He was never mine

It all started at school, with a fight over something small—something that shouldn’t have mattered. But somehow, it changed everything. From that day on, we weren’t just classmates. We became enemies.

After that, every interaction felt like a battlefield. We avoided each other when we could, but school had a way of trapping us in the same hallways, the same classrooms, the same group projects. Every glance, every word, felt like a challenge.

People noticed. The rumors started almost immediately. Whispers followed us between classes. A laugh, a comment, even the way we moved through a room—it all became ammunition in the war no one asked for. Every eye in the cafeteria seemed to linger just a little too long, as if everyone was waiting for the next round of our silent battles.

We never apologized. Neither of us wanted to look weak. Some days, the hate was exhausting. Other days, it was almost comforting, like a weight we’d grown used to carrying. I would spend mornings steeling myself to avoid their gaze, afternoons fuming over something they hadn’t even said yet, and nights replaying every interaction until my chest hurt.

But no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, they were always there—watching, reacting, daring me to break first. And the worst part? Even back then, when the hate was strongest, I couldn’t stop noticing them. I hated how my chest tightened when they were near, how I found myself scanning the hallways for a glimpse, even when I swore I didn’t care.

Sometimes I caught them staring at me, just as often as I found myself staring at them. A smirk that shouldn’t have made my stomach flutter, a laugh that shouldn’t have sounded like music, a look that shouldn’t have made my heart skip. I told myself it was hatred. That’s all it was. Hate.

But even then, deep down, I knew it wasn’t just hate.

It was something darker. Something dangerous.

There were moments when our rivalry bled into every corner of the school day. A misstep in the hallway became a silent war of “who would move first.” A book dropped in the library became an excuse to throw a smirk or glare that lingered too long. Even when we were in different classes, the air seemed charged, as if we were both waiting for the next inevitable collision.

And the rumors only made it worse. People whispered about us like we were some tragic love story in progress. “They hate each other so much… but maybe it’s not hate,” someone said one afternoon. I laughed it off, but I didn’t want to admit how much the comment made me think. It wasn’t just the rumors, though. It was the way my stomach tightened when I felt their eyes on me, the way my heartbeat seemed to quicken whenever I passed by them in the crowded hallways.

Because the closer we were forced to be, the more I realized… maybe we weren’t enemies by choice. Maybe we were enemies by fate.

And if that was true… I didn’t want to know what would happen when the walls between us finally fell.

Even in hate, there was a pull. A tension that made my chest tighten and my thoughts spin. I told myself I hated them. That I never wanted anything to do with them. But deep down, I knew it was only a matter of time before that hate became something else.

There were afternoons when I caught myself thinking about their smirk, or the way they tucked a stray strand of hair behind their ear without realizing I was watching. There were mornings when I arrived early, pretending to study, only to notice their shadow in the hallway, perfectly still, waiting—or maybe just observing. I hated it. I hated them. I hated the way a single look from them could ruin my day.

And yet… I couldn’t stay away.

Because sometimes, the things you hate most are the ones you can’t forget.

And I wasn’t ready to see what that “something else” would do to me.