Brief Encounters

Timeline 1 (Part 26)

Back garden, school fields, wherever we could. Harry was always more interested in tackling me than playing the game properly. Mum had to play referee most of the time, blowing an imaginary whistle and shouting, Boys! No blood, no fouls! As if that ever stopped us.

Still, she always knew how to keep things balanced. Even when we were completely out of hand, she'd remind us it was just a game, meant to bring us closer, not drive us apart. Those moments felt so simple, untouched by the complexities that came later.

But this... this wasn't simple.

What would Mum say if she were here now? Would she gently scold me for this quiet war inside my heart? I've fallen for a woman, and I can't ignore the chance that Harry feels something for her too.

She'd probably tell me to pause, to think it through. Remind me that love is never tidy, that it's rarely fair. Or maybe she'd say something maddeningly straightforward, like, William, do what feels right.

But what if what feels right for me isn't what's best for everyone else?

After the match ended, the crowd's energy spilled into the streets, buzzing in the cool evening air. Jeanna walked beside me, her shoulder brushing against mine every now and then, and Harry trailed quietly behind us, his presence more felt than heard.

"You really get into these games, don't you?" Jeanna asked, nudging me gently with her elbow. Her tone was playful, but there was a softness to it that I hadn't expected, one that made me pause for a moment.

I shrugged, trying to keep my voice light. "What can I say? It's tradition. And you didn't seem too bored."

"Not at all," she replied with a smile that softened into a laugh. "Watching you yell at the ref? Definitely the highlight of the night."

Before I could respond, Harry's voice cut through, low and even. "She's not wrong. You've got a bit of a flair for theatrics, Will."

I glanced over my shoulder at him. His expression was neutral, but his eyes lingered on Jeanna just long enough for me to notice.

Jeanna laughed, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "I thought it was passion. Isn't that what makes a true fan?"

"Passion, theatrics," Harry said, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe they're one and the same."

I forced my attention back to Jeanna.

"Well, I think it's admirable," she said, looking at me with that open expression that made it hard to focus on anything else.

"Glad someone appreciates it," I replied, my voice softer than I intended.

We reached the edge of the crowd, the noise fading as the city's hum filled the space around us. Jeanna leaned against a railing, gazing out over the scattered lights below. I joined her, trying to focus on the view, but Harry's presence was still there, just behind us, quiet and constant.

"Thanks for bringing me," she said, her voice gentler now. "I didn't expect to enjoy it so much."

Before I could reply, Harry stepped closer, his hands in his pockets. He didn't say anything, just stood there, his gaze flickering briefly to Jeanna before settling on something in the distance.

It was subtle, maybe too subtle for anyone else to notice, but I noticed. The way his attention would shift toward her when he thought no one was looking. The quiet patience with which he hovered, letting moments pass without stepping in.

It wasn't anything obvious—nothing I could confront Harry about. But there was something in the way he existed in her orbit, quiet but undeniably there. And that something gnawed at me, even as I tried to push it aside.

I glanced at Jeanna, her smile still lingering. "We should get going," I said finally, breaking the silence. "It's getting late."

Jeanna nodded, her smile softening, "Yeah, I should head back too."

What was I really feeling? And how much of it had to do with Harry, and how much had to do with myself? I didn't have the answers, but for the first time, I wasn't sure I wanted to.