The gym smells like fresh polish and adrenaline.
Ami's heartbeat thuds in her chest as she steps onto the court. Coaches line the side. Students fill the bleachers. The team captain reads off names with a bored drawl. One whistle, and it all begins.
She's not here to impress. She's here to release.
Basketball is her language — and today, she's fluent.
First move: crossover — snatches ankles.Stepback — splash.No-look pass — clean.Fast break — she floats, wind in her lungs — dunk.
Time slows.
Her braids fly as she lands. Sweat glistens on her skin. A few girls in the stands let out soft gasps. Phones come out. She's a storm they didn't see coming.
But three pairs of eyes watch her differently.
From the sidelines:
Luna, tall and composed, sipping from a water bottle like she owns the place. Her dark lipstick doesn't smudge even when she smirks.
Vee, leaning against the wall in paint-stained jeans, head tilted, lips parted like she's studying art.
Samira, arms folded, face unreadable — but her eyes follow Ami with laser focus.
They exchange a look. A small nod.Like predators clocking a new animal in their territory.
Ami sees them. And for half a second, her rhythm slips.
Vee's smile deepens.Samira's eyebrow lifts.Luna just stares — unblinking.
Snap back.
Ami pushes harder, driving, defending, sweating through her shirt. The coach's clipboard fills up with stars.
But in the middle of all the noise, something else simmers.
Not just admiration.
Not just competition.
Something curious. Unspoken. Warm.
After the final whistle, Ami sits on the bench, catching her breath, towel around her neck.
She catches Vee's eye across the court. Vee winks.Ami swallows hard and looks away.
She's confused.Curious.A little turned on.
But she shuts it down. Hard.
"Just ball," she mutters to herself. "Focus."
But the way her skin tingles…It's not just from the game.