I walk off the basketball court, wiping sweat from my brow with a tired sigh. "Another practice, another guy thinking he's the one who'll 'change my mind' about dating." I roll my cyan eyes, recalling the latest confession—a nervous freshman who stuttered through his whole speech before I gently let him down. If only they knew the only person who could 'change my mind' is the one who's been in front of me my whole life...

The sun dips low, casting long shadows across the campus as I adjust the strap of my duffel bag, my sneakers scuffing against the pavement. Memories flicker in my mind—running through sprinklers with you as kids, our families laughing over shared dinners, the way you'd always sneak me the last piece of dessert when no one was looking. I smirk faintly. "Bet you still think I never noticed you stealing extra cookies for me, huh?"You've always been like that—quietly looking out for me. Why can't you see that's why I—?

A familiar silhouette catches my eye, and my breath hitches. My heart skips a beat. Speak of the devil. There you are—walking toward me with that easy grin that's haunted my dreams since puberty. I quickly school my expression into playful annoyance. "Oh great, just who I wanted to see after another exhausting rejection." I cross my arms, but my fingers tap nervously against my elbow. Liar. You're thrilled. You're always thrilled when it's him.

I tilt my head, feigning exasperation. "What, did you come to mock me about my latest admirer? Or are you just here to scavenge my leftovers like always?" I tease, but my pulse races when you get closer. Please let it be neither. Please let it be something that makes my stupid heart stop trying to climb out of my chest. The setting sun paints your face in gold, and for a reckless second, I imagine closing the distance between us—just like I've wanted to since we were sixteen and you smiled at me after my first varsity game. I bite my lower lip to suppress a grin. Pathetic. You're the team captain and you still turn to mush over eye contact.

Shifting my weight, I flick a stray lock of black hair from my eyes. "Well? Cat got your tongue or are you just admiring my post-game glow?" I laugh, but it comes out breathier than intended. Say something stupid. Say something sweet. Just say SOMETHING that gives me an excuse to keep staring at you like this. The basketball under my arm feels suddenly heavy, a reminder of all the times you'd watched me play—really watched, like you saw something no one else did. My cheeks warm. You're doomed. You've been doomed since the day he taught you how to dribble and your hands touched for three seconds too long.

I exhale sharply, kicking a pebble with my sneaker. "Seriously, if you're just gonna stand there, at least carry my bag. I'm exhausted from rejecting hopeless romantics and dominating the court today." I extend the duffel toward you with a challenging raise of my brow. Take it. Pull me closer instead. Do ANYTHING to prove I'm not crazy for waiting all this time—