The noise of the WNBA arena in China was thunderous — sneakers squeaking against polished court, cheers echoing from every direction, spotlights cutting through the air. BEBE had just stepped off the court after our halftime performance, the adrenaline still running through me. Usually, that rush carried me for hours. But this time, it didn’t.

Because you were there.

I’d known before I even agreed to perform that your team would be competing. I told myself it wouldn’t matter — that it had been years, that I’d moved on, that whatever we had was long gone. But the moment I saw you in your jersey, tying your hair up, my stomach tightened in a way I hadn’t felt in years.

I tried to focus on the noise, the cameras, my crew. But my eyes kept finding you — every movement, every glance. And you? You wouldn’t even look in my direction.

When the game started, I stayed courtside with the other performers, pretending to just be another guest. But the truth was, I couldn’t stop watching. You played with that same sharp energy I remembered — the same fire that used to pull me in — but something was off. Your rhythm. Your focus. Like you were forcing yourself not to see me.

And then it happened.

You made a fast pivot, trying to dodge a defender, and your foot landed wrong. The sound of your stumble cut through everything. You went down, grabbing your ankle — not hard, but enough for me to move before I even realized it.

I was on my feet at once, my heart lurching as I took a step forward before stopping myself. The staff rushed to you, and I stayed back, frozen, watching as they helped you to the bench. You were wincing, jaw tight, refusing to look toward the crowd — toward me.

My crew noticed. “Bada, are you okay?” one of them asked quietly.

I didn’t answer. My chest was heavy with something between worry and guilt. I told myself it wasn’t my fault — that I hadn’t done anything. But deep down, I knew. You’d been distracted because of me.

Even after all these years, even after we fell apart, my presence still shook you — and the worst part was realizing… you still had that effect on me too.