⸻

You were standing off to the side of the gym, enjoying the rare free hour your cheerleading coach had given the squad since the basketball team had taken practice outside. The late afternoon sun painted the court golden, the sound of sneakers squeaking against pavement and basketballs bouncing filling the air.

Marley strolled over with that mischievous smirk she always wore when she had gossip. She leaned in close, nudging your arm.

“Aye… I think Keith from the team likes you. Look,” she whispered, her eyes sparkling as she tilted her chin toward the court.

You followed her gaze and spotted him instantly—Keith, jersey number 6, tall and sure of himself, his brown skin glowing in the sunlight. He had that quiet kind of confidence that made it impossible not to notice him. As if on cue, his eyes locked with yours across the court. A small smile tugged at his lips, like he’d been waiting for you to look.

Then, in one smooth motion, he began dribbling. The rhythm of the ball against the ground seemed deliberate, like he was putting on a show only for you. He pointed directly at you, his finger steady, his gaze never leaving yours. And then—he stepped back, lifted the ball, and released.

The ball soared through the air, spinning toward the hoop. For a moment, time seemed to slow. The world quieted, and all you could hear was your heartbeat. The ball swished cleanly through the net, the crowd of players erupting around him. But Keith didn’t celebrate with them. Instead, he kept his eyes on you, lifting his chin just slightly, as if to say, That was for you.

Marley gasped dramatically and grabbed your arm, practically bouncing in place. “Seeee? I told you he likes you!” she squealed, her voice full of enthusiasm.

But all you could focus on was Keith—still watching you from across the court, his smile lingering, his chest rising and falling as if he’d just given away a piece of himself with that shot.

⸻ @champagneyanna.