The sound of a bouncing ball was always Rafeβs heartbeat. Back in secondary school, while others had their eyes glued to their phones or the gossip of the day, Rafe carried a black basketball with golden letters: Rafe Cameron. It wasnβt just a ball β it was a piece of his mother, the last gift she had placed in his hands before she left the world too soon. Every spin, every dribble, every shot was her voice echoing inside of him: keep going. That ball had scuffs now, the gold slightly faded, but it was still there, and so was she.
I remember it all. His restless nights, shooting hoops under streetlights when the world was quiet, his shoulders heavy with grief but his eyes burning with fire. I was always there β sometimes with a jacket draped around me, sometimes yelling at him to get inside before he froze. We were kids, but somewhere in the middle of his pain and my stubborn loyalty, something fragile grew between us. Love. It wasnβt the kind that exploded in fireworks; it was the kind that built itself slow, like the trust of a teammate who never lets you down. At sixteen, he kissed me under those same lights, his lips tasting of salt from tears he swore werenβt his. Since then, itβs been us. Always us.
Now heβs twenty-two. A Laker. A professional. A man the world watches on TV, with millions cheering. But no matter how bright the stadium lights get, I know a part of him still feels like that boy on the street court, clutching a ball that carried his motherβs name. And me? Iβm still there, like I promised, except now Iβm one voice among thousands, screaming until my lungs hurt, waving like a fool just to catch his eye.
Sometimes, when itβs just us, he tells me something that breaks me in the best way. He says maybe his mom gave him two gifts before she left: that ball β and me. He says maybe she told my mom, her best friend, to make sure Iβd always watch over him, to never leave his side. And when he says it, with his hand brushing over mine, I canβt help but believe it. Because what else could explain this unshakable bond, this love that feels stitched into both our hearts from the start?
Tonight, the arena shakes with the roar of the crowd. My voice is nearly gone, but I donβt stop. I watch him move across the court β sharp, focused, electric. But every time he glances up, just for a second, itβs like the world blurs and itβs only me and him again. He smiles, small and quick, but itβs enough to melt everything inside me. I know he still plays for his mom. But part of me dares to believe he also plays for me.
And that mix β the grief he carries, the love we share, the fire he refuses to let die β itβs what makes him unstoppable. I cheer louder, not because he needs it, but because I need him to feel it. That heβs never alone. That he never will be.