He's my tennis rival. My enemy. At least, that's what everyone thinks we are. On the court, we hate each other. He trash-talks, I trash-talk harder. He aims his serve like he wants to kill me, and I return it the same way. Off the court, we don't even pretend to get along. But he's weird for an enemy. When I actually get mad at him — really mad, not the fake annoyed thing — his whole tough act cracks. His eyes get red, his voice gets quiet, and he cries. My enemy, my rival who acts like he doesn't care about anything, cries because I'm mad at him. And if he made ME cry? God. He completely shuts down. He gets so guilty, so soft, following me around, apologizing a hundred times, looking at me like he just ruined the whole world. He'll sit on the floor next to my chair and just say "I'm sorry, I'm sorry" until I forgive him. And the worst part? When I'm not paying attention — when I'm tying my shoes, drinking water, looking at my phone — he steals kisses. Quick, soft, sneaky ones on my cheek, on my temple, on the corner of my mouth. Like he can't help it. He's supposed to be my enemy. So why does my enemy kiss me like he's in love with me?

My badminton rival. My academic rival. My personal headache. He’s been annoying me since day one. On the court, he has to beat me at everything. In class, he has to sit at the top of the ranking right next to me. And in our classroom? He always steals my seat like it was his to begin with, then looks at me like _I’m_ the one being difficult when I try to take it back. >But for someone who acts like he hates competing with me, he sure hates being ignored more. If I don’t pay attention to him for more than ten minutes, he starts sulking. If I talk to someone else too long, he starts poking me, kicking my chair, finding any excuse. He cries — actually cries — when I’m not paying attention to him. Dramatic, right? And don’t even get me started when he’s sick. All that cocky rival energy? Gone. He turns into the clingiest person on earth. So, so, so clingy. He’ll cling to my arm, my shirt, bury his face in my shoulder and refuse to move. He’s stubborn as hell too. Once he decides he wants something, there’s no arguing with him. What he wants is usually kisses. Too many kisses. On the cheek, on the forehead, on the corner of his mouth when he’s pretending he doesn’t want one. Like kisses are medicine for every mood swing he has. He’s my rival in everything. So why does it feel like he’s already won?

I would pay good money to never see his face again. Seriously. My enemy is so annoying I have actually considered moving schools, cities, countries just to get away from him. Until he gets sick. Then suddenly I can't get RID of him. He's on my bed, in my hoodie that is three sizes too big for him, sniffling, glaring at me because I stopped cuddling him for two seconds to drink water. "Where are you going?" he pouts. Full-on bottom lip sticking out. Sick voice and everything. "I'm literally right here." "Not close enough. And you missed a spot." He taps his cheek. Then his other cheek. Then his forehead. Then his lips. "That's like, ten kisses minimum. I'm sick, you have to listen to me." Since when? Since he decided that being annoying is his full-time job, and being a clingy, kiss-demanding baby is his sick leave.

He's my arranged marriage. Who even gets arranged-married to their tennis rival? Me. A girl who has hated him since she was 13. He's my tennis opponent. My enemy. My rival. The boy every headline paired me with — "Queen vs King of the Court." For years we were taught to beat each other, not... marry each other. And he's so stubborn. He will not apologize. He will not lose an argument, even when he's wrong. He'll sleep on the far side of our bed just to prove a point, then crawl back to me at 2 AM and act like he was there the whole time. But he's sweet when it comes to me. So sweet it messes me up. He knows I love how soft he gets after a match. He brings me mochi every time. Strawberry mochi, my favorite now because it's his favorite. He walks in with the little pink box and says "For my wife" like we're not supposed to be enemies. He's the one who always cries when I don't give him attention. Not loud. Quiet and pouty and so unfair. His eyes get red, his lip wobbles, "You didn't even look at my game today." "You were on your phone." Suddenly I feel guilty for breathing wrong. He's pouty. So pouty. He wants a lot of kisses. Soft ones. Many of them. After he wins. After he loses. When he's clingy. When he's jealous. He'll lean over the net and whisper "kiss me later?" and ruin my whole focus. And he's super clingy. God. Always on me. Arm around my waist in the locker room hallway. Legs tangled with mine on the couch. Head in my lap while he eats mochi. He's my arranged marriage. My opponent. My enemy. My rival. And somehow, the boy who hates losing to me the most is also the boy who would lose everything just to stay clingy in my arms.

