Unspoken

CHAPTER 4 : Slipping through the cracks

THIRD PERSON POV

The following week passed in a blur of preparation for the sports festival. Y/n kept busy managing schedules and coordinating with different teams, her clipboard an ever-present accessory. She saw Mikha in passing a few times—on the court, laughing with her teammates, or surrounded by fans as they sought her attention.

Every time their eyes met, Mikha would wave, her smile warm and unassuming. Y/n's heart betrayed her each time, fluttering wildly before sinking back into the reality she tried so hard to ignore.

It wasn't until the day of the festival that they found themselves face-to-face again.

Y/n was by the refreshment stand, directing volunteers, when Mikha appeared, dressed in her volleyball uniform. Her face was flushed from the game, strands of her hair sticking to her forehead, but she looked as radiant as ever.

"Hey," Mikha greeted, catching Y/n's attention. "Busy as always?"

Y/n smiled, tucking her clipboard under her arm. "Always. You guys were amazing out there, by the way. Another win?"

"Of course," Mikha said with a playful shrug. "You should've seen me. A couple of killer spikes and one game-winning block."

"I did see you," Y/n admitted, her cheeks warming. "You were incredible."

Mikha's grin softened, and for a moment, the noise around them seemed to fade. "Thanks, Y/n. It really means a lot coming from you."

Before Y/n could respond, a familiar voice interrupted.

"There you are, Mikha!"

Y/n turned to see Jaz approaching, her bright smile lighting up the space between them. She was holding a small gift bag, its contents peeking out through the tissue paper.

"Hey, Jaz," Mikha said, her tone casual but kind. "What's up?"

Jaz handed Mikha the bag. "Just a little something to say congrats on the win. I knew you'd pull it off."

Mikha opened the bag, revealing a small bracelet with a volleyball charm. Her expression lit up with genuine appreciation. "This is awesome. Thanks, Jaz."

Y/n stood frozen, her grip tightening on the clipboard as she watched Mikha slip the bracelet onto her wrist.

"You deserve it," Jaz said with a laugh. "You're basically carrying the team."

"Hardly," Mikha replied, though her smile remained.

The exchange felt like a window closing, the distance between Y/n and Mikha growing by the second. Y/n's stomach churned, the ache in her chest threatening to overwhelm her.

"Well," Y/n said abruptly, forcing a smile as she stepped back. "I should get back to work. Lots to do."

Mikha frowned slightly, her attention shifting back to Y/n. "You sure? You barely stopped to talk."

Y/n nodded, avoiding her gaze. "Yeah. I'll see you around."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away, her head held high even as her vision blurred with unshed tears.

That evening, Y/n sat in her dorm room, the events of the day replaying in her mind. She had told herself time and again that her feelings for Mikha were her burden to bear, that Mikha owed her nothing.

And yet, seeing Mikha and Jaz together—seeing the ease between them, the effortless way Jaz fit into Mikha's world—felt like a knife twisting in her chest.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. It was a text from Mikha.

Mikha: Hey, you left so quickly earlier. Everything okay?

Y/n stared at the message, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. How could she possibly explain what was wrong without revealing everything?

Finally, she typed a short reply.

Y/n: Yeah, just busy. Congrats again on the win.

The response felt hollow, but it was all she could manage.

Her phone buzzed again almost immediately.

Mikha: Thanks. Don't work too hard, okay? Let me know if you need a break. Coffee's still on the table.

Y/n's heart clenched. Mikha's kindness was a double-edged sword—sweet and thoughtful, but a reminder of everything she couldn't have.

Setting her phone aside, Y/n pulled out her notebook and flipped to an empty page. She let the pen move freely, pouring her emotions onto the paper.

"She'll never know," she wrote. "The way she lights up a room, the way her laughter feels like home. She'll never know how much I wish I could be the one she turns to, the one she chooses."

Tears blurred her vision as she continued writing, the words spilling out in a torrent of longing and heartache.

When she finally set down the pen, the page was filled with everything she could never say aloud. And for the first time in a long time, Y/n let herself cry.