Chapter 1: The approach (Aliya's POV)
Her eyes panned the party crowd searching, yearning for a glimpse of the radiant smile belonging to that one brunette. The way she throws her head back in boisterous laughter, the way she glides across the room, and the way she runs her dainty fingers through that beautiful head of hair was enthralling. Just a glimpse of her would suffice. Never in her life did she imagine that she would fall for a girl, let alone an American girl. She’s known, however, since the first day at the Village, that this American was different.
That day, Aliya threw her backpack on her bed as soon as she arrived at her room at the Village and walked out without a word. She didn’t need her excited teammates or pushy coaches just yet. What she needed now was some quiet to collect her thoughts. It was her first day at the Village, and all she wanted was to get into the right frame of mind - calm, rational, and focused. She walked past room after room of athletes noisily jabbering on about how electrifying it was to finally reach London while snapping pictures of their compact surroundings. She hated it, she hated it all: the noise, the mindless small talk, and the insincere congratulatory remarks. Socialising, to her, was an utter waste of time. Why spend hours on end on conversations she would not remember, when she could spend the same amount of time at the gym practising? This was why Aliya is a winner. She came to London not to make friends, but to dominate. London 2012 was where she would make her comeback. London 2012 was where she would prove to the world that her injury did not define her as a gymnast. London 2012 was where she would-
Cursing silently in Russian and swearing to murder the careless idiot who had left their bags in the middle of the hallway, Aliya peeled herself off of the floor. “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! Are you all right? Do you need ice?” Spinning around to shoot the perpetrator an icy glare, she was met with the warmest pair of eyes she had ever seen.
The girl in front of her was stunning, even with the most pathetically repentant expression she had slapped on her face. Her apologetic brown eyes, the way she twiddled her thumbs nervously and chewed at her bottom lip softened Aliya’s glare. Her concern was sickening, but she was beautiful. “I’m sorry,” the girl started again, as she ran her fingers through her hair sheepishly, “Are you all right?” Aliya stared at the American blankly as she shifted her weight. “Do you speak English? Are you okay?” the girl motioned a thumbs-up with her hands while flashing an alluring, albeit pitiable grin. Pathetic. Aliya looked on, desperately rummaging through her head for a reply, trying her hardest to regain her cool persona, “Yes.” Yes? Yes? She groaned inwardly at her feeble reply.
The girl let out a loud chuckle, and that beautiful smile graced her face once more, “Oh, what a relief! I was beginning to think that you might have concussed or something. That’s the thing about me, I worry too much. It would suck if you couldn’t take part in the Games, and your coach and teammates would probably come slaughter me, but thank good-” Aliya watched the girl blabber, quirking an eyebrow at her never-ending speech, trying to catch up with what she was saying. “I’m rambling, aren’t I?” the girl asked, flushing red once again. Aliya nodded as she waved her hand, ending the conversation and turning around to walk away. She was not here to make friends after all.
“I’m Alexandra, by the way, Alexandra Raisman. But everyone calls me Aly.”Aly. She ran the name through her head again and again, savouring the way the girl, Aly, said her name. Aliya turned slowly to face the chatty girl, and, with a smile she couldn’t suppress, muttered, “Aliya. Aliya Mustafina.”
——
“Did you see the way he killed in the pool during practice?” she heard a familiar voice say, straining over the blare of the music.
She’s here.
Aliya’s head snapped up from the cup she was holding over to the sound of the voice. Where is she? She told her teammate, Viktoria, that she was going to the washroom, and insisted on going alone. Of course, she was to look for the source of the angelic voice. Vika looked at her dubiously. There was something wrong with her. Why was she smiling, no, beaming, so expectantly? How uncharacteristic of her usual poised, placid demeanour. “Aliya, you have to stay with the team, or I go with you,” Vika hissed, fingers wrapped around her arm and eyes locked onto her best friend. “I don’t need an escort to the ladies! Need I remind you that I’m no longer eight, but eighteen?” Aliya teased, kissing Vika on the cheek as she walked away, a slight bounce in her step. There was indeed something wrong.
Prowling the room, she straightened her fitted black dress and adjusted her hair. There was no harm in looking good when meeting someone. After all, her first impression wasn’t as perfect as she had hoped. This will show the American that she was a force to be reckoned with. She surveyed the crowd of sweaty people, cringing at the awful dancing and stale smell of cologne and sweat in the air. Where is that stupid American?
“No, no, I think the swimmers in general look the best!” Aliya’s ears pricked at the sound of the voice, trying her best to sift it out in the noisy room. “What? Lochte? No way! Of course, Le Clos has the best body!” She turned her head to the right and saw her, the American, sitting with her team. Clutching a drink in her hand, with her dark hair falling over her shoulders, Alexandra Raisman was divine. The royal blue dress she was wearing accentuated every dip and curve on her body, highlighting her toned gymnast body. Her face was illuminated by the dancing lights, and her body shook with rapturous laughter. Her fingers brushed against the Maroney girl’s back in some sort of demonstration, causing the team to erupt into laughter and Aliya to narrow her eyes. You’re not angry with the Maroney girl; you’re only disgusted with their unruly behaviour. The laughter died down as Raisman took a sip of her drink.
Taking her chance, Aliya pulled her shoulders back and approached the girl with her trademark strong, confident stride. A hush descended while the entire team looked up at their advancing competitor.
“Hello, Alexandra.”
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Gravity
Fanfiction“Never in her life did she imagine that she would fall for a girl, let alone an American girl. She’s known, however, since the first day at the Village, that this American was different.” Gravity is the story of the gymnasts Aliya Mustafina of Russ...