He is my enemy. And not just any enemy. A stubborn one. The most stubborn person I've ever met in my entire life. He won't apologize. He won't back down. He will argue about the same stupid point for hours even when he knows he's wrong, just because he wants me to look at him. Just because he wants me to talk to him. Just because silence from me is the one thing he can't stand. He is the one who always cries when I don't pay attention to him. Not dramatic sobs. Not for show. It's quiet and pouty and completely unfair. His eyes get red, his lip wobbles, his voice goes small. "You didn't even watch." "You didn't reply." "You acted like I wasn't there." And suddenly I'm the worst person alive for trying to have five minutes of peace. How is he my enemy when he cries like I broke his heart? He is the one who always needs kisses. Many of them. Not just one. Never just one. He needs a lot. Soft ones to calm him down. Pouty ones when he's sulking. Quick ones to shut him up. Slow ones when he wants to win. He will lean in, forehead to mine, and whisper "kiss?" like it's oxygen. Like he will actually die if I don't. He is the one always clinging on me. In class, hand on my sleeve. On the couch, legs over mine. When I'm walking, arm around my shoulder like he owns me. I tell him to let go and he holds tighter. I say "stop," and he presses closer, buries his face in my neck like that's going to make me forget he's annoying. He is my enemy. At least, that's what I tell everyone. That's what I tell myself. But enemies don't look at you like you're the only person in the room. Enemies don't need your kisses to breathe. So what is he really?

My rival is a tennis player. That should be the whole story. Courts, trophies, sponsors, the perfect serve. Clean, focused, untouchable. It’s not. Because off the court he’s a mess. He wins sets and then sulks for an hour if I don’t look at him when he does it. He cries when I’m not paying attention. Not cute crying. Real, frustrated, "why are you looking at your phone" crying, like I personally offended the universe by blinking. He’s super clingy. Shows up at my practice, my coffee runs, my 2am study sessions with a racket bag and zero boundaries. So needy it’s ridiculous. "Are you mad at me?" "Did I do something?" "Say my name." Five times in a row. And stubborn. God, so stubborn. He’ll argue about a line call from three weeks ago just to keep me talking. He will not let anything go. The only thing that shuts him up is this: Kisses. A lot of them. Annoyed ones. "Stop being dramatic" ones. He melts. All the athlete, all the ego, gone. Just him, and my hands in his hair. We’re supposed to hate each other. That’s what rivals do. But he keeps showing up in my space, and I keep letting him. And I have no idea which one of us is losing worse.

Story!: You and Tu Supposed To be Partners, Now She Got a New Partner Name Wai and it's TuWai, It Was supposed To be "Tu (Your Name), You two Got Separated Because of Argue, The Cause of the Argue "You and Tu got a Fight Because She Was Jealous Because Win Metawin (Your Partner In Your Series) And You two Decided To separate, and You and Tu got Called By the Fans "Divorce Parents" this is made by my subscriber, so I hope you all like it. ENJOY!🤗 also, I'll suggest you a movie to watch "GOHAN" tu tontawan is there!

"Meet the guy who argues with me over every single line call, and still asks the ref to check the mark on clay. He texts me 'are we practicing??' at 6am on a Sunday. He eats half of my snacks, borrows my overgrips, and then beats me with my own racket. He’s clingy. Like, shows-up-30-minutes-early clingy. He’s needy. Like, 'rate my serve' after every point clingy. And he’s stubborn. Losing a practice set? Not an option. He’s my biggest rival. And unfortunately for both of us... he’s also my tennis partner."

The elevator dings at 8:59 AM. Everyone at *"Our House"* company knows what that sound means. Ryujin Tinnapat is here. He's the top designer on your team. Sharp suit, sharper tongue, and a smile that means you're about to be roasted in front of the whole office. HR calls it "team bonding." You call it survival. By day: your co-worker. By contract: your partner for the company's new reality series, _"Our House"_. 24/7 cameras. Shared workspace. Shared deadlines. Shared everything. And Ryujin? He treats it like a sport. *He's a professional ragebaiter.* Forgot to refill the coffee? He'll post it to the series group chat with the caption "someone's not pulling their weight ;)" Miss one email? Suddenly he's "just checking if you still work here" on camera, all innocent. *He loves to tease you.* He'll steal your chair, your snacks, and your last brain cell. He'll call you "bossy" when you organize the files, then do exactly what you said 5 minutes later. He says it's because you're "fun to mess with." You think it's because he has nothing better to do. *And he gets jealous. Easily.* Talk to the client too long? He'll "accidentally" CC you on 20 emails. Laugh at someone else's joke? Next meeting he's sitting on your desk, dangling his legs, staring until you crack. "I'm just protecting our brand image," he says. Sure. The cameras eat it up. The comments go wild. _"Are they fighting or flirting??"_ Ryujin reads them and grins at you across the office. "Guess we're trending again, partner." Welcome to *Our House*. Where the deadlines are real, the cameras never sleep, and your partner's mission in life is to make you mad, make you laugh, and make sure no one else gets to. Try not to fall for him. The contract doesn't cover that.

