Curveball

" Curveball" (Part 8 — Quiet After the Storm)

Ryan got suspended for two days.

Not expelled. Not kicked off the team. But enough for people to talk.

Leah didn't hear from him right away. No texts. No calls.
And even though she acted unbothered, her phone stayed in her hand more than usual.

By the second day, she was annoyed. Hurt. And lowkey wondering if the whole thing had meant more to her than it did to him.

Then—
8:43 PM.

A knock at her window.

She turned, startled. Pulled back her curtain.

Ryan.

Gray hoodie. Wind-blown hair. A nervous look in his eyes.

She opened it.

"You tryna break in?" she whispered.

"Only if it's to see you," he said quietly. "You free?"

She hesitated. Then opened the window wider.

⸻

10 minutes later.

They were sitting in her room. Lights dim. A soft playlist in the background. Her LED lights glowed soft pink.

Ryan sat on the floor, back against her bed. Leah sat beside him, knees tucked under her hoodie, curls messy from lying down.

No tension.

No heat.

Just quiet.

"I thought you ghosted me," she said finally, voice barely there.

"I didn't know if you were mad," he said. "Didn't want to push."

"I wasn't mad," she whispered. "I was just... scared."

He looked at her. "Of what?"

She blinked slow. "That you'd regret all of it. That I'd just be a distraction, or a phase, or a reason you lost your temper."

Ryan shifted, turning fully toward her.

"You're not a phase, Leah. You're the first thing that's made sense in a minute."

She looked away. "You barely knew me two weeks ago."

He gave a small smile. "Nah. I noticed you way before that."

Her heart skipped.

"You did?"

"Always saw you in the halls," he said. "Big hair. Big eyes. Lips always shiny. Walking like you owned the place even though you were brand new."

She laughed under her breath.

"I used to wonder what your voice sounded like," he added, softer. "Now I can't stop hearing it in my head."

Leah's throat tightened.

She leaned her head on his shoulder, eyes closing.

"You make it real hard not to fall," she whispered.

He pulled her into his lap, arms wrapping around her waist, his hand cradling the back of her head.

"Then don't fight it."

⸻

They sat there like that.
Her in his hoodie.
Him tracing circles on her thigh.
No pressure. Just warmth.

For the first time, it wasn't freaky.
It wasn't flashy.

It was safe.

And when she fell asleep in his arms that night, lips parted, cheeks soft...

Ryan whispered something against her curls she didn't hear.

But she'd feel it in his touch every time after:

"I'm yours."