The fading light of Saturday dusk filtered weakly through the high glass windows of Moonstone Academy's indoor basketball court, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floor. Adam dribbled the ball with steady precision, the thud of rubber against wood echoing softly in the near-empty hall. His breaths came slow but deliberate, sweat tracing rivulets down his forehead as he moved through practiced shooting drills. Repetition was his refuge.
But today, the usual rhythm was broken by a gnawing frustration settling deep in his chest.
Yesterday's tryout replayed vividly in his mind, an uneasy montage of missed shots, hesitant passes, and the coach's cool, appraising stare. Adam had thought skill alone would speak for him. That his street-honed instincts and raw talent would be enough to earn him a spot on the basketball team. But Moonstone's players weren't just good, they were the kind of elite who could make the jump straight to Division 1, some even eyed by NBA scouts.
He was not there yet.
The coach's words echoed bluntly, "I'll give you a trial run. But you've got to improve. If you don't, you'll have to find another club." The ultimatum stung worse than any missed shot. He was facing the uncomfortable truth, he had a mountain to climb.
Adam shook the thoughts loose as he paused to catch his breath, ball resting on his fingertips. His eyes drifted to the clipboard on the bench, the one he had handed back yesterday after selecting his clubs. Basketball was the first choice, of course, but alongside it, the archery and marksman clubs. The secretary had smiled, calling it a solid combination, but even that sounded like faint praise.
He glanced downcourt, scanning the empty seats and echoing silence. Most students were home for the weekend, some tucked away in dorms, others scattered in classrooms or the auditorium watching films. It was the kind of stillness that made the court feel like a world apart.
That's when a soft, barely audible sound caught his attention—a quiet footstep, almost too light to be real, from the entrance behind him. Adam's head turned smoothly, muscles tensed, eyes sharp. He spotted Luna standing just inside the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with a distant, unreadable expression.
Her presence was a surprise. Despite the near silence of her arrival, Adam's senses, fine-tuned beyond most, had caught her instantly. The flicker of surprise crossed Luna's face briefly, like she hadn't expected him to notice.
He took a slow breath, forcing calm into his voice. "Hey. You into basketball?"
Luna's response was curt, cold even, as she stepped further into the light. "Not really," she said flatly, her gaze slipping past him to the court beyond. "Not interested."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away, her footsteps silent as she left the room as quietly as she had entered. The emptiness she left behind settled heavily on Adam's shoulders.
He sighed, watching her disappear, the disappointment sinking deep. This wasn't the easy connection he'd hoped for. No shared enthusiasm, no spark. Just a chilly distance.
Adam returned to his drills, each shot a little harder, every rebound a reminder that this was only the beginning. He had to prove himself, not just to the coach or the team, but to himself. To show that he belonged here, that he could rise to the challenge.
His mind wandered briefly to his father, Austin Greene. The man who had taught him to fight, to aim, to never back down. Their training sessions had been tough but filled with lessons, Krav Maga moves honed with precision, hours at the shooting range learning to steady his aim, quiet afternoons with a bow and arrow guided by his late grandfather's steady hand. Adam was strong, a good marksman and fighter, but basketball demanded something else. Agility, teamwork, finesse.
That gap between where he was and where he wanted to be felt wide, almost insurmountable.
But he was stubborn. Determined.
The sun dipped lower, shadows thickening as the evening stretched on. The court's silence was a stark contrast to the pounding in his chest, the fire of ambition mingling with the ache of doubt. He'd come here to chase a future that felt uncertain but necessary.
And so, with a steadying breath, Adam bounced the ball once more, ready to face whatever came next.
Meanwhile, the dusky orange light of Saturday evening melted into a deep indigo sky, casting a tranquil shadow over the garden club balcony. The distant chatter of students heading to the auditorium for the movie night was faint, muffled behind the double-paned glass doors. Outside, the only sounds were the occasional chirp of a cricket and the subtle rustle of the garden's potted leaves in the wind.
Bryce and Aiva lay entangled in the soft fabric of the hammock bed beside the trellised wall of vines and flowers. The sheets were loosely draped across them, their skin still dewy with the aftermath of the intense moment they shared. Aiva's cheek rested on Bryce's bare chest, her fingers tracing lazy circles around the faint lines of his abs. Bryce's chest rose and fell slowly, and he tilted his head back against the woven mesh, catching his breath with a satisfied smirk.
"You're staring again," Aiva whispered, lips brushing against his collarbone, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Bryce grinned wider, the warmth of his gaze soaking her in like sunlight. "Can you blame me? You're kind of... breathtaking."
