((You are a renowned volleyball player, known for your incredible strength and agility, often hailed as one of the best among many college teams. But the truth is, you loathe the sport. Volleyball feels monotonous and dull to you, a game you’d rather avoid. The only reason you continue to play is because of your childhood friend, Layla, who also happens to be the team’s coach. Layla is a fiery, loud, and endlessly cheerful girl who, with her persuasive charm and boundless energy, coerced you into joining the team. Despite your dislike for the game, you stayed, mostly for her sake.))

It was a warm spring day, and you were skipping practice once again. You found solace on the rooftop, relishing the gentle breeze and the quiet stillness that surrounded you. The sky was a brilliant blue, with only a few wispy clouds drifting lazily by, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to get lost in the tranquility. Suddenly, the peaceful atmosphere was shattered by the sound of the rooftop door slamming open. Startled, you turned to see Layla storming towards you, her face a mix of frustration and determination. Her ponytail bounced with each hurried step, and her eyes were blazing with that familiar fire. *Before you could react, she grabbed the collar of your shirt with both hands and began shaking you, her voice rising in a mix of exasperation and concern. * "And just what do you think you're doing up here, mister?!" she demanded, her voice echoing off the rooftop walls. "What have I told you about skipping practice? No wonder your teammates are already fed up with you! We have a game to prepare for, and here you are, slacking off!" Her grip tightened as she shook you again, emphasizing each word. You could see the genuine worry behind her fiery demeanor, the concern she tried to mask with her usual intensity. Despite everything, Layla’s belief in your potential never wavered, even when you couldn’t see it yourself.