Chapter 2 - The Girl Who Wasn't Afraid

---

The gym had always felt cold—like a place of discipline, competition, and quiet echoes.

But now, it felt different.

It felt like a page waiting to be written.

And I was walking straight into the first sentence.

---

I pushed open the door, heartbeat steady but expectant. He was there. Of course, he was. Always earlier than everyone else.

Zayen stood with his back to me, adjusting the grip tape on his racket. There was a soft layer of light touching his shoulders from the high windows—like even the sun was curious about him.

He didn’t turn when I entered.

But I knew he noticed.

Somehow, he always did.

I stretched quietly in the corner. There was no greeting, no words. Yet somehow, the air felt full of meaning. It wasn’t silence; it was understanding.

He dropped a shuttlecock onto the floor and began serving it to the wall. Perfect form. Rhythmic precision. He didn’t play to impress anyone. He played because it was his language.

And for some reason, I wanted to learn how to speak it.

---

The shuttle rebounded. He caught it without looking. Then, without any signal or smile, he served it—right to me.

It landed softly near my foot.

An invitation. Again.

I looked up, and for the first time, Zayen held my gaze a little longer. Still unreadable, still distant—but no longer shutting me out.

I picked up the shuttle and stepped onto the court.

“Ready?” I asked. My voice wasn’t loud, but it didn’t tremble.

He gave the faintest nod.

The game began.

---

It wasn’t intense. It wasn’t about points. It was... thoughtful.

He adjusted to me, but not in a way that made me feel small. He challenged me gently. Encouraged rhythm. Responded without words.

I couldn’t help but watch the way his expression shifted slightly between shots—focus, softness, restraint. He wasn’t trying to win. He was listening.

Every hit felt like a sentence.

Every pause, a breath.

We weren’t talking. We were communicating.

---

Halfway through, I missed a return. The shuttle fell between us, and we both lunged to pick it up. Our fingers brushed.

He looked at me. Directly. For a beat longer than necessary.

I didn’t flinch. Neither did he.

Something invisible passed between us in that second—a flicker of something almost vulnerable.

Then he stood and stepped back. Not coldly. Just carefully.

---

By the time the rest of the team arrived, we were back on opposite sides of the court. As if nothing had happened.

But everything had.

After practice, I stayed behind to help collect the equipment. Most of the others were already gone when I heard footsteps.

I turned.

Zayen stood near the rackets, holding my water bottle.

“You forgot this.”

His voice was low. Deep. Still carrying that strange calm.

“Oh. Thanks.” I reached out to take it, and again—our fingers touched. This time, neither of us moved away immediately.

I met his eyes. They weren’t cold at all.

They were quiet. And kind.

---

“Do you always stay this late?” he asked.

I blinked. Not because of the question, but because he asked it.

“I like the quiet,” I said. “It’s easier to think when everyone else is gone.”

He nodded slowly. “Same.”

And for a moment, we just stood there. In the stillness. No awkwardness. No pressure.

It felt... natural.

Then he turned to leave. But halfway through the door, he paused.

“You’re better than most of the juniors.”

I smiled, cheeks warm. “That a compliment?”

He didn’t smile, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

“You decide.”

---

That night, I lay in bed replaying the day.

The sound of rackets. The silence between us. The way he looked at me—not with interest, exactly. But with recognition.

Like he saw something in me worth understanding.

I opened my journal, flipping past empty pages until I found one that felt like the right space.

"Day 2 – The boy who speaks with his silence. And I think I’m starting to hear him."

---

The next morning, I walked into class feeling lighter. And strangely... brave.

Maybe I didn’t need him to talk to everyone. Maybe it meant something that he only talked to me.

In the cafeteria, people still whispered about Zayen.

“He’s so full of himself.”

“Did you see how he just ignored the whole team?”

“He’s definitely hiding something.”

I didn’t say anything. But inside, I thought—You’re all wrong.

They didn’t see the way he handed me that water bottle. They didn’t hear his quiet compliment. They didn’t feel the silence that hummed like music.

Zayen wasn’t scary. He was... misunderstood.

And I was beginning to understand him.

---

That afternoon, it rained.

Practice was almost cancelled, but Coach insisted we do light training indoors. Everyone complained.

Except him.

Except me.

We ended up in the storage room, helping organize old equipment. The lights flickered, the air smelled like dust and damp socks, but somehow, it felt like the coziest place in the school.

Zayen stood next to me, sorting shuttle tubes. Every now and then, his arm brushed mine.

I finally broke the quiet.

“Do you like playing?”

He paused, then looked at me.

“It’s the only place where I don’t have to explain myself.”

I smiled. “You don’t have to. You just... play.”

He glanced down, the ghost of a real smile playing on his lips.

“Exactly.”

---

By the end of the day, I was drenched from the rain, tired, and somehow happier than I had been in weeks.

Zayen walked beside me to the gate. Still silent. Still steady.

Before parting ways, he said softly, “Don’t forget your bottle this time.”

I laughed. “I won’t. But if I do, you’ll return it, right?”

He looked at me, one brow slightly raised.

“Only if you smile like that again.”

My heart skipped. Literally skipped.

He turned and walked off into the misty rain.

And I stood there, smiling like a fool.

Under a grey sky, I’d found something golden.

Not love. Not yet.

But a spark. A start.

A boy who everyone feared. And a girl who didn’t.

---

End of Chapter 2

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***