THE LINE BETWEEN US

I balanced the warm pastries in my left hand and the chilled bottle of fruit juice in my right, careful not to trip over the uneven path outside our front porch. My glasses kept sliding down the bridge of my nose, so I pushed them up again with a quick nudge, trying not to spill anything.

“Be careful, Autumn,” Mom called from the doorway, her voice laced with that gentle amusement she always seemed to have when she caught me fussing over Damian. She was leaning against the frame, arms folded, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

“I will,” I said, trying not to sound too giddy. “I won’t be long.”

“Tell him I said hi,” she added.

I smiled sheepishly, cheeks warming. “Okay.”

Turning away, I started down the road with a little more eagerness in my step than I meant to show. The air was warm, carrying faint scents of grass and sunbaked earth. Every step closer to the school’s field had my mind replaying the thought over and over, how happy he’d be when he saw the cookies.

Not just any cookies,his favorite. The ones I’d baked for him last summer when we spent nearly every afternoon together. Soft, chewy, with just enough chocolate chips to make him smile in that boyish, heartwarming way. I’d been buried in textbooks for weeks now, trying to get ready for midterms, and I hadn’t gone to watch him play in almost as long. I told myself it was because I was busy, but the truth was… sometimes I stayed away because seeing him out there, with all that energy and confidence, made me ache in ways I couldn’t explain.

The field came into view, a wide expanse of green broken by the figures darting back and forth across it. Damian was impossible to miss. Even from here, I could tell it was him, the way he moved, the surety in his steps, the dark hair falling into his eyes as he chased the ball with focused determination.

I made my way to the bleachers, choosing a spot near the middle. Sitting down, I set the pastries and juice beside me, my gaze locked on him. The sound of sneakers pounding against grass, the sharp calls between teammates, and the occasional whistle from the coach all blended into a rhythm that made my chest feel lighter.

Damian had that effect on me.

They played for a while longer before a whistle signaled a break. I saw him slow, wiping the back of his arm across his forehead. He started toward the edge of the field, shoulders sagging with the kind of tiredness that comes from giving everything you have.

Without thinking, I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled, “Damian!”

His head snapped up, and the moment his eyes found me, the fatigue in his expression dissolved. A smile,wide and so full of warmth, spread across his face. And then he was running, heads turned but he ignored them.

I stood, heart thudding far too quickly, and met him halfway, our steps quickening until we were both laughing breathlessly.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, still smiling, still catching his breath. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

“I didn’t think I’d make it,” I admitted, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “But… I changed my mind.”

“Good thing you did,” he said, his grin softening into something that made my stomach flip. “I’ve missed seeing you here.”

“You’ve been training a lot,” I replied, nodding toward the field. “I didn’t want to distract you before the competition.”

His gaze flickered over the bag in my hand, and his eyes lit up. “Wait—are those…?”

I held it out to him, feeling shy under the sudden intensity of his excitement. “Your favorite cookies. And fruit juice. Thought you could use a little energy boost.”

He let out a delighted groan, grabbing the bottle and gulping down a long drink before he even sat down on the bleachers. Then he opened the container of cookies and bit into one with exaggerated bliss.

“Oh, man,” he mumbled around a mouthful. “These are perfect. You’ve ruined me for store-bought cookies forever.”

I laughed, sitting beside him. “That was my plan all along.”

For the next few minutes, we just talked, nothing deep, nothing extraordinary, but everything felt comfortable. We chatted about his training schedule, my midterm prep, the ridiculous prank someone had pulled on one of his teammates. Every now and then, he’d say something that made my heart flutter, like the way he said, “You always know exactly what I need,” before taking another sip of juice.

I kept those little reactions hidden, tucked away where he couldn’t see. He didn’t need to know how my pulse sped up whenever his knee brushed mine, or how I noticed the sunlight turning his hair into threads of gold.

Eventually, the coach’s voice boomed across the field, calling them back. Damian groaned, standing reluctantly.

“I’ll see you after?” he asked.

I nodded, smiling. “Go win your game.”

He gave me a quick, almost impulsive pat on the head—something he’d done since we were kids,and jogged back to the others.

I stayed where I was, tucking my legs under me, and watched him slip back into the game like he’d never left. The rest of the world faded while I tracked his every move, the way he weaved past defenders, the controlled precision in his passes, the sheer determination in his face.

Almost to the end of the match, I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees, completely absorbed. That’s when I saw movement at the far end of the field, not on the pitch, but beyond it, near the edge where the path curved toward the parking lot.

At first, it was just a silhouette against the bright afternoon light, walking with unhurried steps but an unmistakable air of purpose. Something about the way they moved caught my attention, pulling me away from the game.

They came into view and I saw who it was.

My fingers curled loosely around the edge of the bleacher seat.

What was she doing here?