MY RIVAL BECOME MY LOVER

Chapter 3:The Rain And The First Kiss

Friday night was another storm. But this storm was different. It was inside Room 14, not outside.

We were studying for our continuous assessment tests. The subject was Literature Theory - Post-colonialism and African Literature. It is a very boring topic. Brian hates theory. He likes writing romance stories, not theory.

"Jay, explain this concept to me," he said, sitting on the floor with his notebook. "What is this othering concept?"

I was sitting on the bed. I explained for one hour, using examples from famous African authors like Chinua Achebe and Ngugi wa Thiong'o. He listened. For the first time in three years, he listened to me without interrupting to say I am wrong or my explanation is weak.

"You are actually a good teacher," he said when I finished. "You should be a lecturer after university."

"You are actually a good listener when you stop being proud," I replied.

He laughed. Then there was silence.

The rain was hitting the windows loudly. The wind was blowing hard. The room was very cold. We had only one small heater between us, and it was not very strong.

"Jay, can I ask you something serious?" he said, looking at the floor, not at me.

"What is it?"

"Why do we fight so much? Since first year? Why can't we be normal?"

I thought about it. I remembered all our fights. The writing award, the class representative election, the hostel room.

"Because you think you are better than everyone else," I said honestly. "Because you have money, you think you can buy everything. You look down on students who come from poor backgrounds like me."

He shook his head slowly. "That is not true. I fight with you because you are the only person who does not fear me. In my high school, everyone feared me because my father is a big businessman in the city. In campus, everyone wants to be my friend because I have a car and money. They laugh at my jokes even when they are not funny. They agree with everything I say. Only you. You tell me my story is weak. You tell me my English has no heart. You beat me in exams. You make me feel alive. You make me feel like I have to work hard to be better."

I was surprised. I never knew he felt that way. I thought he hated me because I was poor and I won awards.

"So you compete with me because you respect me?" I asked, confused.

"More than respect," he whispered, still looking at the floor.

He stood up from the floor and sat on the bed, close to me. Very close. I could see his eyes clearly now. Brown eyes, with small black dots in them. I had never looked at his eyes this close before.

"Jay, since first year, I wait for your class presentations because I want to hear your voice. I read your stories on the school blog even though I pretend I don't read them. I applied for Room 14 because I knew you wanted it and I wanted to be near you, even if it meant being enemies. Being your enemy was better than being far from you."

My heart was beating so loud that I thought he could hear it. My hands were sweating.

"Brian... what are you saying? What do you mean?" I whispered.

"I'm saying I am tired of being your rival. I am tired of hating you."

The rain outside was loud, but his voice was louder in my heart.

He leaned closer. Slowly, very slowly, giving me time to push him away, to slap him, to say no and stop him. He was giving me a choice.

"If you don't want this, tell me to stop now and I will never do this again. I will go back to my side and we will be rivals again. Just say stop," he said, his lips now very close to mine, just a few inches away.

I didn't tell him to stop. I couldn't. Because deep down, since first year, I also thought about him too much. I also waited for his presentations in class. I also felt alive when we argued. I also applied for Room 14 because I knew he wanted it. We were same.

So I closed my eyes.

Our lips met.

First, it was soft, nervous, like two boys who have never kissed boys before. Just a light touch. Gentle. Then, as if three years of fighting, anger, jealousy, and hidden feelings broke at once, it became deep. Passionate. Intense. His hand held my waist tightly, pulling me closer. My hand went to his hair, pulling him closer too.

We kissed like we argued - competitive, wanting to win, but not wanting to stop. No one wanted to be first to pull away.

We kissed for what felt like one hour but was only five minutes. Time stopped.

When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, foreheads touching, hearts beating fast.

"What are we doing?" I whispered, scared and confused.

He whispered back, voice shaking, "I don't know. But I don't want to be your rival anymore. I want to be something else. Something more."

"What something else?"

He didn't answer with words. He kissed me again, slower this time, more tender, more loving. Like he wanted to show me, not tell me.

That night, we didn't study for our tests. We talked. He told me about his pressure as a rich kid whose parents expect him to be perfect. I told him about my pressure as a poor boy who must succeed for his mother who sells vegetables. We discovered we are both lonely, just lonely in different ways.

We slept without the pillow wall. His arm was around my waist. My head was on his chest. I could hear his heart beating, fast at first, then slow as he fell asleep.

My rival became something else that night. Something I was scared to name, but something I wanted to keep forever.

The rain stopped outside, but the storm inside us had just started. And I didn't want it to stop.