𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ౨ৎ paige bueckers

𝐯. 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞

๛ ๋ ׅ ˖  𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 / 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 / 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞  𝅄 ׂ⭒

౨ৎ

real life, present (maia's POV)

I stepped out from the tunnel and was immediately overwhelmed by the cheers of twenty thousand people. The arena was buzzing with excitement - fans waved signs while photographers trailed courtside, snapping pictures of the crowd. Apprehension lingered in every face, every body, a need to know who would be named this year's winner.

At the moment, I couldn't care less about the game. I had only one thought in my mind: find Paige. I scanned courtside seating but found no sign of the blonde-haired girl, turning instead to the stands filled with thousands. My eyes trailed from person to person, desperately scanning for any sign that she was even here. After what felt like hours of searching, I broke eye contact with the crowd. Paige was nowhere to be found. Had she bailed at the last minute?  Had she arrived at the arena just to realize I wasn't worth it? 

I tried to reason with myself. No, she wouldn't do that. It's Paige. The same Paige I've always known. I looked up again, eyes darting from person to person, but was once more out of luck in my search. I couldn't help but think back to the last time I'd seen her - when I walked her to her door, and she made me scribble my number on her arm, promising to text me. I couldn't help but fixate on the memory that hurt the most - the realization that she'd broken that promise, and cut off all contact with me. The realization that she'd never like me in the way I liked her. Had she figured it out again? 

Is that why she hadn't showed up?

I abruptly turned on my heel and began heading to my seat, my head bowed to conceal the growing feeling of shame. It was foolish to think she'd changed, foolish to think we could be friends again. I felt the beginnings of a knot forming in my stomach, rising to the back of my throat. The shouts and cheers of the crowd faded into a dull roar as I tried to distract myself from my spiraling thoughts (to no avail). 

Lost in my inner monologue, I paid no attention to my path until I collided with someone. I snapped out of my trance, apologizing profusely, until I looked up and froze. 

"Maia?"

I couldn't speak. Standing in front of me, dressed in a white collared crop top and black cargo pants (baggy, but not too baggy, and containing many pockets) was the girl I'd been searching for. Her hair was free from the signature braids, framing her face in the way a halo compliments an angel. She had that crease by her eye that appeared only when she smiled, like she was doing now. This smile was unmistakably genuine - it wasn't the grin she flashed at paparazzi, a mix of confidence and ardor, nor the smirk reserved for her antics during press conferences. It was a gentle, almost shy smile, and it felt like nostalgia. This was the look Paige gave me in the quiet moments after a game; sitting side by side, combing my fingers through her hair with her head on my shoulder. It was a look I hadn't seen in years, and yet it was something I could never forget. 

My shoulders sagged with relief, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding.

"Paige." I breathed, feeling a similar smile stretch across my face. She laughed, presumably at the sheer absurdity of it all, and took a moment for herself to take me in. Six years is a long time to go without seeing someone. I had grown out my hair, gained a couple inches, and changed my style (multiple times) since I'd last seen her.