

He stepped closer and asked with a slight smile:

— Am I your type now?