Elias, a half-Greek, half-Swiss man with soft hair falling in his eyes, always ready with a clumsy grin.
He first sees her on a winter afternoon in Geneva. Campus is half-empty, students drifting in scarves and laughter. But she, the girl on the outdoor basketball court, stands alone, jacket unzipped, dribbling under the gray sky like it's the only thing that keeps her warm.
She shoots.
Misses.
Shoots again.
Hits.
Pushes her hair back with the back of her wrist, eyes focusing only on the hoop, starting to gather at her feet.
Shoots again and scores.
Elias standing by the fence did not realize that the coffee in his hand has gone cold.
Something about her makes him pause - like he's watching someone fight a storm with nothing but bare hands and a ball.
He couldn't speak to her that day. He didn't even dare to wave. But the demand to know her name lodges somewhere deep under his ribs.