She didn’t mean to stand.

  Her legs just moved. As if her voice came first, dragging everything else with it.

  “Hamari!”

  It was already in the air before she realized it came from her.

  She hadn’t planned on speaking—had barely said a full sentence since she arrived. Not to Eva, not to the girls behind them, not even to herself. But the moment he hit the floor, something inside her buckled.

  Not the kind of fall athletes make to draw a foul.

  Not the kind you pop back up from.

  This was different.

  It was the kind of fall that didn’t ask for permission.

  She had watched him all game.

  Not just his shots—his body. The way he moved. Every muscle like it knew its place. Every step cut with precision. There was no wasted energy, no swagger. Just quiet power, stripped down and locked in.

  His jersey stuck to his back, sweat soaking through, mapping the shape of his spine. His arms flexed with every drive. His hands—strong, fast, deliberate—commanded the ball like it was built for them.

  And when he rose up for a jumper—shoulders squared, biceps tense, chest high—something stirred in her belly. Heat. Deep and low.

  She shifted on the bleachers, crossing her legs, trying not to notice.

  But she was noticing. Everything. The way his jaw clenched. The smooth rhythm of his stride. That focus in his eyes, like he didn’t even know how good he looked.

  And then—God help her—came the thought.

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  What if he was that rough in other places?

  What if his hands moved like that on—

  She blinked hard, cheeks instantly burning.

  What the hell, Lina?

  Eva nudged her, saying something, but it didn’t register.

  She looked back to the court, pretending to stretch, pretending not to think about the way her body had reacted. It was stupid. He didn’t even know her name. And it wasn’t like she was that kind of girl. The flirty type. The fantasizing type.

  Except maybe… maybe for a second, she had been.

  But then—he fell.

  Hard. Sudden. Wrong.

  Her stomach dropped so fast it knocked the air out of her. The gym went still. Not the dramatic kind—just quiet. Everyone frozen. Watching.

  Hamari didn’t move.

  And just like that, all that low heat twisting in her belly turned cold.

  She didn’t think. She just stood.

  “Lina?” Eva whispered, confused. “You okay?”

  But her eyes were locked on him.

  Because he wasn’t just down. He looked… broken.

  He sat now, one shoulder cradled, pain cutting through the lines of his face. Not rage. Not defiance.

  Something else.

  Vulnerability.

  And she recognized it.

  That hollow, embarrassed ache of being seen—really seen—at your worst. She’d felt it before. When someone she trusted laughed too loud at the wrong thing. When her voice cracked and no one looked away. When her strength didn’t hold.

  That’s what she saw in Hamari now.

  Then came a voice. Low. Flat.

  “It’s over.”

  From the bench. She turned slightly.

  The same guy who’d yelled earlier—“That’s my bro!”—but this time, he sounded like he didn’t believe it himself.

  His face wasn’t angry. It was scared. Still.

  And that scared her.

  Because she hadn’t let herself think about what it all meant. About how bad it could be. She’d just been watching, feeling, wondering if he noticed her.

  But now, she wasn’t wondering. She was hurting.

  She looked back at Hamari.

  Wrapped in ice. Silent. Surrounded by teammates who didn’t know what to say. Elijah crouched next to him, quiet. Liam arguing with the ref. And the brother—maybe—head low like he already knew something no one else wanted to admit.

  Hamari’s eyes didn’t lift.

  Until she called him.

  “Hamari!”

  His head snapped up. Their eyes locked.

  And in that second, all of it—her embarrassment, her nerves, the heat she’d tried to bury—it disappeared.

  He looked at her like he saw her. Not just the girl in the bleachers. Her.

  His gaze softened. No confusion. No distance. Just… presence.

  Then he looked away.

  She didn’t know what it meant. Maybe nothing. Maybe her voice just broke through the noise.

  But the ache in her chest didn’t fade.

  And the way his eyes lingered—just for a heartbeat—

  Made her wonder if maybe…

  Just maybe…

  He’d felt it too.