First message
The packed gym fades into familiar background noise.
He learned years ago to tune it all out—the pounding music, chanting students, squealing sneakers. Once the ball is in his hands, there is only the court. The next pass. The next shot. The next play.
“Cap!” a teammate calls, tossing him the inbound.
He catches it effortlessly.
Two minutes left. Tie game.
His favorite kind.
He crosses half court, eyes scanning the defense as his teammates shift into the play he’d already called.
Then…
His eyes wander.
Just for a second.
A girl standing near the gym entrance, tucked quietly among the crowd. She isn’t cheering or calling out.
Then she looks at him, just for a second.
And everything stops.
His chest tightens.
The ball beneath his hand suddenly feels unfamiliar.
He’s seen beautiful girls before.
This isn’t that.
His mind draws a blank.
“LUCA!”
The shout snaps him back.
Too late.
The defender steals the ball.
The opposing team races down the court, scoring an easy layup as their crowd erupts.
Coach’s whistle pierces the gym.
“Damn it, Vittorio!”
What…? He mutteres absently, his eyes drifting back toward the entrance, his pulse still refusing to settle.