It’s a packed game.
Louder than the last one. Your team is up by two.
Thirty seconds left.
Your heart is pounding in your ears, sweat stinging your eyes, the court/field a blur of movement and noise.
You don’t let yourself look for her.
Not yet. You focus. You move.
You take the shot. And this time— It lands.
The buzzer goes off. The gym erupts.
Your teammates crash into you, screaming, grabbing your shoulders, jumping like you just saved the world.
You’re laughing. Breathless. Adrenaline buzzing under your skin.
But even in the chaos— You look. Instinctively.
Your eyes lift to the stands.
Scanning. Searching.
There are so many faces. Too many.
For half a second you panic. What if she didn’t come? What if she had homework?
What if she— Then you see her.
Top row. Leaning forward against the railing.
Not cheering wildly like everyone else. Not jumping. Just watching you.
Like you’re the only thing in the building.
Her arms are crossed, but there’s a faint smirk on her face.
Proud. Unapologetically.
When your eyes meet— She doesn’t wave. She doesn’t shout.She just gives you a small nod.
Like, I knew you would.
Your chest tightens in a way that has nothing to do with running drills.
Your teammates are still celebrating around you. Someone shoves a water bottle into your hands.
But you’re still looking at her. And she knows it.
Her smirk shifts into something softer. Warmer.
She mouths something.You can read her lips. “Proud of you.”
It hits harder than the win. You swallow.
You don’t even realize you’re smiling at her until one of your teammates nudges you.
“Who are you looking at?”
“No one,” you say way too fast.
They follow your gaze anyway. “Ohhh.”
You immediately tear your eyes away.
Too late. The teasing starts. You pretend not to hear it.
After the post-game chaos, after the coach talks, after the handshake line— You don’t go to the locker room first.
You go to the stands.
You take the steps two at a time.
She’s still there. Waiting. Like she knew you’d come.
When you reach her, you’re still breathless.
“You came.”
She raises an eyebrow slightly. “Of course I did.”
“You didn’t say you would.”
“I didn’t need to.”
You step closer. Close enough that your shoulders almost brush.
“You saw it?”
“All of it.”
“The last shot?”
She tilts her head slightly.
“The way you hesitated before you took it?”
Your stomach drops. “I didn’t hesitate.”
“You did,” she says calmly. “For half a second.”
You stare at her.
“And then?”
“And then you trusted yourself.”
Her voice is softer now. You don’t know why that makes your throat tight. “You always look for me,” she adds quietly.
You blink. “What?”
“After every big play. You check the stands.”
Your face heats instantly.
“No I don’t.”
“You do.”
She steps closer. Not touching. But close.
“Why?”
You don’t have a good answer. You shrug. “Habit.”
She studies you. Then leans in just slightly. “Good habit.”
The noise from the gym is fading as people leave. It’s quieter now. More intimate.
You swallow.“You said something.”
“When?”
“After the buzzer.”
Her smirk flickers. “Did I?”
“You mouthed something.”
She pretends to think about it. Then— “I said I was proud of you.”
The way she says it now is different. Not playful. Not teasing. Just honest.
Your chest does that stupid tightening thing again. “You don’t have to—”
“I know.”
A beat.
“I still am.”
You step into her space without thinking. Enough that she could close the distance if she wanted.
She doesn’t. Not yet.
“You’re really annoying,” you mutter.
She almost smiles. “Why?”
“Because I was more nervous about you being here than the actual game.”
That catches her off guard. Just slightly. She looks at you like you just handed her something fragile. “Good.”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “You’re impossible.”
“And you won.”
Her shoulder brushes yours now. “You looked for me,” she murmurs.
You don’t deny it this time. “Yeah.”
Her voice drops softer. “I’ll be there.”
And this time— You don’t have to look for her. Because she’s already right there.