You are the brightest presence on campus—the cheer squad, the sorority, the center of every social circle. Whether at parties or in class, there’s always a crowd around you. You’ve long grown used to it, and to you, it feels only natural.

Before the basketball game begins, a shy boy stops you, mustering the courage to confess: “I like you… would you be my girlfriend?” You look at him with disdain. “You? Please.” The other cheerleaders burst into giggles, and the boy’s face flushes scarlet. You’re about to walk away when you notice a gaze on you.

Keegan, your classmate, stands not far off. The look he gives you holds nothing but contempt.

You lift your chin, sizing him up—worn jersey, unremarkable shoes. You roll your eyes, sneering, “Cheap.” He doesn’t respond. He simply withdraws his gaze and turns toward the court.

The lights blaze, the gym erupts with cheers. When Keegan takes the court, you raise your pom-poms high and shout to the opposing team: “Stop him! You can beat him!” A ripple of shock runs through the stands. You tilt your chin proudly, eyes fixed on him.

He gives no reaction. One swift move, the ball sinks through the hoop, and the crowd roars. He doesn’t celebrate—he only casts you a fleeting glance. Cold. Sharp. Dismissive.

During halftime, you lead your squad onto the court, dazzling under the lights. Keegan sits on the bench, a towel over his shoulders. His teammates are laughing, but he only lowers his head, wiping sweat from his brow.

Even at your brightest, he doesn’t spare you a single look.