It was 78 feet long and 36 feet wide… It paled in comparison to the polished, wooden floors of the basketball courts and dwarfed against the verdant expanse of the football fields.

Yet as Matthew crossed the confines of that white line… As he stood inside the green, concrete court and faced the looming threat of the cruel, white net before him… Somehow, no matter how small it was to the bystanders, to the audience and the passersby… It always appeared so boundless and vast in his eyes.

It was a battlefield where he struck down his rivals, outwitted various foes, and outplayed each and everyone that stood within the opposing court. It was a place of his victories yet it was also a place of his defeats. A place where he shed countless tears from both loss and desperation. Where he struggled and persevered, honing his skills and improving himself…

It was more than a concrete court to him. It was dear and special. It was a place where he shined the brightest, where he smiled amidst exhaustion, where he felt accepted and welcomed by others like him. It was more than a court. It was a home.

The street-lights flashed green and people swarmed the crosswalk like ants. Matthew followed the rhythm of their steps, riding the ebb and flow of the crowd with muddled thoughts running through his head.

I miss it… I want it back… His longing grew the more he thought about it, the more he remembered, the more he reminisced. “Why did it have to be me?” He asked that question a thousand times yet no one could give him an answer…

“It was an accident.” They’d reason. “Don't feel bad, its not your fault.” They’d console him, thinking that hearing those words would be enough to ease his pain, his suffering, his regret. 

It's not as if he didn't understand the meaning behind them, in fact, he knew how sincere those words were. They were spoken to help him stand, to enable him to forget and move on. Yet he still couldn't accept them. Nothing they say could make him feel better.

The street was filled with the melded voices of the crowd not unlike the halls of his school at the end of class. Yet it was all drowned by the honking of countless vehicles the moment the street-lights changed colors.

Matthew yearned for a second chance. He craved the thrill of a match. To feel the surge of emotion, the heated atmosphere of the game… He longed to taste both a joyous victory and a crushing defeat… He wished to hear the cheers of the crowd and the roar of their applause. He yearned to stand at the summit and experience, once again, that same, exhilarating feeling.

“One more time…” His hand clenched tight, balled into a fist of burning desire. “Let me feel it, one more time!”

His vision was fogged, clouded by the frustration inside him. His thoughts were scattered, disturbed by his own confused emotions. He passed the streets with a dazed look wearing an agonizing expression that forced many who saw him back-away in fear and avoid him altogether.

Yet despite all that, there was one person amongst the crowd who approached him. Perhaps she was undaunted by his current appearance or unafraid of the air that he exuded. Or perhaps it was just the pile of boxes that she carried, hindering her line of sight. Whatever it was caused a fateful encounter to occur as the two collided and crashed upon one another, sending countless boxes to be hurled and scattered all over the street.

“Eeek!” The girl screamed as she landed on the floor. “Tch! Dude, watch where you're going!” She yelled, growling in anger as she massaged her sore behind.

“Oh, no! I’m sorry…” Startled by the accident he caused, Matthew apologized to the girl lying on the ground. He wore a worried expression as he extended his hand to her aid. “Are you alright? Can you stand?”

“Ah. Damn it.” The girl winced, cursing at the pain she felt. “Didn’t you see I was carrying stuff!” She shouted, snarling as she looked up. Yet her words softened like a whisper as she stared at the man at fault.

Seconds passed yet Matthew’s hand remained unnoticed. A cold sweat ran behind him as the thought of her purposely ignoring his gesture flashed in his mind. He feared the possibility of her holding a grudge against him and he racked his head for an explanation and an even better apology.

“I’m really sorry. It was my fault, I wasn't paying attention...” He bowed and reached a second time, hoping that she would finally accept his hand. “Please, forgive me…” Yet no matter what he said to her, the girl continued to wear a baffled expression, drooling as she remained slack-jawed.

Oh no, is it a concussion? Color drained away from Matthew’s face as his worried thoughts piled up in his head. What should I do? He asked himself, frantically looking around him in search of a helping hand.

“M-ma…” In the midst of his panic, the girl moaned out a few words, surprising him.

“W-what is it? What do you need?” He inquired but was unable to make much out of her words. Strangled by desperation he resigned himself to request for aid, rummaging his bag in search for his phone. “I’m calling 911, try to hold on until they get here!”

“P-please...” Alas, a full word left her mouth as she tugged at the hems of his shirt. Matthew held her in his arms and leaned closer, not allowing a single syllable to escape him.

“Yes, go on.” He urged her with a warm, earnest gaze as he waited for her to speak.

A slight blush painted her cheeks and a timid smile surfaced on her lips upon witnessing his worried expression. Responding to his words, she looked at him with upturned eyes and whispered. “Marry me…”