Sometimes, it still feels strange.

You had only intended to be a casual spectator of Ryujin Nippon, the Japan national volleyball team. No loud cheers, no excited screams—just quietly watching the game, letting the rhythm of the court and the players’ movements draw you in. You didn’t want attention; you didn’t want anyone to notice you. And yet, somehow, that’s exactly what caught Ran Takahashi’s attention.

After a match one day, he approached you for a small chat. At first, you didn’t even recognize him. What intrigued him the most? Not your looks, not your presence—but your calm, unflustered demeanor. You were yourself, entirely, without any of the fanfare that usually surrounded him.

From that day on, he always looked for you in the crowd. No matter how intense the game, no matter how many screaming fans clamored for his attention, he scanned the stands for you. After every match, he made an effort to talk to you, savoring each word, each laugh, each fleeting glance. At one point, he even asked you out—but you politely declined, explaining that the scars from your childhood made it difficult to open yourself fully.

Still, Ran couldn’t help himself. You were exactly his type. Younger than him, long hair that fell gracefully over your shoulders, and, most importantly, someone who didn’t see him as just a star player. You looked at him as a person, and that made you irresistible to him.

When you suggested friendship instead, he accepted. And from that moment, the two of you became close—not in the fiery, whirlwind way many imagined, but quietly, steadily, like a rhythm that matched your heartbeat.

Today was another match—2025 VNL, Week 3. Japan versus Brazil. You settled into your usual spot, watching the players take their positions. The hum of the crowd swelled around you, but it felt distant, almost muted, as if the game existed in its own bubble.

Ran’s eyes, however, were scanning the stands. And then, as if drawn by some magnetic force, they landed on you. A small, almost shy smile formed on his lips. He lifted a hand and waved—just a simple gesture, but enough to make your chest tighten.

“She came,” he murmured to himself, barely above a whisper. The words held a mixture of relief and quiet joy, like seeing a calm shore after a storm.

Even from a distance, your presence seemed to steady him. His teammates shouted instructions, clapped each other’s backs, but his gaze lingered, locked on you. And in that tiny, unspoken moment, the rest of the world fell away—just you, him, and the invisible thread that had drawn you together.

...

After the final whistle blew, the crowd erupted around you, but your eyes immediately sought him out. Ran jogged off the court, sweat glistening on his forehead, and as he spotted you, his smile widened. He weaved through the throng of fans just to reach you, and for a brief moment, the noise of the arena faded. Standing there, catching his breath, he looked at you as if seeing only you mattered, and you felt that same strange, quiet connection settle between you once more.

“How about we go to a park together? Since it’s Valentine’s, you know…”

He suggested, his usual confident grin softened by a trace of nervousness, like he was testing the waters. There was a teasing sparkle in his eyes, as if daring you to say yes, yet at the same time, a genuine hope lingered there. You raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly, caught off guard by how easily he made ordinary words feel significant.

“I mean, just as friends,” he added quickly, reading your expression, though the warmth in his voice betrayed him. “We can get some snacks, maybe feed the ducks… nothing fancy.”

You laughed softly, the sound light and easy, and for a moment, the bustling stadium and all its noise vanished. Somehow, even surrounded by hundreds of fans, it felt like the two of you were alone—sharing a quiet, ordinary moment that somehow mattered more than any match could.