Chapter 9: Echoes on the Court
Ophira's POV
One afternoon, as I was practicing basketball, someone walked into the gym. I turned toward the sound of the doors creaking open—and there he was. Bruce. My childhood friend.
He caught the ball I had just bounced, spinning it on his finger with that familiar, nostalgic grin. "Remember when we used to play every weekend?"
The sound of sneakers squeaking on polished wood triggered a memory—two kids racing across this very court, laughing breathlessly. Bruce was taller even then, cocky with his layups, while I chased him like my life depended on it. I remember tripping, scraping my knee, and Bruce dropping everything just to help me up. "You okay?" he'd asked, brushing dirt from my leg with more care than I expected. "You can't win if I don't fight back," I'd grumbled, and he just laughed like I'd told him a secret.
Now, years later, that same boy stood in front of me—only taller and older.
"How could I forget? You always beat me," I teased, slipping into a defensive stance as he made his way toward the hoop.
He smirked. "Let's see if you've improved."
We fell into rhythm easily, trading shots, trash talk, and laughter like no time had passed. Our movements were familiar, our footsteps echoing memories on the gym floor. Every playful nudge, every shoulder bump—it could've been mistaken for flirting, but I didn't care. Bruce was my best friend. He always had been.
We didn't notice we weren't alone—until the gym doors thudded closed behind someone.
"Did someone come in?" I asked, frowning.
"Yeah," Bruce replied casually, dribbling. "Some guy was watching for a while, then left."
"Probably someone from the team," I shrugged as I caught his pass. "Let's take a break."
We sat on the gym floor, breathing in the scent of wood, sweat, and nostalgia. Bruce's face turned serious.
"There's something I need to tell you," he said, eyes locked on mine.
I wiped my sweat with the hem of my shirt. "What is it?"
He hesitated. "I got a job offer. Out of town. It's a big opportunity. But it means leaving... everything here behind. Including you."
The words hit harder than I expected.
"Oh," I said, trying to stay composed. "That's… huge."
Bruce nodded, his voice softer. "It is. But I need this. I've been feeling like I need a change. A fresh start."
I looked away, trying to mask the sting. "I get it. You should go for it. You deserve it."
A silence passed, then—"But what about us?" The question escaped before I could stop it.
He looked at me, expression gentle. "You'll always be my best friend, Phira. No distance can change that. I'll visit. We'll talk. It's not goodbye."
"It's still different," I murmured.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "It is."
I leaned my head on his shoulder, seeking comfort in the warmth that had always been there. For a moment, the world slowed. And then—
"Miss Ophira!"
I lifted my head. Some of the girls from the team—and a few boys—stood near the entrance, curiosity written all over their faces.
I scrambled up, wiping my eyes. "Oh. Hey, guys."
"Sorry to interrupt," one of the boys said sheepishly. "We didn't mean to barge in."
"It's fine," I said, forcing a smile.
And then I saw him. Ozaire. Standing in the back with a girl. He was holding her hand.
My breath hitched.
It shouldn't have hurt. I didn't even know why it did. We weren't anything—Ozaire and I—but the weight in my chest told a different story. Was it jealousy? Regret? Or just the cruel timing of it all?
I quickly ducked my head, hoping no one noticed the tear that had slipped down my cheek.
"You really do miss me, huh?" Bruce joked softly, placing a hand on top of my head.
"You wish," I muttered, blinking away the tears.
My gaze flickered up—Ozaire's eyes were on me. He said nothing. His expression unreadable.
"Let's practice!" one of my teammates called out.
"Right," I replied, putting on my game face. I wasn't about to let anyone see me unravel.
"So... Bruce, huh?" one of the girls teased as we jogged back to the court.
"He's just a friend," I said quickly, maybe too quickly.
"Sure. Just a friend who wraps his arm around you and makes you tear up on the gym floor," another teammate chimed in.
I rolled my eyes, laughing despite myself. "Do we need to run suicides to shut you all up?"
"Only if you promise to cry over us too," they giggled. For a moment, the ache dulled.
During practice, I channeled everything—grief, confusion, heartbreak—into the game. The thump of the ball, the rhythm of running drills, the sharp bark of my coach's voice—each one grounded me.
But Ozaire's laughter, distant and quiet, still found a way to cut through.
When we broke for water, Bruce came over. "Hey. You doing okay?"
"I'm fine," I lied with a practiced smile.
He nodded. "If you need anything, I'm here."
As practice ended, I saw Ozaire and the girl heading out. He looked back at me once. Just once. Then kept walking.
Bruce and I walked side by side toward the locker rooms.
"I should probably start packing," he said.
"Yeah," I replied, swallowing the ache. "I'll be here."
He smiled. "I know."
Later, as I left the gym, I spotted him by his car. Bags packed. Trunk closed.
"All set?" I asked.
"Just about," he said. "This is it."
I nodded. "Yeah."
He stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I'll keep in touch. You better, too."
"I will," I whispered.
We hugged. A long, quiet goodbye. I tried to memorize the feel of it, the safety, the familiarity.
"Take care, Phira."
"You too, Bruce."
Before Bruce got into his car, he paused and pulled something from his pocket—a faded friendship bracelet, half-frayed, the one we'd made at summer camp years ago.
"You still have that?" I asked, surprised.
"Always," he said, placing it in my hand. "I figured it should stay where it started."
I closed my fingers around it tightly, holding back tears. "I'll keep it safe."
"I know you will."
And then he was gone.
As I stood there, watching his car disappear down the street, a new one pulled up.
Ozaire.
I froze as he stepped out. The girl from earlier was still in the passenger seat.
He caught my eye and approached. "Hey, Ophira."
"Hi, Ozaire," I replied, hoping my voice didn't shake.
The girl offered a polite smile. "Sorry if we interrupted earlier."
"It's okay," I said quickly.
Ozaire studied my face. "You okay?"
I nodded, barely. "Just… rough day."
"If you want to talk," he said gently, "I'm here."
"Thanks."
He gave a small nod and turned back to the car. I watched them drive off, the ache in my chest growing heavier.
I stayed there a moment longer before heading inside again, the air feeling colder now.
But I had a game to play, a team to lead, and a heart to protect—especially from the boy who used to look at me like I was his whole world.
"You never realize it's the last time until the ball stops bouncing and all that's left is the sound of goodbye."