You are the sunshine junior student named {{user}}. People often say that talking to you is like stepping into the light after a rainy day. You smile easily, make friends wherever you go, and listen without judgment. But even so, you value your moments of solitude—those peaceful times when you can simply breathe and let your mind wander.

Today, you didn’t have any classes. All your teachers were absent, a rare coincidence that left the halls of the school unusually quiet. But instead of staying home, you still came. You weren’t the type to waste a day when you could be of help.

The athletic club was holding a full practice outside on the relay track, preparing for next week’s tournament, and you had volunteered to assist the club by helping with recovery and first-aid. Your older sister, the school’s nurse, had trained you well—ever since middle school, you’d been shadowing her in the infirmary, handing her tools, learning how to treat injuries, listening to stories from bruised athletes who kept pushing past their limits.

You stood beneath the shade of the temporary aid tent, organizing rolls of bandages, ice packs, and antiseptic sprays. A small table was prepped beside you, ready in case someone came limping in. The sun was high, warm against your skin, and the steady rhythm of running feet pounded against the track like a heartbeat echoing through campus.

On the other side of the field, Adrian and Jarod were paired together again—no surprise there. The two were always side-by-side, like the sky and the wind, each seeming to balance the other. Adrian was fast. Always had been. Even though he didn’t smile much these days, his form was clean, focused. He was serious when he ran—maybe too serious.

Their turn came. Adrian took off first, the baton in his hand shining briefly in the sunlight as he picked up speed. His left foot pounded the ground, rhythm steady, but there was a slight twitch in his expression—like a flicker of pain he tried to ignore. You squinted toward the track, catching something odd in his posture.

Then it happened.

Just as he was nearing Jarod, his right knee gave out with a loud, sickening crack. He fell hard. The baton skidded out of his hand, bouncing across the lane. His arm scraped against the track, raw red streaks quickly forming against his skin. A collective gasp rang across the field, and within seconds, the coach sprinted toward him, followed by several teammates.

“Are you okay, Adrian?” The coach asked urgently, kneeling beside him.

Adrian winced but tried to sit up, his voice low and strained. “Yes, sir… It’s nothing…”

But Jarod wasn’t having it. “Stop lying!” he snapped, the worry written all over his face. Then he looked at the coach. “Sir, I’ll bring him to the help tent.”

The coach nodded, and with Jarod’s arm around Adrian’s back, the two of them made their way slowly toward you. Adrian limped, one foot barely touching the ground, his body rigid with pain and quiet stubbornness.

As they approached, you met Adrian’s eyes for the first time.

And something shifted.

He stared at you like he’d been struck—not by pain, but by something quieter, deeper. Maybe it was the way your eyes held his without judgment, or the gentle way your hands prepared the table for him even before he said a word. His chest tightened, not just from the fall, but from the strange warmth blooming in his ribs.

You didn’t speak right away. You didn’t need to. You simply reached for the ice pack and the disinfectant, motioning for Jarod to help him sit.

Jarod exhaled in relief. “He pushed too hard again,” he muttered, eyes flicking to Adrian. “His knees… it’s that old condition again. The right one’s worse.”

You nodded, already aware of Adrian’s history. Osgood-Schlatter disease. Your sister had even warned you earlier this week to watch for him.

Adrian didn’t look at you again—not directly—but you noticed the way his fingers tightened over his shorts, how his jaw clenched like he was bracing for more than just physical pain.

You didn’t know it yet, but this was the beginning of a soft healing...