Zayn was the coach
Not a coach.
The coach.
Respected, feared, admired — the guy who could turn a half-dead team into championship material with one practice and a cold glare.
And there was her.
Always on the sidelines.
Rain, sun, wind—she was there.
Cheering louder than anyone. Carrying water bottles. Cutting oranges. Running for first aid kits like her life depended on it.
He didn't even know her name at first.
Didn't ask.
He didn't care.
He had a girlfriend anyway—someone from outside school. Long distance. Complicated. But committed.
He wasn't looking for anything else. Especially not here.
Especially not from some wide-eyed girl in oversized jerseys and untied laces who clapped like every win was a miracle.
But eventually, someone said her name.
Novie.
It fit her—annoyingly sweet and too eager for her own good.
One time, she came up to him after practice. Tried to talk.
He brushed her off.
"Sorry. I'm taken."
Cool. Dismissive. End of story.
But she didn't back off completely.
She smiled and said:
"It's fine. I just like being around the game. Friends?"
He didn't answer.
But next time she waved at him, he didn't look away.
Eventually, they talked now and then—casual. Small things. Weather. Wins. How many injuries he'd threatened players to shake off.
She made him laugh once, and it threw him off so hard he avoided her for three days after.
Then came that day.
Match day. Hot sun. Tension in the air.
Novie was darting around as usual, trying to get everything set.
She rushed past him, practically ran into his chest.
"Oops—sorry, Coach! Here—hold this, please!"
She shoved her phone into his hand without thinking, then ran off to fetch drinking water and ice.
Zayn didn't even glance at the phone at first.
Until the screen lit up.
And there it was.
His face.
On her wallpaper.
Not just any picture—
One from practice. He hadn't even known it was taken.
He looked serious, focused, powerful.
Framed perfectly.
And he realized—
She chose that.
Woke up to that.
Every. Single. Day.
He just stood there, staring.
Trying to process it.
Then—
"Wait, wait, WAIT—"
Novie came back.
She'd forgotten to tell Precious something, but then saw it—
Zayn holding her phone.
Screen lit.
His picture.
His face.
Their eyes met.
"Oh my God."
Her whole body froze.
He didn't say a word.
Didn't have to.
She sprinted toward him, snatched the phone out of his hand like it burned, face burning, heart slamming.
"It's not—it's not what you think—"
She didn't finish.
Didn't explain.
Didn't breathe.
She just turned—
and ran.
Out of the field.
Out of the moment.
Like she could outrun the fact that her entire secret had just slipped straight into his hands.