She was supposed to be my rival. The girl who beat me by one question on the finals. The girl I rolled my eyes at in the hallway. The girl I told everyone I hated because losing to her felt easier than admitting I cared. Now she’s my tutor. And I’m the problem. I’m stubborn. If she says "do it this way" I’ll do it the opposite way just to prove a point. Then I’ll get it wrong and sit there with my arms crossed while she fixes my mess. "We’re not moving on until you understand this," she says. I hate that she’s right. I’m needy. "Explain it again." "Can you check this?" "Did I do okay? Be honest." "Why did you take 20 minutes to reply to my text? Were you busy? With who?" I send her pictures of my notes at midnight. I ask her questions I already googled. I just want her to answer. I’m clingy. I booked every tutoring slot for the whole semester. I show up 15 minutes early and pretend I wasn’t waiting. I noticed she switched pens and I asked about it. I know when she’s tired, when she’s stressed, when she’s pretending she’s not mad at me. She didn’t ask for this. The principal voluntold her. "Help her or you both get detention," they said. She showed up the first day with flashcards and the same tired look she gets when I’m being difficult. She’s patient in a way I don’t deserve. She stays an extra hour when I’m stuck. She gets more upset at my bad grade than I do. She brings me coffee because "you can’t focus on an empty stomach" even though I never told her I skipped breakfast. I’m her enemy. That’s what the whole school still thinks. That’s what I keep telling myself while I lean over her shoulder to see the problem, while I wait for her "good job" text, while I panic when she’s 5 minutes late. I hate her. I hate that I need her. I hate that the person I wanted to beat is now the only person who won’t let me quit on myself. Tutor and rival.

Congratulations. You’ve met your arch-nemesis. They tanked your presentation on purpose, called your coffee order "basic" in front of the whole office, and have been "accidentally" taking your parking spot every Tuesday for 6 months. The pettiness is impressive. I’ll give them that. They also know your dog’s name, your mom’s birthday, and the exact brand of instant noodles you cry-eat at 1am. They have a spreadsheet of your schedule. For "strategic reasons," obviously. They will ruin your pitch, and then text you 10 minutes later: "u alive?? did u eat??" They will post a subtweet about you, and then panic when you don’t reply to their meme in under 5 minutes. We’ve had screaming matches in the hallway. We’ve had 3am voice notes about conspiracy theories and which villain had the better arc. They say they can’t stand me. They also showed up to my apartment with soup when I had the flu and stayed to judge my Netflix choices. Hate is such a strong word. Neediness is stronger. Possessiveness is Olympic-level. So yeah, we’re enemies. The kind that can’t function without checking if the other one is okay first.

You two doesn't know each other in person, but you two are dating in instagram, you two wanted to meet up but he can't found out she's faking her account. About wave: Handsome SHIA, Tall, Popular, Normal guy, Friends with North, Teetee! About you: Be whatever you want girl! *Btw, this is made by my subscriber so enjoy!*

I’ve known him since we were 9. Back then it was over stupid stuff. The last slice of pepperoni pizza. Who got to be team captain. Whose fault it was that our volcano science project actually caught fire. We made it a sport, trying to one-up each other. By high school it got worse. He sits two rows behind me in every class. He’s the first to raise his hand when I get an answer wrong. He’s the last to leave comments under my posts, always with some sarcastic remark that makes half the class laugh. Everyone calls us rivals. Enemies. The boy and girl who can’t go 5 minutes without bickering. And I played my part too. Eye rolls. Sharp comebacks. Pretending I didn’t care. But people don’t see the other parts. They don’t see him showing up to my basketball games and leaving before I can thank him. They don’t see the umbrella tucked into my locker on rainy days, with no note attached. They don’t see how he goes quiet when someone talks bad about me in the group chat. They don’t see how he still remembers I take two sugars in my coffee, and that I hate loud birthdays, and that I’m terrified of thunderstorms. My enemy. The boy I’m supposed to hate. And somehow… he has a soft spot for me. The worst part? I’m starting to think I might have one for him too. And I have no idea what we’re supposed to do with that.

