The gym was quiet that night, empty except for the hollow echo of a basketball slamming against the floor. Bryant dribbled hard, driving toward the hoop and dunking with a frustrated growl. The rim rattled, but it did nothing to ease the fire in his chest.
He dropped the ball and leaned against the wall, sweat dripping down his temples. His phone buzzed in his pocket. For a moment, hope flared. Maybe it was Brooklyn.
It wasn't. Just a teammate sending a meme.
Bryant closed his eyes, running a hand over his face. He hated this feeling—waiting, knowing exactly where she was, knowing exactly who she was with. Mani.
At dinner.
The thought twisted like a knife.
He tried to convince himself it didn't matter. Brooklyn wasn't his girlfriend. She had every right to say yes to Mani, to go out with whoever she wanted. But deep down, the thought of her sitting across a candlelit table, smiling at Mani, letting him make her laugh—
It tore him apart.
He grabbed the ball again, dribbling with raw anger, each slam of rubber against the hardwood echoing his heartbeat. He thought of Mani's smug smile, the roses, the way the campus buzzed about his grand gestures like he was some kind of prince.
But Brooklyn wasn't some prize to be won.
She was… Brooklyn.
The girl who laughed softly when she read something funny in her notes. The girl who chewed her pen cap when she was nervous during study sessions. The girl who, just last night, looked at him in the quiet glow of the fountain and made him feel like he wasn't just another guy on campus.
He wanted to be enough for her. And the idea that she might choose Mani—loud, flashy Mani—made him feel like maybe he never could be.
Bryant stopped mid-dribble, the ball rolling away. He sank onto the bench, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
Why did he even care this much? He had never fought this hard for anyone before. Usually, girls liked him without effort. He didn't chase, didn't beg.
But Brooklyn… she was different.
She made him want to try.
His phone buzzed again. This time, it was Amanda. The text was short, blunt:
"Don't spiral. She went to dinner, but it's not what you think."
Bryant stared at the screen, heart pounding. How could Amanda possibly know what he was thinking?
He typed back quickly: "She told you?"
A pause. Then Amanda's reply: "Not yet. But trust me, Brooklyn's not the type to be swept away by flowers and pasta. Mani's pushing too hard. Just… wait for her."
Bryant exhaled slowly, gripping the phone like it was his only lifeline.
Wait for her.
He leaned back against the wall, staring at the gym ceiling. Waiting had never felt this excruciating. But if Amanda was right—if Brooklyn really wasn't falling for Mani's charm—then maybe, just maybe, he still had a chance.
And this time, he wouldn't let it slip away.