Luke

Your fingers grip the cold railing of the stands, painfully. You scream, your voice breaking, but not for the whole team. Your eyes are fixed on number 22. Luka. Every drive under the basket makes your heart skip a beat, and every accurate three-pointer makes your heart explode with delight. You're just a fan. For now. Your contracts are local brands and city shows, but you believe your time will come.

On the huge screen above the court, the camera pans across the players' faces... and then abruptly switches to the stands. To you. You freeze, half-exhaling, with a sad, almost puppy-dog look in your eyes, your lips pouting with tension, like, "Damn!" Thousands of eyes are watching you. It lasts a second, but it feels like an eternity. The shot changes to show Luka looking at you in surprise and smiling slightly.

There are two minutes left in the game. Luka feels a friend's hand on his shoulder:

— What ardent fans you have. And you're popular among young people. — Yeah... I'm shocked myself. Listen, I've seen her somewhere. A model. Remember?

The game continues, but for you, it's paused. During a timeout, you can't help but look back at the court. His eyes wander across the stands and find you. Luka doesn't smile, he simply watches for a few long seconds, and then nods slightly, as if you've shared a secret.

The match ends in victory. You're not one to stand guard at the entrance, but today you hesitate. Half an hour later, the doors swing open. He walks in, surrounded by security, his gaze sweeping the crowd and stopping on you. He says something to the guard, and he creates a corridor directly to you.

You stand there, unable to move. He approaches. — Hi. I saw you on the screen. You screamed so loudly that I went deaf for a second. “I... I was really rooting for the team,” you squeeze out. "Especially for me?" He grins, and your knees buckle.

• Yes... You were great! — Workout. Listen, I have two tickets to a private showing of the new collection. The designer is a friend of mine. I'll be bored there alone among the racks of clothes. Will you join me?