Pieces of Me

The Spark on the court

They say first love isn’t really love; it’s a lesson wrapped up in the thrill of newness, and in the beginning, Mothey felt exactly like that—a spark. I first noticed him on the campus basketball court, cutting through the air with a kind of grace and energy that was magnetic. He was the type of guy who didn’t need to say much; his presence did the talking. As he laughed with his friends, shooting effortlessly from the three-point line, I couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, like there was something quietly captivating about him that only I could see.

Eventually, our eyes met from across the court. He gave me a nod, a half-smile that was barely there before he turned back to the game. It was small, subtle, and yet it felt like a beacon. I started showing up more, finding excuses to be around him, hoping for those brief moments of acknowledgment. And then, one afternoon, he approached me after the game, his T-shirt clinging to him from the sweat, his face flushed with that post-game energy. “Hey, you’re always here. Do you like basketball?” he asked, his voice casual but his eyes curious. I fumbled out something about enjoying the game, but all I could think was that he’d noticed me. In that moment, it was enough.

After that, we fell into a rhythm. He’d finish a game, we’d walk to a nearby café, grab something quick, and just… talk. Mothey had this effortless charm that made everything feel easy. He’d ask about my classes, make jokes that had me laughing even when I was trying to play it cool, and occasionally, he’d walk me back to my dorm, our footsteps echoing against the quiet of campus. He never once asked me to be his girlfriend, but I didn’t need him to. In my mind, we were already something. With every small act—every shared coffee, every inside joke—I let myself believe that this was the start of a love story.