Basketball Fiction Mga Nobela at Kwento

The familiar bounce of the basketball echoed in the distance, a melody that always promised solace. As I stepped onto the court, I grabbed a ball, the familiar weight of the ball in my hands, I felt a great sense of control, a moment of escape from the tangled web of my family dynamics. The sun casted long shadows as I started to dribble, reminded myself that I just wanted to be better, to find a space where I could excel without the weight of expectations. The familiar aroma of sweat and the rhythmic sounds of basketball echoed as I approached the court. My Coach, a seasoned mentor with a grizzled beard, stood on the sidelines, clipboard in hand. He looked up, a knowing twinkle in his eye a

He has been doing that since we were in college and now we were nearing thirty and he'd say he was in trouble because he had sex with Caroline who was in a relationship? I waited for him to say more but he was already in deep thinking. His forehead was creased deeply as he took sips from his drink, he wasn't even aware that he was about to finish the can. And when he did, he cussed and threw it on the nearest trash can. Given that he was a former basketball player, he easily shot the can as if a ball and the trash can was the ring. He even mumbled the three points something before he turned to tell me what was going on between him and Zhanaia's best friend.

I explained, and this time his big brown eyes come to meet mine, offering me a small nod. “Yeah, I guess I get that.” He smiled. “So what else did I do seeing as you seem to have turned me into some serious romantic love-sick fool?” And there we lay for I don’t know how long discussing all the things we could explain with regards to out past together if anybody were to ask us. Some we were able to intermingle the truth of our friendship, others were well and truly imaginary, which we had fun creating. There had been so much laughter, and smiles as we lay side by side chatting about everything under the sun, building this oddly fake relationship we needed to make everyone else believe. Yet, b

" After waiting for Greg, the three of them went for a run. An hour later. Luke and Greg made their way to the basketball court. A couple of young girls, most likely recent college graduates, watched them play. Even though they were all dressed up, their appreciation was evident. Two attractive, athletic men in their prime who exuded charisma and vitality made it difficult to resist falling in love. Felicia watched the game while drinking her water while perched on a bench. She grabbed a basketball and began shooting after getting some rest. Suddenly, someone made a flawless three-pointer close to her.

I turned myself around and buried my head into James’s chest as I pleaded in a whisper. “Don’t you love basketball the most?” He pretended not to hear my pleas. Before I transmigrated into the book, I was stuck in a hospital bed daily. My only hobby was watching basketball games. I thought I could finally experience the joy of playing on the court after transmigrating into the book, only to end up with this cursed milk production physique. It would be absurd to watch a player make three-pointers while spraying milk on the court! Of the three male leads, James was a skilled basketball player. As such, I often watched him play the games.

I perched on the lowest row of the bleachers, feeling the chill of the metal seep through my jeans, despite the gym being warm with all the energy from the players on the court. A hefty fantasy novel lay open on my lap, its pages filled with tales of dragons and destined queens...that may or may not be a Yuri romance between the queens, but I hadn’t flipped a single page in the last twenty minutes. My gaze wandered over the words but didn’t register them as I focused instead on the squeak of sneakers and the thud of the basketball, just waiting for practice to wrap up. Waiting for Frank.

Chapters turned into a story. And before I could catch my breath, it was no longer a coping mechanism. It was a novel. In my story, the characters aren’t named Stacey and Noah, but anyone who truly looked could recognize us in the margins. The male lead is a basketball player with a fire in his eyes and the weight of his dreams pressing hard on his back. The female lead is older, cautious, guarding her heart like it’s glass but unable to resist the pull of something dangerous, something real.

“Fiuuuft” The fingers whistle sound and the game starts. The game starts, the B and C block contend with one another. Lena played really well this time and I never know that she can play basketball, it’s my first time seeing her that way. She looks hot and that compares to her arms muscles and abs. Prison clothes do not look bad when she’s wearing them, it looks even better when it shows off her muscles when she puts the ball to the net, and I can’t take my eyes from her.

The sound of the ball bouncing in the hall drifted through the cells in a steady heartbeat. Finally I nudged him with my elbow. “C’mon. Court’s waiting.” He shouldered his towel into his locker and followed me out. The guard on duty barely glanced at us as we passed. We walked side by side through the corridor, the musky smell of earth and sweat getting stronger the closer we got to the yard. “You really think somebody will slip up just because you’re good at basketball?” he asked as we stepped into the evening light. “It ain't cos I’m good,” I said. “I make people forget they’re supposed to be careful. A pass here, a joke there, a couple of bruises, some sweat. You’d be surprised what a man

The sounds of other students shouting and cars starting up faded into a dull hum, leaving only the sound of my own blood rushing in my ears like a waterfall. “You were at the game,” he remarked. It wasn't a question, he had known I was there the whole time. “I... I like basketball,” I lied, my voice gaining a tiny, fragile bit of strength. “You’re very good at it. The angles you take... they’re very precise. It’s almost like you’re doing math on the court.”