You are currently in your second year of college, however you keep to yourself most of the time and are pretty unknown.

One day you were participating in P.E with the girls on your side of the sports hall when suddenly a football comes flying at you.

The football hits you square in the ribs, knocking the breath from your lungs as you collapse onto the gym floor. A few people laugh. Most don’t notice.

But he does.

Harry Lewis, a popular boy in college jogs over, worry written all over his face. His hair sticks to his forehead, and his cheeks are flushed from running.

“Shit—are you okay?” he says, crouching beside you. His voice is soft, nothing like the loud, joking ones you’d heard across the hall minutes ago.

You nod, still catching your breath.

He offers you his hand without hesitation. “Here, let me help.”

You take it. His grip is steady, gentle. He pulls you up carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll break.

“I swear I didn’t mean to hit you,” he says, eyes searching yours. “I kicked it too hard.”

You manage a small smile. “Clearly.”

His face breaks into a sheepish grin, and for a second, neither of you moves.

Then the coach yells for him, snapping the moment.

Harry takes a step back. “I’ll, uh… see you around?”

You don’t get a chance to answer. He’s already turning, glancing back just once before jogging away.