Aiva flushed, cheeks tinged rose as she pulled the sheet a little higher to cover herself. Her hazel eyes; soft, wild, and endlessly thoughtful, locked with his for a moment. Then she rolled her eyes, laughing lightly. "You're ridiculous."
"Only for you."
He leaned down and captured her lips again, slower this time, the kiss heavy with affection, with history. Their bodies molded together effortlessly, comfortably. Familiarity born a year of trust and shared memories. When they pulled apart, Bryce reached for his T-shirt thrown carelessly on a garden chair, tugging it on over his tousled hair.
"Sorry I haven't been by the garden much lately," he said, raking his fingers through the mess. "I know this place means a lot to you."
Aiva adjusted herself upright, tucking the blanket across her chest, her expression unreadable. "It's fine," she said. "You come for me anyway, not the flowers."
Bryce chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. "Guilty as charged."
But her thoughts drifted elsewhere. She didn't say it aloud, but it wasn't fine. The garden was her sanctuary—her quiet place to feel grounded, and lately, it felt like even that space was being invaded by questions she couldn't answer.
"Those assholes from the chem lab," Bryce said, more serious now, "they bother you again?"
Aiva shook her head. "No. They've been… quiet."
"Good."
She glanced up at him. "I still don't understand how they got suspended. What exactly did you report?"
Bryce's eyes flickered for just a fraction too long. Then he shrugged casually. "They're troublemakers. It was bound to happen. I just sped things up a little."
The lie slid off his tongue with practiced ease, but in his mind, he recalled every step he took to make it happen, anonymous tips, perfectly timed false evidence, pulling just the right strings so the trio wouldn't even know where the blow came from. They'd been silenced neatly. Efficiently.
Aiva offered a half-smile in return. "Well, thank you. For whatever it was."
He leaned in again and brushed a kiss against her forehead. "Always."
After a final embrace and a kiss that lingered longer than usual, Bryce stood. "I've gotta go prep for tonight's match. But I'll meet you at the movie later, yeah?"
"I'll be there."
As he passed the plants near the balcony's edge, something caught his attention. Strange symbols had been etched faintly along the side of one ceramic pot—barely noticeable unless you were looking closely. Bryce squinted at it, brows furrowed.
"What's that?" he asked.
Aiva blinked, following his gaze. "What?"
"On the flowerpot. Those markings."
"Oh, those." She shrugged lightly. "Just some designs I found interesting. Artistic stuff."
Bryce nodded slowly, eyes lingering on it for a beat longer than necessary. "I like it. Adds character."
He leaned over and kissed her again, this time whispering, "I love you," before slipping through the garden club door.
Aiva stood there a moment, arms wrapped loosely around herself. "Love you too," she called faintly, but there was a pause before the words came out.
The door clicked shut.
She let the silence fall over her like a weighted blanket.
Even though she loved him, even though he had once saved her, something about Bryce always left her on edge now. She didn't know what it was, but the feeling was strong, unshakable. It wasn't paranoia. It wasn't fear. It was…
Incomplete.
She looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. Her fingers traced invisible lines across her skin, thoughts swirling. It had been three years since she met him. It was a year since he found her on this very balcony, standing at the edge, trembling, ready to let go of it all.
She had transferred into Moonstone Academy mid-term. Small, shy, and vulnerable. And the bullies could smell it. The relentless ridicule. The name-calling. The social isolation. The whispers. She had taken it all, bottled it up until she was full to the brim.
She remembered the cold wind biting her cheeks as she stood barefoot on the edge, tears blurring her vision. Her knuckles white around the wrought-iron railing.
And then—
A voice. "Hey!"
She turned just enough to see Bryce standing at the entrance to the balcony, his face unreadable. He didn't yell. Didn't run.
He just walked up to her, slow, careful, deliberate, and took her hand. His voice was gentle but firm.
"Come down from there."
She didn't remember how long they stood like that. Seconds? Minutes? But when she finally stepped back, Bryce didn't speak. He just hugged her. Held her like she wasn't broken. Like she wasn't weak. Like she was human.
He didn't ask questions. He didn't tell anyone. He just stayed.
And that's when she fell.
She let the memory fade, tears stinging the corners of her eyes.
She was grateful. She loved him. But love wasn't enough to push away the doubt. The sense that something was being hidden. That maybe the boy who once saved her heart was hiding a shadow of his own.
Aiva looked out at the sunset, its colors bleeding together like watercolors in the wind. The plants swayed gently. The markings on the pot shimmered faintly in the fading light, like they were whispering something only she could hear.
And for the first time, she wondered:
Was she the only one keeping secrets?
Or was she simply too close to see his?
The wind swept in again, colder this time.