The first three weeks of the semester passed faster than Isabella had expected. Not because her class schedule was easy, but because every day felt like a small competition she had never asked for.
In Strategic Management, Christian always sat one row in front of her, whether by coincidence or on purpose. Whenever Professor Wirawan threw out a difficult question, Christian's hand was almost always the first to go up, and his answers were always good enough that Isabella had to hurriedly put together a counterargument so she would not look less intelligent.
"Why have you been so easy to rile up lately?" Naya asked one afternoon while they ate lunch in the school cafeteria. "You're usually not this reactive with people."
"I'm not reactive," Isabella replied quickly, stabbing the chicken on her plate harder than necessary.
Naya merely raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but chose not to push the subject.
What Isabella didn't tell Naya was that, ever since the first day she met Christian, she'd started studying harder than usual. Not because she needed to, but because she refused to lose. She woke up earlier, reread chapters she had memorized long ago, and even made time to read supplemental journal articles that weren't actually required for the course.
All that preparation felt pointless when the midterm exam grades were posted on the school bulletin board that day.
Isabella hurried toward the announcement board as soon as she heard from the class group chat that the grades were out. Her heart pounded harder than usual, which was strange considering she had made it through eight semesters of moments like this without any significant problems.
She scanned the list of names, looking for her own at the very top as usual.
Christian Bennet — 92.
Isabella Quin Hall — 90.
For a moment, Isabella simply stood there, rereading the numbers as if she had seen them wrong. But they didn't change, no matter how many times she blinked.
This was the first time in eight semesters that Isabella's name hadn't been at the top of the list for a single course.
"Wow." A familiar voice sounded behind her, as relaxed as ever. "Looks like I won this round."
Isabella turned around and found Christian standing with his hands in his pockets, staring at the announcement board with a satisfied expression she found extremely annoying.
"This isn't a competition," Isabella said, trying to sound calm even though her chest still felt hot.
"Oh, yeah?" Christian turned to her, one eyebrow raised. "If it's not a competition, then why do you look like you're about to cry over a two-point difference?"
"I'm not about to cry." Isabella straightened her shoulders. "I'm just... reconsidering my study method."
Christian chuckled—not mockingly, but in a way that annoyed Isabella even more because it sounded sincere. "Your study method is already good. You just aren't getting enough sleep. I've seen you leave the library at eleven every night for the past three days."
Isabella was startled. "You... noticed me?"
"It's hard not to notice someone sitting behind me and sighing every time I answer the professor's question correctly," Christian replied, his tone lighter this time, almost teasing.
Isabella's face grew hot, whether from embarrassment or irritation, she wasn't sure. "I don't sigh."
"You sigh," Christian repeated as he stepped closer, near enough for Isabella to catch the faint scent of coffee from the cup he was carrying. "But it's okay. I like a serious opponent."
"I'm not your opponent."
"Not yet," Christian replied, his smile growing wider. "But it looks like you're trying to become one."
Isabella didn't know how to respond. She hated admitting that Christian was right. Since the beginning of the semester, without fully realizing it, she had started treating every interaction between them like a competition she had to win.
That night, in her rented room, Isabella sat motionless, staring at the midterm exam paper she had just received. At the bottom of the answer sheet, the professor had written a brief note about her analysis, which he considered "not daring enough to take a perspective different from standard theory."
She compared it to her memory of Christian's answers in class—the way he always added an unusual perspective, sometimes even daring to challenge the theories they were taught with logical reasoning. Isabella had always played it safe, following the patterns that had proven successful for eight semesters.
For the first time, she began to wonder whether her way of studying all this time was really the best—or simply the most comfortable.
She reached for her phone, opened the class group chat, and saw a new message from one of her groupmates about their major project for the semester. The message was brief, but it was enough to make her stomach feel strange.
"Guys, the project groups have been announced. Isabella and Christian are our co-chairs. Hope you two work well together 😅"
Isabella stared at her phone screen for a long time, trying to process the sentence.
Co-chairs. Christian Bennet.
She let out a long sigh, lay her head back on her pillow, and stared at the ceiling just as she had the night before. The difference was that this time, it wasn't just curiosity disturbing her thoughts, but also a strange anxiety—a mixture of impatience and fear—about how the semester would go if she had to work with, rather than merely compete against, the person who had just taken the position she had fought so hard to protect all this time.
"This is going to be a long semester," she murmured to herself before finally turning off the light and trying to sleep, even though her mind was still filled with the image of that annoying face smiling in front of the announcement board earlier that afternoon.
The next morning, Isabella woke up earlier than usual, not to study as she had made a habit of doing, but to think about how she should act at the first group meeting that afternoon. She had already imagined various scenarios in her head: Christian trying to take over every decision, her having to defend every opinion with solid data and arguments, and most likely, a long debate that would accomplish nothing.
As she got ready in front of the mirror, she repeated one sentence in her mind, trying to convince herself before facing what she expected to be one of the most exhausting days yet.
"It's just a college project, Bel. Not a fight to the death."
But deep down, for some reason, she actually felt a little impatient to see how Christian would act when they truly had to work together, rather than merely trading barbs in front of the class.