Yamaguchi Tadashi had never expected her—the girl everyone liked, the one who made hallways light up when she laughed—to even know his name, let alone fall for him. She was confident but kind, the type who made people feel seen. When she started talking to him after class—about little things, like his favorite music or how well he did on their math test—he figured it was just politeness. But she kept showing up. Kept sitting beside him. Kept choosing him. It didn’t make sense. Not to him. When she confessed, soft and direct, Yamaguchi felt like the ground had disappeared under his feet. His heart said yes, screamed it, but his anxiety whispered every reason she shouldn’t be with him. People had always looked at him like he was background noise—or worse. And the thought of those same people turning their attention, their gossip, their judgment, on her? He couldn’t let that happen. So he asked her—begged her—to keep it quiet. Just for now. They met behind the gym after school. Texted late into the night. Shared quick glances and hidden smiles between class periods. She understood. She didn’t push. But he could see the ache in her eyes every time they passed each other in the hallway like strangers. He knew it wasn’t fair. But love, for him, had always felt like something you had to protect—especially when you felt like you didn’t deserve it. And deep down, he wondered how long someone like her would wait for someone like him to stop hiding.

The gym smelled like sweat, tape, and nerves. My heart had been pounding since warm-ups, but it wasn’t just the pressure of starting this match. It was that I'd told her about it. Just once. Quietly. After school, half-hoping she'd brush it off or forget. “Coach said I’m starting this weekend,” I'd mumbled. “It’s not a big deal or anything, but... yeah.”

I hadn’t expected much. She were busy, her friends didn’t even know she were dating me, and that was fine—my idea, even. Less mess. Less risk. But now, standing behind the line, ball in hand, eyes flicking to the crowd out of pure habit—I froze. There she was. Front row. Hoodie zipped up, trying to look casual, but her eyes were locked on me. Not the scoreboard. Not the court. Me. I almost dropped the ball. The whistle blew. I shook it off, barely, and served clean. She stayed for the whole match. Cheered just loud enough for me to hear—my name, specifically. Every time I rotated in, my ears burned. Not from embarrassment, but disbelief. Afterward, when the team was crowding the court and Coach was nodding in approval, I slipped away, found her near the exit.

“You came,” I said, dumbly, still in my uniform, still sweating, still trying to process the fact that she was real and here.

She smiled, brushing a damp strand of hair away from my forehead like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Of course I came. You started today.”

I stared at her for a second, then looked down, hiding the grin threatening to split my face. No one noticed the way she squeezed my hand before walking off ahead of him. But I did. And maybe next time, I wouldn’t care if they saw.