I barely slept last night. My brain was a spinning carousel of moments—his laugh, his words, the brush of his fingers when he took that note. I curled under the blanket, wishing I could pause my mind the way I paused a video.
Next morning, college resumed its usual chaos. I sat in one of the empty rooms for breakfast, spooning cereal into my mouth half-mindedly. That's when I saw him—Danny. On the basketball court. His friends surrounded him, laughing and tossing the ball around. The girls on the bleachers were practically drooling, squealing his name like they were in a boyband concert.
But he didn't even glance at them.
His golden hair shimmered under the morning sun, bouncing perfectly every time he leapt. His abs flexed when he caught the ball mid-air, sending waves of chaos to my already overworked brain. I blinked. Inappropriate thoughts crept up like uninvited guests.
I immediately shut the door on them. Nope. Not today.
Later, in the library, we resumed our project. Danny sat beside me, leaning over the table, pen spinning effortlessly between his fingers.
"You play really well," I said casually. "Basketball. Since when?"
"About a year," he replied, not looking up from the page.
My brows lifted. "Only a year? You're seriously good.
"Why, do u wanna learn? " He said smiling still focused on his work.
"Maybe" I said trying to play cool.
He looked up, smirking. "with those hands of yours,I doubt you'd even hold the ball properly."
My expression must've dropped, because his smirk softened.
"Don't do that face," he said, sighing with mock annoyance. "Fine. We'll play for a bit after we finish this. But don't blame me when you trip over your own feet."
We finished our work quickly and headed to the court. The late afternoon light made everything feel like a scene out of a movie. He tossed me the ball with a grin.
"Alright, nerd. I'll give you a head start."
"Stop calling me that."
"Earn your nickname then."
I bounced the ball a few times before it escaped my grip like a rebellious child. He laughed—a dry, throaty sound that felt far too intimate for public ears.
I threw the ball at him in mock irritation. "If you're so clever, show me how it's done."
He caught it in one smooth move and made a shot like he was born for it.
"Damn," I muttered. "That was impressive. Can you teach me that move?"
"Sure," he said, stepping closer. "But it won't come for free."
"I can pay you?"
That laugh again—deep and amused. "Not money, hun. I'll think of something else."
My heart stuttered.
Then came the lesson.
"Elbow in, and now aim," he instructed, guiding my stance with his hand lightly on my elbow.
I tried. And failed. Again and again.
We played around with it—he started dodging my shots, clearly not taking it seriously, and I couldn't help laughing. I tried pushing him, but he didn't even flinch.
He grinned. "That's all you got?"
Before I could respond, he caught my hands with his. My breath hitched at the sudden closeness. His palms were warm, steady.
"You need to stop flailing like a scared duck," he teased.
I made a face. "I am not flailing."
He chuckled, then gently adjusted my grip. "Alright, one last time. Let's do it together."
He stood behind me, hands over mine, and we aimed.
The ball flew, sailed cleanly into the net.
I jumped with a laugh. "We did it!"
Danny grinned and pulled me into a spontaneous hug. His arms wrapped around me, strong and secure.
"You're not so bad when you try," he whispered near my ear.
I hugged back, cheeks blazing, but the dim lights hopefully shielded the red.
Just before parting, he leaned close again, breath grazing my skin. "You look cute when you blush."
Then, with one last grin, he turned and walked off, leaving me staring at the court like a girl in a daydream.
I stayed rooted, heart sprinting, mind spinning.
And this time, I didn't try to stop the thoughts.