So guys to bo angleška story FULLLLL dolga tko da bodite pozorni kdaj so nadaljevanja... če ste Eniemies to lovers fan vam bo 99% všeč... EVO PA ZAČNIMO!!!

*modra* Chapter 1: The Hallway — First Meeting *modra*
I should’ve known today would be one of those days.
The hallway was loud—lockers slamming, people laughing, music leaking from headphones—but somehow, I noticed him instantly. 
Of course I did. 
Brown hair, brown eyes, the kind of eyes that make you forget words exist. He had this… effortless confidence, like he owned the space without even trying. His hair fell perfectly over his forehead, those little strands catching the light, making him look so good.
He was surrounded by his friends, laughing, popular as always, leaning casually against lockers, tossing jokes and smirks around like confetti. 
He had this weird mix of charm and chaos—funny in the right moments, annoying in every other, unpredictable enough that I never knew what he’d do next. And somehow, every single movement looked like it was meant to get under my skin.
I rolled my eyes before he even saw me. 
Enemy instincts.
He looked up. 
Our eyes met.
For half a second, everything slowed down. 
Then he smirked. 
That stupid, annoying, why-do-you-look-good-doing-that smirk that makes me want to scream and swoon at the same time.
“Wow,” he said, walking past me. “Didn’t know you could walk without bumping into someone.”
I stopped. Turned around. 
“Funny,” I shot back. “Didn’t know you could talk without being annoying.”
His friends laughed. 
I hated that part. 
I hated that I noticed the way his smile widened, like he was actually enjoying my reaction.
He leaned closer—not too close, but enough. 
“Relax,” he said. “I’m just joking.”
I crossed my arms. “You’re not funny.”
He raised an eyebrow, that perfect little arch that somehow makes him look both smug and ridiculously attractive. 
And for a second, I thought I saw something different on his face. Not teasing. Not mean. Just… curious.
“Sure,” he said. “That’s why you’re smiling.”
“I am NOT smiling,” I shot back.
He laughed softly and walked away, shaking his head like he’d won something.
I stood there, heart racing, annoyed beyond belief.
Why does he do that? 
Why does he get under my skin so easily? 
Why do I replay everything he says in my head like it matters?
We’re enemies. 
We’re supposed to hate each other.
So why does it feel like every hallway encounter is another scene in a story I didn’t agree to star in?
Enemy instincts. 
Perfect.