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IVAAN
I don't know why I’m still standing here.
This is pointless.
She’s a hopeless mess.
But a beautiful hopeless mess. My inner voice says.
Stop bullshitting.
My jaw tightens as I watch the ball miss the hoop again and roll away. I can’t help but think there’s no saving her in this.
No wonder why she really needed someone to teach her.
She’s got zero control over the ball, no understanding of how to position her body properly and absolutely no technique.
It's almost painful to watch and I can't help but think why the fuck did I agree to be her coach?
Her face is all scrunched up in concentration, like she’s trying to solve some complex maths problem instead of just making a simple shot.
She jogs after the ball with a frustrated huff, her ponytail bouncing behind her, ready to try again.
I should be irritated. I am irritated.
She’s wasting my time.
I’m irritated at myself for agreeing to that stupid fucking deal.
Obviously I can dismiss her and tell her to find someone else instead of wasting my time.
But I won’t.
Because Ivaan Oberoi never goes back on his words.
I’m standing here, watching her repeated failed attempts and checking areas for improvement.
Wait, no. There is no area for improvement because for that one needs to know how to play.
With her, I need to start with the basics.
Her brow furrows in concentration and a slight pout forms on her lips when she misses.
It's distracting and cute.
Fuck! What's wrong with me?
I shake my head. I shouldn’t be thinking about her like that. I run a hand through my hair, irritated at myself.
Since when do I find a girl or anyone cute for being terrible at something?
She huffs in annoyance after her failed shot once again, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face.
She comes back, gripping the ball tighter as if it’s the ball’s fault she can’t shoot. “I’m cursed. I swear.”
“You’re not cursed. You’re just bad.” My tone is flat, not bothering to sugarcoat anything. She’s not getting better and I’m definitely not in the mood to coddle her.
