THE ART OF FALLING

Chapter One

The air smelled like new beginnings.

Nora’s curls bounced softly as she pedalled through the streets of her new neighbourhood, her bike tires humming quietly against the pavement. A strange mix of nervousness and calm washed over her two emotions that rarely existed together inside her, but today, they blended like colors on a canvas. The city around her felt alive in a way she wasn’t used to. Everything buzzed. Everything moved.

Buses honked impatiently at intersections. Groups of teenagers shouted and laughed as they crossed the street. Music thumped from car windows Afrobeats from one side, rap from another, blending into a chaotic but strangely comforting soundtrack. Even the air felt different, thick with the scent of roasted corn, exhaust, and something sweet she couldn't place. Everything felt bigger here. Louder. Brighter. Even the sky stretched wider than the one she left behind, painted with streaks of orange and fading blue as the sun drifted down.

She had only arrived three days ago after transferring to a new university, and she was still getting used to the sharp shift in her life. It wasn’t the school she ran from. It was everything else, the whispers behind her back, the rumors that refused to die, the friends who slowly disappeared, and the boy who said he loved her but didn’t hesitate to watch her fall. The weight of those memories pressed on her, even now.

But this place? This place was supposed to be different.

A clean start.

A second chance.

A place where no one knew her name or her mistakes.

And God, she needed that more than she needed anything else.

Her fingers tightened around the handlebars. Her sketchbook rested safely inside her tote bag, tucked between her orientation documents and a small folded letter from her mom. She hadn’t opened it since she left home, but she kept it with her always. It was her reminder that someone believed in her, even when she struggled to believe in herself.

A slow breath escaped her lips as she looked up at the sky, the colours melting together in warm, gentle gradients. For the first time in months, Nora felt like she could breathe. Really breathe.

Then it happened.

BAM!

Something slammed into her front tire with brutal force, and her entire world shifted. A basketball shot out from an open court on her left and collided dead on with her wheel. Her hands slipped from the handlebars. The bike jerked violently. She gasped, losing control as the pavement blurred beneath her.

In those few trembling seconds, everything spun.

Then she hit the ground.

Hard.

The impact rattled her bones. Her elbow scraped painfully across the concrete, her knee stung sharply, and her bag flew open papers, forms, and a pencil scattering into the air like startled birds before fluttering down around her.

“What the hell…” she groaned, wincing as she pushed herself up. Dust clung to her palms, and gravel dug into her skin.

Footsteps approached fast, heavy, and confident.

“Sh*t—yo, are you okay?” a deep voice called out.

Nora looked up… and instantly regretted it.

The guy standing over her looked like he’d stepped straight out of a sports magazine tall, broad-shouldered, built like someone who lived in the gym. His caramel-brown skin glowed in the soft evening light. A few loose curls fell into his eyes, and his stupidly perfect mouth curved into an easy, relaxed smirk, the type of smirk that said he was used to getting away with anything.

His grey sleeveless hoodie clung to his chest, showing off arms that definitely didn’t come from casual workouts. And in one hand, he held the basketball like it weighed absolutely nothing.

“Didn’t see you coming,” he said. “I was trying to make a three-pointer.”

Nora stared at him, jaw tightening. “A three-pointer?” she hissed. “You made me crash! Are you crazy?”

He blinked once, then boldly gave her a slow, amused once-over. His gaze lingered just long enough to annoy her.

“Nah,” he said casually. “You made yourself crash. I just provided the ball.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you joking right now?”

His smirk grew even wider, like he was enjoying this way too much.

“I mean…” he shrugged, “you fell gracefully. Like a movie scene.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered under her breath. She stood up, brushing the dust from her jeans and hissing softly when she touched her scraped elbow.

He stepped closer too close. but his expression softened slightly. “You’re bleeding. Let me see.”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, jerking her arm away and stepping back. “Keep your basketball. I don’t want it anywhere near me.”

“Damn,” he said, raising both hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Chill. You always this mean, or just when strangers try to talk to you?”

“I don’t talk to strangers,” she shot back, bending down to pick up her scattered papers.

He crouched beside her anyway, ignoring her protests. He grabbed her orientation form before she could reach it.

“Nora Monroe,” he read out loud. “New student?”

She snatched the paper from his hand. “You know how to read. Impressive.”

He burst out laughing, the sound rich, warm, and annoyingly attractive. “You’ve got spice. I’ll give you that.”

“I don’t need your compliments,” she muttered.

“And yet…” he said, spinning the basketball on one finger effortlessly, “you’ve got mine anyway. See you around, Nora Monroe.”

She refused to ask for his name it would have felt like giving him a reward.

She didn’t want it.

Didn’t need it.

But as she pushed her bike upright and climbed onto it, wincing slightly from the ache in her knee, she felt something deep in her chest. A flutter. A spark. A stupid, unwanted warmth.

His smile.

His voice.

His stupid, stupid face.

She didn’t like him. She didn’t even want to like him.

And yet, as she turned the corner and the street faded behind her, a tiny whisper slipped into her thoughts soft, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.

You’re going to see him again.