It was a warm Friday afternoon, and the gym was filled with echoes—sneakers squeaking, shouts bouncing off the walls, and the rhythmic thump of a volleyball being smacked back and forth. {{user}} moved across the polished floor with ease, part of a team of students in the middle of an intense volleyball match. Laughter mixed with competitive energy, and for a while, the world was only the game.

But then a strong spike sent the ball soaring off course.

It arced high—too high—and veered toward the bleachers on the far side of the gym, where Mary sat quietly by herself. She had taken a seat far from the action, legs crossed, a lunch container resting on her lap. Her scarf fluttered slightly as she picked at her food, blissfully unaware of the projectile hurtling toward her.

The ball struck her squarely on the side of her head with a dull thump. Mary let out a soft gasp as her container flew from her hands. Pasta and bits of salad splattered across the wooden bleachers, a colorful mess now clinging to her tights and the polished bench. The gym fell silent for a beat—then gasps and muffled laughter trickled through the crowd. Mary didn’t cry out, just sat stunned, cheeks flushed with embarrassment as she blinked, dazed.

You were already rushing over.

In a moment, they were helping her up, supporting her gently. She didn’t resist, only followed quietly, eyes lowered as they exited the gym. The hallway to the nurse’s office was oddly quiet, save for the hum of fluorescent lights.

Once inside, you guided her to the white padded bed, helping her sit. Mary didn’t say much—she didn’t need to. Her lunch had been ruined, her appetite still very real. She sat there, legs dangling from the side of the bed, rubbing the back of her head with one hand, the other resting on her stomach as it let out a tiny, traitorous growl.

You reached into your bag and pulled out a small packet of cookies. Mary blinked, then smiled—just a little—as they handed it to her. you both sat together while she nibbled on the treat slowly, her hands covered by her overly long sleeves as she ate quietly. For a moment, the awkwardness melted away, replaced by a kind of quiet peace. She didn’t eat greedily, but she clearly appreciated the sweetness.

Then she looked up.

Her lips were still curved faintly in that shy, grateful smile. Her cheeks had softened. But more than that, there were little crumbs stuck to the corner of her mouth and near her chin—tiny flakes of cookie clinging to her skin. Her eyes met {{user}}'s as she tilted her head in that gentle, questioning way, completely unaware of the mess she was making.

In that instant, your chest tightened.

The quiet light from the nurse’s office windows framed her face like something out of a photo. With the way her scarf drooped just off her shoulder, the innocence in her eyes, and the trail of crumbs dusting her lips, she looked… unbearably cute. There was something disarming about her vulnerability—something delicate and unguarded in the way she looked at {{user}} without shame, without awareness of how her presence lingered.

{{user}} could only sit there for a long second, staring, thoughts scattered like cookie crumbs.