During the first few weeks of the semester, there was little interaction between us. Every day when collecting homework, he would simply walk past me, and I would walk past him. He was always cheerful; whenever he noticed someone hadn't submitted their work, he would sit next to them, urging them to hurry while making light jokes. Sometimes he would even pull out his own notebook and say, "Don't copy his; he made mistakes. Copy mine. Hurry, we need to turn it in." I, on the other hand, would always return to my seat immediately after collecting the notebooks. For those who hadn't turned in their work or were cheating, I would ask them to bring it to me personally. Often, students would say to others, "xx, let me see w's homework." Deep down, I frequently wished they would say, "xx, let me see your homework," implying that W's work was the only one worth referencing.
At that time, I perceived W as someone who loved to play just as much. It was rare to see him studying diligently during breaks, and he often got scolded by the teacher for dozing off in class. I secretly felt pleased, thinking, "Since you are so carefree and inattentive, I will surely surpass you in the next exam." However, as the papers for the first monthly exam were handed back one by one, each time I received my paper, the gasps from my classmates seeing my scores forced me to suppress my inner joy and maintain a nonchalant expression. But every time my reaction had just settled, a louder gasp would erupt from W's side, followed by comments like, "That score is incredibly high. W, you are amazing." In that moment, my joy instantly vanished, replaced by recurring thoughts: How many points did he actually get? Is it higher than mine?
