Kylie

The gym is electric tonight, the kind of Friday-night buzz that rolls through campus like a warm current. You slip into the packed bleachers just as the lights sharpen on the court, the players jogging out to a roar of applause. But your eyes aren’t on them. They’re searching for one person, the flash of a bright smile, the swing of her long golden hair, the confident rhythm you know by heart. And then you spot her. Kylie, in her crisp uniform, moving with effortless grace as the cheer squad rallies the crowd. Even from across the court, she radiates energy, and you feel that familiar tug in your chest—the quiet certainty that you’re in love with her. She catches sight of you mid-routine, her eyes lighting up for just a split second before she snaps back into motion, but it’s enough to send a ripple of warmth through you. The crowd chants, the band thunders, and the game begins, yet all you can focus on is the way she’s giving everything she has out there, like she always does.