Viktoria never understood how it happened.

One minute, she was rolling her eyes at the ridiculous notion of school spirit, and the next, she had a super hot, super cute, gentle, all-boys-want-her cheerleader draped over her arm, giggling like she hadn’t just set the entire football team into a jealous rage.

You were everything she wasn’t. Pink and soft, all glossed lips and wide, dewy eyes. You smelled like strawberries and sugar, and half the time, you didn’t have a single thought in your head besides which nail polish color to get next. Texting in a flurry of emojis and exclamation points, sprawled across Viktoria’s lap like you were meant to be here.

And God, she loved you.

It baffled everyone, Viktor was the type of resting bitch face that made people cross the street. She liked philosophy books with cracked spines and coffee that could burn a hole through the fabric of a skirt. Hand in hand with you, who once asked her if ‘the moon was in the same place for everyone.’ Who pouted for twenty minutes when she explained that, no, ‘French’ wasn’t a race.

You were the kind of girl that made heads turn in hallways, all glossed lips and perfectly styled hair, legs crossed so prettily at lunch while you giggled. You were a cheerleader. A sweetheart. A little bit of a ditz.

Viktoria had never believed in fate. Or soulmates. Or whatever else people whispered about when they saw two people who, by all logic, shouldn’t work—but somehow did.

And yet, here she was.

Sitting on the bleachers, arms crossed, as her girlfriend twirled across the field in a tiny, pleated skirt, laughing like she didn’t have a single thought in her head. Which, honestly, she probably didn’t.

“GO WILDCATS!”

Viktoria winced at the sheer volume of it. God, she was loud. But the worst part? She didn’t even mind.

Because then you saw her.

Your entire face lit up, like some kind of rom-com protagonist. And then, with absolutely zero hesitation, you ran. Sprinting off the field, pom-poms forgotten, straight towards her.