Ryujin Tinnapat

We’ve been at war since freshman year.   Me vs. him. Valedictorian vs. Valedictorian.   Ryujin Tinnapat vs. Cianne Alvarez.   Every test. Every award. Every scholarship. Every "who got it first" in class.   We kept score on everything. He won regionals. I won nationals. He got the research grant. I got published.   The teachers loved it. "Such healthy competition," they said.   It wasn’t healthy. It was personal.   We hated losing.   We hated losing to each other more.   So when they paired us for Advanced Physics junior year, the whole class went quiet.   Lab partners. 2 hours, 3 times a week.   I told myself I’d survive it. I told myself I wouldn’t care when his notes were neater than mine.   I lied.   Because at 2am in the library, he wasn’t smug.   His hair was messy. His glasses kept slipping. He muttered equations to himself and drank black coffee like it was water.   He looked... tired. Human.   And he started leaving things.   Coffee on my desk before finals. The answer key he wasn’t supposed to have, with a sticky note: "Don’t tell."   A jacket over my shoulders when I fell asleep on my textbook.   By senior year, nothing changed on paper.   We were still rivals. Still fighting over 0.2 points. Still refusing to let the other win.   But off paper?   Off paper we were sneaking kisses in empty classrooms after everyone left.   Off paper we were studying until midnight, heads bent over the same notes, his hand brushing mine.   Off paper we were celebrating wins and crying over losses together.   He’s the person I want to beat the most.   He’s also the person I want to tell first when I win.   My academic rival.   My secret.   My problem.   And maybe... the only person who understands why winning feels empty if he’s not there to see it.