* / THE FATE FORMULA - 𝒌 . 𝒍

001.

𝟎𝟎𝟏.

There were two options at hand and both were essentially a death sentence. Malia could flee and completely piss Jordan off—as if there was even a way out in the first place. An underground parking lot wasn't the easiest place to get out of, especially when you were forced into the car that brought you here. Maybe she could make a quiet run for the elevator and hope that the others would be too immersed in their conversations. No, not happening. Her neck was growing hot at the two glares penetrating right into her. 

Then, there was the option to face the situation and fight it—or, him. It was a him, a him that was the last person that Malia ever wanted to see. Her stomach was in complete knots and twists, like unkempt hair that refused to budge. The blood in her veins never ran so hot before, as if it was a volcano triggered for eruption. All it took was those brown eyes.

"Hey." Kawhi's voice was curt, seemingly disinterested at Malia's appearance. He quickly turned to the man beside him, the one he arrived with, as they conversed too quietly for her to hear. 

She was confused for a moment. He barely made eye contact with her, didn't even register the what she would assume to be complete shock painted across her face. After all, this was their first encounter in years. It hit her. It was their first encounter in years.

Kawhi didn't even know who she was.

Remaining stunned at the revelation, Malia's feet were practically cemented on the ground. She didn't realize that she was staring off into the same spot for minutes on end until Jordan tugged at her arm. She thought she was imagining it and looked up in surprise when she saw him.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Uh, you okay? We ain't got time for daydreaming, we're heading up." 

Nobody other than Jordan was paying attention to Malia and her state of being dumbfounded. Instead, Kawhi and his friend were already heading towards the elevator. Their shadows were already far away, their quiet banter barely even reaching her ears at this point. Carefree, as if nothing was wrong.

Malia touched her bleached blonde hair and looked down at her feet. Had she really changed that much? Or, their lives gone so far forward that she was just another blurry face from his past. That's what she thought of him, but even she knew that it was a lie that she would never be able to swallow. At the beating of her heart, it was obvious.

So, it was then that she landed on one of the two options: fight or flight. It only took her half a second to decide. With burning with embarrassment from not even being recognized by her high school boyfriend, Malia decided to get the hell out of there. 

"I have to go, I'm really not feeling well." Unlike the past hundred times that she had complained that night already, she decided to actually do something about it. Within a blink of an eye, her iPhone was whipped out and she began to order an Uber.

Jordan made a noise of irritation. "Again? You've been making up excuses all night long and we haven't even gotten to the party yet." He gave her a pointed look. "Do you even know who those guys were?"

"Listen —" Malia began, irritated.

"I told you that it's at my cousin's, but it's a whole team gathering thing." Jordan seemed excited, but the words hit Malia like a ton of bricks. She put two and two together and thought that she was losing air. 

Jordan was a real estate agent and was the cousin of one of the Raptors. She was well aware of that, but frankly, didn't care. She liked basketball, but didn't care enough to keep up with watching professional games, especially with her busy schedule. If any of them were seen on the street, there was no way she was going to recognize them. Meanwhile, on the other hand, Jordan was a big fan and through his cousin's connections, was able to gather high profile talents from the team when they needed a place during the season.