Missed Match

Mia slumped in the hard plastic chair, her gaze fixed on the empty basketball court below. The distant echoes of warm-up drills and the excited buzz of an arriving crowd filtered through the detention room's high window, a painful soundtrack to the match she was missing. Her jaw clenched. Three hours of this, all thanks to Kris.

"I can't believe this," she muttered, the frustration thick in her voice. "I promised James I'd be there. He's probably already warming up."

A heavy knot of disappointment twisted in her stomach. James had been buzzing about this game all week, and Mia had promised to be in the front row, ready to cheer him on. Missing his big moment, a direct consequence of Kris's infuriating arrogance, directly hit something she valued deeply.

The detention door creaked open, and Mia's head snapped up. It was James, already in his basketball jersey, a gym bag slung over his shoulder, his hair damp from a pre-game shower. Relief, sharp and sudden, flooded through her.

He walked over, his eyes warm and understanding as he gently squeezed her shoulder. "Hey," he said softly, his voice full of reassurance. "Don't worry about it. It hasn't started yet. I just came to check on you during my break."

Mia's eyes brimmed with gratitude. "But I really wanted to be there for you."

"I know," James interrupted, squeezing her hand. "And I appreciate it more than you know. But Kris is enough trouble as it is. You being stuck here isn't your fault. I get it. Really. Go kill that English essay when you get out."

Her shoulders relaxed slightly. "Thank you, James. I really appreciate it."

He gave her a comforting nod. "Anytime, Mia. You know I've got your back. Always. Now, I gotta go. Wish me luck!" He flashed a quick, hopeful grin before heading out.

When the bell finally rang, releasing her from detention, Mia walked directly to the library, James's understanding words echoing in her mind. Despite the constant clashes, the infuriating presence of Kris Windsor, and the setbacks they caused, James was her unwavering anchor. He understood. He supported.

As she reluctantly pulled out a thick, dog-eared textbook from the bottom of her cluttered backpack, a heavy sigh escaped her lips. The sheer weight of the assignments she had procrastinated for days—maybe even weeks—hung over her like a storm cloud ready to burst. Pages rustled as she flipped through the chapters, each one a reminder of the work she'd put off, each paragraph a small mountain to climb. The room was quiet except for the faint ticking of the clock and the occasional creak of the old wooden chair she was curled up in.

Yet, in the stillness of that moment, something unexpected settled in her chest—not panic, not regret, but a strange kind of comfort. It surprised her, really. Because despite the disarray of her academic life and the emotional chaos that seemed to constantly swirl around her—especially the whirlwind named Kris—she didn’t feel entirely alone.

No matter how much confusion or unpredictability Kris brought with him, there was a steady presence underneath it all. A shared glance, an inside joke, a text message at just the right time. It wasn’t grand or dramatic. It was subtle, like a hand reaching out in the dark, reminding her that someone was there. Someone who saw her, who stayed, even when things got messy.

And that realization, small and unspoken as it was, felt like a quiet kind of victory. Not the kind you shouted from rooftops or posted about online, but the kind that warmed your bones on a cold evening—the kind that whispered, You’re not alone in this. And somehow, that made all the difference.

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