The new semester came in hotter than anyone expected not just because of the weather, but because of the huge tornado between Devon and Kylie. After the fight with Raya, the drama on the court, and the school media team being disbanded, both students were back on campus, but something between them had shifted. The stares, the whispers, and the quick glances in the hallways… it all piled up like storm clouds. Devon felt it when he jogged past the dorm blocks and heard someone mutter "lover boy." Kylie felt it when she walked into class and the room went silent for half a second too long.
Still, they hadn't spoken. Not really.
"Dev, you good?" one of his teammates called during morning drills, voice echoing off the brick walls of the gymnasium.
He dribbled hard and tossed the ball up, missing the hoop completely. It clanked off the rim, rattling him out of his thoughts. "Yeah, just tired," he replied, forcing a grin as he wiped sweat from his brow. But it wasn't exhaustion. Since Kylie had told him they needed distance, he'd felt something inside him crack quietly, painfully, like a hidden fissure in ice.
Meanwhile, Kylie was trying to keep her head down in class. Her grades had to stay sharp, especially with her parents watching her every move after the court incident. They hadn't blamed her but that was worse: the fragile, watchful pride in their eyes made her feel like a bomb waiting to go off.
During gym warm-ups, Kim knelt to retie her shoelaces beside Kylie's locker. "Maybe just avoid Devon," she whispered, glancing at the court. "You're clearly still into him."
Kylie slammed her locker shut. "I'm not." Her voice cracked. "I'm just… sorting my head out."
"Mmhmm," Chloe teased from across the hall. She tossed her hair over one shoulder. "Sorting your heart, more like."
Kylie forced a laugh, but it felt hollow even to her ears.
Across campus, Devon tried to focus on the next drill. But between each set, his mind replayed that last moment with Kylie: her shoulders stiff, her eyes sharp, the way she'd called him "Devon" instead of "Dev" as though she were talking to a stranger.
It all came to a head that afternoon in PE. The coach, in a fit of randomness, paired them on the same relay team. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder at the starting line, breathing the same humid air, they each braced themselves—like two magnets forced too close, repelling.
When Kylie passed the baton, their fingers brushed. It felt electric, but not romantic—more like a shock from a live wire. She jerked her hand away, and Devon nearly tripped trying to take off.
After the whistle blew and they'd finished last, Kylie turned to leave but stopped dead at a familiar voice.
"Hey, Kylie." Devon's tone was low, hesitant.
She froze, hands tightening on her gym bag straps.
"You ever gonna talk to me again?"
She didn't answer immediately. Every passersby went mute; the hum of the gym seemed to fade. Finally, she faced him. "We're talking now, aren't we?"
Devon gave a dry laugh. "Nah. This is just passing words. That's not us."
Her chest tightened. "Maybe there is no us."
He took a step closer, and for the first time, his voice wavered. "Then what was that? All of it training after classes, those late-night calls, you showing up to my birthday party…" He hesitated on the last word. "What was that?"
Kylie bit her lip, folding her arms. "Don't make it sound like I crashed it."
He sighed, exasperated. "I didn't mean it like that. I just mean… we had something. Right? I don't even know what it was, but it was real. Felt real."
She closed her eyes for a heartbeat. When she opened them, they glistened—just enough to betray her calm. "It was something. But maybe it's not what we thought."
Devon drew in a slow breath, as if bracing against the blast of a cold wind. "So what now?"
She swallowed. "I don't know, Devon. You said it yourself dude, rumors, fights, pressure. Maybe we were just each other's break from the mess. Nothing more."
He nodded once. "Cool."
They stood in silence for too long, the buzzing overhead lights suddenly loud. Then Kylie turned and walked away, shoulders trembling with everything she wasn't saying. Devon didn't stop her this time.
Back in her dorm, Kylie flopped onto her bed, textbooks spilling around her like fallen leaves. Her heart thundered against her ribs, as if she'd sprinted a mile instead of marched across the court.
Petrina peeked in. "You good?"
Kylie buried her face in her pillow. "Define good."
"Talked to him?"
Kylie lifted her head. "Yup."
"And?"
She let out a bitter laugh. "And it sucked."
Meanwhile, Devon paced his apartment, an empty loft strewn with basketball shoes and protein shakes. He collapsed onto the couch, phone in hand, fingers hovering over Kylie's name. He wanted to call, to message, to rewind time and change everything. But the screen stayed blank until at last he locked it, letting the darkness swallow his hope.
Neither of them knew what they wanted anymore. Not friendship. Not a relationship. Not enemies. Just… something else. Something they couldn't name yet.
And maybe that's what love was: something unfinished, a question mark stalking your heart late at night, something you almost had but were never sure you wanted to keep.
They both lay awake that night, wondering if the strange ache inside was hatred… or something far more complicated.
But one thing felt certain: neither of them would walk away untouched with this thing they feel.
As the clock ticked toward midnight, both Devon and Kylie stared at their dark ceilings from opposite ends of campus. No texts. No calls. Just silence and the question they were too afraid to answer. What if love wasn't what they needed right now? What if understanding each other… was already more than most people ever got?