He wasn’t even supposed to stop by the volleyball court that day. He was just cutting through the park, headphones on, mind somewhere else—until the sound of a ball hitting the ground made him look over.

That’s when he saw you.

You were laughing with your friends, brushing dirt off your hands, focused but gentle with your teammates. When someone messed up, you smiled and encouraged them instead of getting annoyed. He leaned against the fence without realizing it, phone forgotten in his hand.

A few days later, he saw you again.

This time, in the school hallway.

Same girl. Different vibe. Baggy jeans, clean sneakers, oversized hoodie, chains catching the light. Streetwear. Effortless. You looked cool without trying, and somehow still kind in the way you talked to people.

His friends were talking, but he wasn’t listening.

He felt stupid for caring this much over someone he didn’t even know. Still, when you walked past, he hoped—just a little—that you’d look his way again.

And when you did, even for a second, it stuck with him the whole day.