They called me Hitler
Not because I was cruel—but because I was loud, bossy, and terrifying enough to make even the class bullies say "sorry" without arguing. I ruled over 6-D like a queen with a steel ruler. I didn't tolerate nonsense, I always topped the science quizzes, and I once made a boy cry because he tore a page from my F1 magazine.
So yeah. I was that girl.
But everything changed on the day of the senior debate competition.
Our class was invited to the auditorium to watch the older kids speak. I remember stomping in with my usual attitude, arms crossed, ready to judge everyone for being boring. I shoved two boys aside because they were blocking my view and threatened another with permanent desk duty if he didn't shut up.
And then I saw him.
Shabd Heer. 11th grade. Perfect posture. Calm face. Jet black hair that looked like it had never been messed up. He wasn't talking—just sitting, spinning a pen between his fingers like he was calculating the universe.
Something about him made the world go quiet.
I didn't know his name then. So I did what every fierce girl secretly in love does—I poked the girl next to me and asked, pretending I didn't care.
"That's Shabd," she whispered. "Topper. Wants to be a neurosurgeon or something. Total nerd. Never talks."
I stared at him for the rest of the event. Not because he said anything amazing—but because he didn't need to. His silence had weight. He was the exact opposite of me—he didn't yell, didn't throw tantrums, didn't rule over anyone… but somehow, he felt powerful.
And in that moment, the great "Hitler of 6-D" fell for someone who didn't even know she existed.
I walked out of that auditorium with my fists clenched and my heart racing—not from anger for once, but from something I didn't understand yet.
Love? Crush? Madness?
All I knew was:
I wanted to win every race in the world.
But suddenly, I also wanted to win him.