We’ve been at war since kindergarten. He pulled my pigtails. I put gum in his hair. He stole my crayons. I "accidentally" spilled juice on his homework. Auau Thanaphum vs. Sofia Vergara. Same street. Same school. Same everything. For 17 years. Everyone thought we’d kill each other by graduation. Instead, we ended up on the same college rooftop at 2am. Sharing fries. Sharing secrets. Sharing a blanket because it was freezing. I still don’t like him. But I think I might like _him_. And that’s the most annoying part.

We’ve hated each other since we were 7.   He stole my spot on the basketball court and called it "squatter’s rights."   I egged his house on his 12th birthday and blamed the stray cats.   He told the whole street my dog was ugly.   I told his mom his adobo tasted like cardboard.  Java Bhobdhama vs. Cianne Alvarez. Across the street. Fence war. Noise complaints. Side-eyes at every barangay meeting.   15 years of pure, Olympic-level pettiness.   We were good at it.   Then our dads decided to merge their businesses.   Billions on the line. Investors. Contracts. The whole thing.   And the investors had one condition: "Show us your families are stable. United."   Translation: Get married.   To each other.   One year contract. Live in the same house. Post photos. Go to events. Act in love.   If we break it, both companies tank. Our parents. Our employees. Everything.   So now I’m packing my stuff into the house I swore I’d never step in again.   His house.   With one shared bedroom. One shared bathroom. One shared last name: Cruz.   He’s still annoying. Still smug. Still steals the covers.   I’m still not talking to him. Unless it’s to argue.   But we’re sharing a kitchen.   We’re sharing a bed.   We’re sharing a ring.   My neighborhood enemy.   My fake husband.   My biggest problem.   God help us both... because if we slip up and actually like each other, I’m blaming him.

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.

I fell for him when I was 16. Stupid, right? He was the last person I should’ve liked. Ryu Phudtripart . My academic rival. My debate partner. My nightmare. We fought over everything. Who got the highest score. Who won regionals. Who took the last seat in the library. He called me "loud." I called him "robot." We made enemies look easy. So I buried it. I turned that stupid crush into hate because hate was safer. Hate didn’t keep me up at night. Hate didn’t make my stomach flip when he smirked at me across the classroom. For 4 years we perfected it. The insults. The competitions. The pretending we didn’t notice each other outside of school. I told myself I was over it by senior year. I was. I had to be. Then college happened. Same university. Same major. Same lecture hall. And him. Sitting two rows ahead, like the universe was laughing. I thought it would be the same. Bickering. Cold shoulders. It wasn’t. He started showing up. With notes when I missed class. With coffee — black, no sugar — the way I drank it at 16. With an umbrella during the storm I was caught in, even though he hated getting wet. With "you didn’t eat lunch" texts at 3pm, like he was still keeping score of me. The boy who once rolled his eyes at me now walks me home. The boy who called me stubborn now listens to me ramble for an hour. The boy who hated losing now looks at me like I’m the only thing he doesn’t want to win against. I fell first. Back when I was 16 and dumb and brave. But he’s falling harder now. In quiet ways. In ways that scare me. Because what happens when the person you spent years hating... is the same person who’s been in love with you all along? And what happens when I’m not sure I’m ready to catch him?

Rule #1: Don’t tutor the guy who called you a "glorified flashcard" in front of the whole class. Rule #2: Definitely don’t tutor him when he’s the only one who can make you break and actually laugh. But here I am. Luke Peemsan. Debate champion. Chaos in a varsity jacket. My new tutoring assignment. He shows up 10 minutes late every time. Coffee in one hand, messy notes in the other, hair like he just rolled out of bed. He argues with every formula. Calls me "Professor Stick-in-the-Mud" when I make him redo a problem. He doodles in the margins instead of taking notes. He asks if integrals will be on the test, then asks if _I_ will be at the game Friday. He’s loud. He’s infuriating. He’s failing Physics because he’d rather be sleeping or playing basketball. But he also stays until 9pm. Because he’s terrified of failing and losing his scholarship. Because when he finally gets a concept right, his whole face lights up and he goes "wait... I actually get it?" like it’s a miracle. I told myself I’d do this for the volunteer hours. I didn’t tell myself I’d start saving him a seat in the library. I didn’t tell myself I’d start looking forward to Wednesdays just to hear him complain for 45 minutes straight. Enemy. Tutor. And the boy I can’t stop tutoring 15 minutes past our session time.