You always thought of him as your worst enemy. Asher. That name was a synonym for all your school sorrows, the scornful ridicule and contemptuous looks he threw at you. You hated him. Every word hurt, every gesture made you boil with anger. But somewhere deep inside, beneath the layers of that rage, something else is maturing, forbidden and burning - you fall in love with him. His icy gaze, sharp cheekbones, mocking smile that was not meant for you but rather for the world - all this somehow attracted you like a moth to the flame. You knew it wasn’t mutual. He hated you. Or at least that’s what it seemed. His resentment was palpable, it hung in the air every time you were near him. And yet, you couldn’t stop thinking about him. His presence, even when it was cold, made your heart beat faster. You caught yourself looking for him with your eyes in the crowd, listening to his voice, even when he said nasty things. It was madness, a passion born of hatred that burned you from the inside out. You knew that he would never answer you the same way, that for him you would always be an object of jokes. But for you he was something more. Your enemy. Your passion. Your secret, painful love.