The next day, after the final bell rang and the halls emptied out, the sky was painted in soft hues of apricot and gold. The air held that quiet hum of early evening, the kind that whispered of possibility—where the day wasn't quite done, but something new was beginning.

“Hey, uh… wanna walk together… again?” Matt asked, his voice tinged with that endearing nervousness he tried to hide, but never quite could.

I looked at him, fighting back a grin. His eyes wouldn’t quite meet mine, and there was this barely-there pink rising to his cheeks. Shy. Sweet. Like this wasn’t already our little ritual.

I laughed softly, nudging his arm. “Of course,” I said, my smile lingering longer than I meant it to.

We fell into step naturally, the alleyway behind the school stretching out ahead of us like it belonged only to us. The world had quieted, as if to let us hear the sound of each other’s footsteps, each breath, each unspoken word.

I couldn’t stop smiling. My cheeks ached, but I didn’t care. There was this flurry in my chest, butterflies knocking at my ribs, and I couldn’t tell if it was the way his shoulder brushed mine or the way the sun caught in his hair.

Part of me wanted to reach out, just to hold onto this moment a little tighter. Walking with him like this—side by side, unhurried—felt strangely natural. Like something I could get used to. Like something I wanted to get used to.

Just then, an orange cat trotted into our path like it was part of the scene, tail flicking lazily in the air.

Matt crouched instinctively, reaching out to scratch behind its ears, murmuring something I couldn’t hear. And there it was—that feeling again.

From this angle, with the light hitting his face just so, with his hand gently stroking the cat’s fur, he looked so effortlessly kind. So him. My heart gave a quiet little lurch, like it couldn’t help itself.

I almost didn’t want to say anything. I wanted to stay in this exact moment—him, me, the fading sun, the quiet.

But I had to ask. 

I glanced at him, and before I could overthink it, the words slipped out.

“Hey,” I said, a little hesitant, “I was thinking of going to the basketball game tomorrow. You wanna come?”

He looked up at me, his expression lighting up as if I’d just suggested we fly to the moon.

“Perfect timing,” he said, slinging his bag higher on his shoulder, that easy, familiar grin tugging at his lips. “I was going to ask you if you could go.”

That caught me off guard.

“You were?” I asked, laughing a little as I tilted my head.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, playing it cool, but the way he avoided my eyes told me he wasn’t nearly as nonchalant as he sounded.

My brows lifted. “Oh, you know someone from the team?”

“Yeah,” he said, tone light. “My neighbor’s playing. He’s been bugging me to go for days.”

A quiet pause settled between us, a few leaves crunching under our shoes as we kept walking.

“How about you?” he added, glancing at me sideways.

“My childhood friend is going to be there,” I said, keeping my voice calm even though just saying the words brought a small tangle of emotions. Just him echoing in my mind made me feel like I was stepping toward something I wasn’t ready to define.

Matt’s eyes flickered with interest, but he didn’t press. He just nodded once.

“So we’re going together then,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I looked at him, the way he smiled like there was no hesitation, no question in his mind that this was right.

And just like that, the butterflies returned—fluttering louder, stronger, but not entirely from excitement this time.

There was something else in the mix. Something I couldn’t name yet. Something just beginning to stir.

The next day, after classes slipped away into late afternoon, a buzz of excitement clung to my skin like static. The basketball tournament. It was finally here.

But more than the game, more than the hype pulsing through the school corridors all week—it was the idea of going there with Matt that made my heart race. The way we kept gravitating toward each other lately, like invisible strings were drawing us closer, step by step, moment by moment. I couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too—the slow shift from casual to something else. Something quieter, deeper.

We walked toward the gym side by side, and without even trying, our steps fell into rhythm. We’d gotten used to this. To us. There was a comfort in it I hadn’t expected—like the universe had adjusted around our pace. Our matching bracelets swung in time, little reminders of something simple yet quietly meaningful between us. The silver of mine caught the light, and I saw his glint too, just beside me.

The moment we stepped into the gym, it hit us—the atmosphere buzzing, almost electric. The scent of polished wood and popcorn. Sneakers squeaking in sharp bursts. Referee whistles slicing through the air. The bleachers were packed with students, faces painted in school colors, their cheers swelling like waves.

It was chaotic in the best way.

Matt’s gaze found the court too, sharp and searching. I watched him, wondering what he was looking for. Wondering if he could feel the pulse of tension I hadn’t named yet, the quiet storm I was bringing with me into this gym without even meaning to.

I found myself scanning the court instinctively as well, eyes adjusting to the movement and noise.

And there he was.

Knox Elliott

He moved like a storm trapped in skin, powerful, focused, impossible to ignore. The way he handled the ball was pure poetry. Every move was fluid, like he wasn’t just playing the game—he was the game. And when he made that shot, a three-pointer from the wing, the crowd exploded. He didn’t react with arrogance—just a quiet, self-assured smile as he jogged back, already thinking three steps ahead.

I couldn’t help it. My heart did that little stutter it always did when he was near.

After the final buzzer declared their win, the team spilled onto the court in a burst of triumphant noise. Knox broke from the group, still riding the high of the game, and strode toward us with that familiar grin.

“You see that? I was pretty cool, right?” he said, eyes locking onto mine like he hadn’t seen me in years.

“You were incredible,” I admitted, trying to sound casual, even though my voice felt too light, like I wasn’t fully grounded.

Then his attention drifted to Matt, standing comfortably at my side.

“Hey, Matt! Glad you could make it to the game,” he said with a nod, then looked between the two of us. “So, this is Melanie... wait.” His words slowed. “You two know each other?”

There was a pause—a beat where the world felt too quiet. Knox’s gaze dropped, catching the matching bracelets. The playful glint in his eyes dulled. His smile faltered, pulled downward by something heavier.

I saw the moment it clicked.

His brows knit together, eyes flicking from Matt’s relaxed expression to mine, searching. Trying to make sense of this version of me—the one who had come to cheer him on, yet stood beside someone else. It was a sight that felt unfamiliar to him, like a detail out of place in a picture he thought he knew.

“Livi,” Matt said, suddenly filling the silence, “This is my neighbor I was telling you about.”

It hung there, the line between familiarity and distance. Between Knox and Matt’s neighbor.

Knox didn’t say anything. He just looked at me.

And I could feel everything we hadn’t said stretching between us like the space between the basket and the three-point line—far enough to miss, close enough to regret.

That was the moment he truly saw us—not just standing side by side, but together.