Anaya was fourteen when she met him.
And she didn't like him immediately.
Which, in her opinion, was already his fault.
It was the annual inter-school debate competition — the kind of event where everyone pretended they didn't care but secretly did.
Anaya stood backstage, arms crossed, rehearsing her opening line in her head.
Confidence wasn't something she faked.
It was something she wore.
Until she heard someone say—
"You're blocking the mirror."
She turned slowly.
He was taller than most boys their age. Calm. Annoyingly calm.
"I was using it," she said flatly.
"And now I am," he replied, not rude. Just direct.
She stared at him.
"No one talks like that before a competition."
He adjusted his blazer slightly.
"Talks like what?"
"Like they're not nervous."
"I'm not."
She narrowed her eyes.
"That's either confidence or stupidity."
"Or preparation."
That irritated her more than it should have.
"Which school?" she asked.
"Northbridge."
Of course.
The one school that had beaten hers last year.
She tilted her head.
"Oh. So you're the reason our trophy moved."
He didn't smile.
"I don't compete for trophies."
"For what then?"
"To win."
Her jaw tightened.
She hated that answer.
She hated that it sounded like something she would say.
The announcer called their names.
They walked toward the stage at the same time.
Neither stepping aside.
Neither slowing down.
He glanced at her briefly.
"You talk fast when you're annoyed," he observed.
"You talk too much for someone who's about to lose."
"Let's see."
On stage, they stood at opposite podiums.
And for the first time in a long time—
Anaya felt challenged.
Not underestimated.
Not dismissed.
Challenged.
He didn't interrupt her when she spoke.
He listened.
Then dismantled her argument calmly.
She countered harder.
He didn't flinch.
The crowd reacted with every exchange.
Back and forth.
Sharp. Controlled. Competitive.
When the final round ended, they stood waiting for results.
Anaya didn't look at him.
She didn't need to.
She could feel it.
This wasn't going to be easy.
"And the winner is—"
A pause.
Her heart didn't race.
It sharpened.
"Northbridge."
Applause erupted.
Anaya didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't react.
He stepped forward to accept the medal.
Then, unexpectedly—
He looked at her.
Not smug.
Not mocking.
Just steady.
"You were good," he said quietly when they crossed paths backstage.
"I know," she replied.
He paused.
"You'll win next time."
Her chin lifted slightly.
"There won't be a next time."
"Oh?"
"I don't lose twice."
For the first time, something almost like amusement flickered in his eyes.
"Good," he said.
"I don't either."
And just like that—
A rivalry was born.
---
That evening, Anaya sat in the backseat of the car, unusually quiet.
Aarav glanced at her from the front passenger seat.
"You lost?" he asked.
"Shut up."
Reyhan caught her expression in the rearview mirror.
"Someone finally didn't step aside for you?"
She didn't answer.
But inside her chest—
Something unfamiliar stirred.
Not defeat.
Not anger.
Something sharper.
Interest.
And somewhere across the city, the boy who refused to step aside was thinking the exact same thing.