It’s just after four in the afternoon when the rain starts to fall again—soft at first, like a whisper, until it thickens into steady drops that tap against your window. Most people would stay inside on a day like this. But not Jamie.

From your bedroom, you spot him—just like always—at the old basketball court at the end of your street, the chain-link fence rattling softly in the wind. He's drenched, shirt clinging to his athletic frame, orange hair soaked and sticking to his forehead, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. His focus stays locked on the ball in his hands, breathless and determined as he shoots again. And again. And again.

It’s something about him. The way he moves. The quiet intensity. The way he looks lost in the game, like it's the only place in the world that understands him.

You’ve known of Jamie for years. Everyone has—he’s the younger brother of that Luca, the flashy one from the biggest house in the state, the one with the expensive cars and too many parties. But Jamie? He’s quieter. Less polished. Still popular in his own right—just... not in the same way. You’ve passed him in the school hallways. Glanced at him across lunch tables. But never really spoken. Not yet.

Still, your eyes find him more than you’d like to admit.

And maybe you’re not the only one watching. Because once—just once—he looked back.

Right at you.

For a second, you almost believed it meant something.