The basketball court had fallen quiet.
The noise, the cheers, the applause—all of it had ebbed away like the tide. What remained was the soft sound of wind brushing through the net, and the fading light of dusk stretching across the empty court.
Lan stood there, unmoving.
She watched Jie disappear into the distance, and Di run after him a few seconds later. Two figures—one storming ahead, the other hesitating, then giving chase—both vanishing out of her sight.
And yet, she couldn't move.
Her legs were rooted to the ground, not because she didn't want to follow—but because something in her had snapped loose and settled deep inside, too heavy to lift.
Something inside her had stirred.
—
That year, she was new to the cram school.
She always arrived early. But instead of going into class, she'd sit alone on the stairwell landing, knees tucked close, head bowed.
That particular afternoon, she was crying again.
No one else knew the date's significance—but she did. It was the anniversary of her adoption.
She had been adopted at five. Her memories of her biological parents were vague—faces long blurred, voices reduced to scattered tones. What stayed with her more clearly was a single line, repeated by relatives and neighbors over the years:
"You're a treasure we found."
A joke. A compliment. But it never stopped sounding like she was something someone else had dropped.
She always tried to be good—quiet, helpful, never troublesome. Always grateful. But the older she grew, the more confused she became. Was gratitude the same as love? Was she loved for who she was, or for being "the one they chose to raise"?
On that particular day, the questions flooded her again, and she cried quietly in the stairwell.
That's when she heard footsteps and laughter echoing from the hall.
She looked up to see a boy rushing down the corridor—books crammed under one arm, grinning as he joked with someone behind him.
It was Jie.
As he turned the corner, something slipped from his pile and fluttered to the ground.
A flashcard. Bright gold edges, shimmering in the light.
A rare Pikachu edition—everyone in class had been talking about it.
Lan instinctively wanted to call out, but before she could open her mouth, a teacher's voice rang from above:
"Lan, could you close the door to Room 3 for me?"
She turned her head. "Okay!"
By the time she turned back, Jie was gone.
The card still lay on the floor.
She picked it up slowly.
It gleamed in her hand. Smooth, flawless, well-cared for.
And suddenly, for just a second, she saw herself in it.
Maybe, she thought, she wasn't abandoned. Maybe she was like this card—something precious, something accidentally dropped. Maybe her parents hadn't meant to let her go. Maybe they just didn't know how to come back for her.
She stood there a long time, holding the card.
—
Eventually, she found them—Jie and another boy, standing awkwardly in the hallway.
The boy beside Jie was tall, quiet, his head slightly lowered. There was tension between them—something unspoken.
Lan approached and held out the card.
"Is this yours?" she asked.
Jie looked surprised, then took the card with both hands. "Ah… yeah. It is. Thank you."
Lan smiled gently and said, "Don't drop something this important again."
Then she turned and walked away.
But she didn't say what she really meant:
You are important. And you shouldn't be dropped either.
—
Back on the court, Lan snapped out of the memory.
The sky had darkened. Her shadow stretched long across the pavement, warped and thin.
She remembered another moment—just last year.
The three of them were walking home after class when Jie had suddenly turned to Di and asked, "Do you like anyone?"
Di had looked caught off guard but answered with a forced grin, "Of course I do."
She had heard it. Her heart had skipped.
Then, to her surprise, Jie turned to her next.
"What about you, Lan?" he'd asked with a crooked smile. "Anyone you like?"
She had opened her mouth—but before she could respond, someone across the street had called her name.
The moment broke.
She never answered. Not then. Not later.
Because even now, she still didn't know.
Was what she felt for them love… or just the warmth of being seen? Did she like one of them? Or did she just long to belong?
She couldn't tell.
And she didn't want to hurt anyone by saying the wrong thing.
—
The wind picked up again, brushing her hair across her face.
Lan blinked hard and finally took a step toward the edge of the court.
She didn't know what would happen now.
But she knew one thing: from the moment she picked up that card, and the moment she heard that question…
Nothing between the three of them had ever been simple again.
Not friendship.
Not memory.
And definitely not love.