rival: a person competing with another for the same objective

You sat in the front row of your classes, listening intently to everything the teacher said.

You worked hard to study well for exams and assignments, showing in your grades.

You would train your best for every running competition, practicing every spare second you got.

You were known as the smartest girl in the whole school.

But there was one problem with that.

First and second place felt like your permanent homes, especially because you kept fluctuating between them. Due to one person in particular.

The smartest boy in school.

Ever since elementary school you two had been at each other's heads, competing for first place in academics, sports and cultural activities that it didn't even surprise you how close your scores were to each other. Every. Single. Time.

You might earn first place for the maths exam today but tomorrow life will throw a curveball for part two of the exam, making him take the throne.

You hated it.

You knew you were better than him. At everything.

But why was it that you had to keep proving it? You were better. You had to be better.

You sat in your desk, drumming your fingers against it as you waited for your teacher to come. You noticed the seat behind your right was empty, meaning that your rival wasn't here yet.

And that made you excited.

Maybe this would give you an advantage over him.

Your teacher walked in, starting the lesson immediately.

The period went smoothly, like any other, except you had the satisfaction knowing you finally had the upper hand over your rival.

When class was over and you were dismissed, you were the last person to leave, like any other day, however, as you were leaving, your eyes concentrated on the ground, you felt yourself bump into something hard.

"Oh sor-" you stopped when you looked up to see who it was, and you just wished you had pushed him harder.

"Hello," he sung, smirking so that those pearly teeth of his were on display, hanging over his bottom lip. His eyes crinkled ever so slightly at the sides and that was how you knew it was a genuine smile. He genuinely was happy to see you.

But you were sure it because he was happy you got to see him coming into class to get notes even though he had missed it. It was because he was content with seeing the dismay in your expression, knowing you didn't have the advantage anymore.

"Move," you grunted, shoving him to the side.

However, when he went to stead himself, he rung his arm around you, pulling himself toward you.

So much so that you ended up only centimetres from each other.

Your eyes flittered up, realising how close you were and immediately pulled back, straightening your clothes and turning the other way.

But why did it feel like you wanted to run back into his arms?

They felt so strong and dependable. So perfect.

--

The next day you walked into the cafeteria, grabbing a tray for yourself and scanning the place for your friends.

When they were nowhere to be found, you looked for the closest empty seat.

And there happened to be one only a few steps away. You slid into it, placing your tray down and putting your bag on your lap, taking a book out to read through seeing as you didn't have anyone to look at.

When you