The hallway buzzed like usual. Students moved in clusters, laughter bouncing off lockers. But Raven walked through like a storm in disguise — hair tied up, sleeves rolled, sneakers ready.
She reached the basketball court, head high, spine straighter than her will. The boys were already there, warming up. Chris stood on the far end, spinning the ball lazily, laughing at something one of his teammates said.
He hadn't noticed her yet.
She stepped onto the court like she belonged there — because she did. Every pair of eyes turned, but she only cared about one.
Chris.
He turned.
Their eyes locked.
Something unreadable passed through his a flicker, a shift. But Raven? She didn't flinch. She just smirked.
Coach raised a brow. "You sure you wanna play today?"
She nodded. "Put me in, sir. I'm done sitting on the sidelines."
Chris scoffed under his breath, tossing the ball to his teammate. "This'll be fun."
______________________
/Time skip to the match/
squeaky sneakers, a couple scattered cheers from the bleachers, and the thick tension of a casual game that didn't feel casual at all.
Junior vs. Senior match.
A tradition. A joke.
Except Raven wasn't laughing.
She tightened her ponytail, dribbled once, and stared across the court.
There he was.
Chris.
Number 10. Senior team.
He hadn't looked at her once.
She hadn't stopped watching him.
Not because she missed him.
But because she refused to let him see her break.
The ref tossed the ball up. The game began.
Raven wasn't playing like it was a friendly. She moved with sharp purpose, like every pass, every layup, was stitched with anger and unspoken words. She wasn't just dodging defenders, she was dodging memories. The kind that came with birthdays and breakups and all the silence in between.
At one point, they collided, shoulders brushing, eyes locking for a second too long.
"You still play dirty," she muttered under her breath.
"You still talk too much," he said, almost amused.
But she was already gone, sprinting down the court.
Juniors were up by 3. Raven was on fire! not because she needed to win, but because losing to him felt worse than heartbreak.
During a timeout, she sat on the bench, towel over her face, chest rising and falling fast.
"You okay?" her teammate asked.
Raven nodded.
Lied.
Inside, she was boiling.
Because he was still here. Still pretending. Still acting like he hadn't shattered her and walked away like it meant nothing.
And worst part? He was smiling. Joking with his teammates. Like this was just a game.
"He doesn't get to laugh while I bleed," she whispered to herself.
Second half began.
And this time — Raven didn't just play.
She owned the court.
Spin move. Layup. Steal. Assist. Another point. Another glance at him. And then...
A stare. Straight in his eyes.
No words.
Just this unspoken message:
I'm not yours anymore. I never needed you to be great.
And she turned away before he could look hurt.
____________________
Third quarter.
The tide turned.
Raven felt it, not just in the scoreboard, but in the energy. Seniors moved sharper, faster, like they had a fire lit under them.
Chris… he stopped smiling.
Now he was focused.
Possession after possession, the seniors clawed their way back. A fast break. A three-pointer. A perfectly timed block that had the juniors gasping.
Raven scowled. She wasn't mad they were catching up.
She was mad he was leading it.
Chris had always known how to read her game. The way she shifted her weight before a pass. The slight hesitation before a crossover. He knew her rhythm, and now
He was using it against her.
"You're predictable," he said, after stealing the ball mid-dribble and sinking a clean jumper.
She clenched her jaw.
"You're still a coward," she fired back.
Their teammates barely noticed the storm brewing between the lines but every play, every glance, was heavy.
It wasn't just basketball anymore.
It was grief, betrayal, memory.
All of it, on court.
The seniors tied it. 42-42.
Crowd went wild. But for Raven, the noise faded into static.
She stood near the center line, breathing hard, heart pounding.
Chris was across from her. Hands on his knees. Eyes never leaving her.
He smirked.
"I thought you'd quit basketball after everything."
Her fists clenched.
"I thought you'd grow a spine after breaking me."
And then the whistle blew. Final quarter.
Raven didn't blink. Didn't flinch.
She walked back to her spot.
Let him come back. Let him think he's winning.
She was about to remind him:
Queens don't fold.
They reign.
____________________
Timeout.
Final two minutes. Score tied.
Raven's team huddled up, but she didn't come in.
She was on the far end of the court, doubled over, one hand on her knee, the other gripping her stomach like something was wrong.
Chris noticed first.
The way her body shook—not from exhaustion, but like she was trying to stay upright.
Like something was cracking beneath the surface.
She stood straight too fast.
Staggered.
Collapsed to one knee.
"Raven!" her teammate shouted. Everyone turned.
Chris's heart dropped.
Not because she was losing the game.
But because she never dropped. Never showed weakness.
And now, she looked—
Pale.
Dizzy.
Gone somewhere else in her head.
He took a step forward.
Didn't even realize it.
Didn't care what it looked like.
"Someone check on her!" a coach yelled.
But Chris was already walking.
And in that moment—nothing else mattered.
Not the points. Not the grudge. Not the silence they'd wrapped around themselves for months.
Just her.
Breathing heavy.
Eyes unfocused.
Falling forward—
And he reached out—
Before it all went dark.
→ "Some things you don't stop caring about… no matter how much you pretend."