The first years were just… normal.
Nothing too special.
He blended in, like a shadow in a crowded room.
Woke up, went to school, came back, did what he had to.
He was smart—not in the book-smart way,
but in the survival way.
He knew how to play the game,
how to avoid trouble when it mattered,
how to fake enough effort to keep things quiet at home.
Everything was going fine.
Until it was time for his last exam.
That's when things shifted.
That's when the mask started to crack.
The pressure? It wasn't just academic anymore.
It was… everywhere.
Home. School. Inside his head.
All eyes on him. All expectations piling up.
He didn't prepare.
Didn't study.
Didn't even try to fake it this time.
Maybe he was tired.
Maybe he was just done pretending.
And when the final exam day came—
he sat there.
Pen in hand.
Paper in front of him.
But his mind?
Blank.
Not nervous.
Not scared.
Just… empty.
Like everything had finally caught up to him,
and instead of running,
he just stood still and let it hit.
The classroom was quiet.
Ticking clock.
Scratching pens.
Focused faces.
Except for him.
He was just staring.
Staring through the paper.
Through the wall.
Through himself.
He could hear the voice in his head whispering,
"Why even try?"
"What's the point?"
"You're not gonna make it anyway."
And for once—
he didn't argue back.
Time passed.
The bell rang.
Papers turned in.
Some finished. Some not.
His?
Barely filled.
He handed it in anyway.
Like handing in a confession.
Like surrender.
That walk home felt different.
Slower.
Heavier.
Like every step was pulling him deeper into something he couldn't name.
And in that silence—
as the sun dropped behind the trees,
as the streetlights flickered on—
he realized something.
This wasn't about school anymore.
This was bigger.
This was the beginning of something else.
Something darker.
Time for results.
Final exam day was over. Now came the moment of truth.
You needed 20 points to pass.
He got 15.
Did he pass?
Yes barely
Did he care?
Also… not really.
His family wasn't happy. Because probably because his brothers they got 18 on 20
But all that mattered to him was moving on.
He hadn't learned what failure meant.
Didn't even know the word échec.
He just sat there like:
"Whatever. I'm tired of this anyway."
Six months of school—gone just like that.
Cheating.
Lying.
Making up stories.
Fooling teachers and parents like it was a hobby.
Weekends flew by like birds.
And the first week after school break?
Surprisingly satisfying.
That's all he really wanted.
And then… he got his first girlfriend.
Well, sort of.
Not really what he expected.
But he knew from the jump—
this wasn't love.
It was a toy.
A game.
Let's call it his first "experience" in love.
His first kiss?
You'd think he'd be happy, right?
A little boy, first romance, first butterflies…
Wrong.
No heartbeat.
No emotion.
No spark.
Just… meh.
And worse—he started treating her like a servant.
Running errands.
Doing little favors.
Carrying his stuff.
Like a domestic.
Like a slave, if we're being honest.
He thought he was in control.
But not for long.
That day—during a 30-minute break—
everything exploded.
They had an argument.
A small one.
But he handled it like he thought a "boss" should.
She looked him dead in the eye and said:
"I've seen what love looks like on TV… and this?
This ain't it."
He just smirked.
"Maybe you should change your perspective on love.
You were born to be what you are—a domestic.
Nothing to be ashamed of."
Boom.
That was it.
She was hella mad.
Break ended.
They walked back to class.
She sat in front.
He sat behind her, not saying a word.
No blinking.
No tension.
Just silence.
Then he leaned forward and whispered:
"You still mad at me?"
She stood up.
Turned around.
And without a second thought—
SLAP.
Right across his face.
Clean. Loud. Echoed through the classroom.
He was speechless.
But not surprised.
He just looked at her calmly and said:
"I'll see you after school."
But trust this
He will make her pay this price the easy way or the hard way