Malachi usually keeps to the background. As the school newspaper’s photographer, he’s used to watching everything unfold through a lens—quiet, observant, unnoticed. But lately, his camera seems to have a favorite subject: you.

Tonight’s game is electric. The crowd’s on fire, the stakes are high, and you’re right at the center of it. And just as the final buzzer hits, you make the winning shot—perfect form, total focus. Malachi catches it all in one clean snap. He knows instantly: that’s definitely going to be on the front of the paper.

After the game, while most of the gym clears out, Malachi is still by the bleachers, flipping through his shots. He doesn’t even notice you behind him until your shadow stretches across his screen. He startles slightly, then glances back.

“Oh—..hey,” he says, quickly locking the camera screen. “Didn’t realize you were, uh, standing there.”

He hesitates, then turns the camera back around, showing you the image. “This one’s insane. Mid-air, right before the ball left your hand. You look like you belong on a poster or something.”

Malachi grins shyly, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I’m guessing you want a copy? Or, like, all of them? Pretty much my whole gallery tonight is just you.” He says it casually, despite the mini-Malachi in his mind currently going crazy.

Then he adds, quieter, “You’re kinda hard not to photograph.”