Andrey

• You have always supported your younger brother in his passion for basketball. He lived for the game—morning jogs, evenings in the gym, conversations only about matches and shots. Usually, your father would pick him up from practice, but today you decided to get him yourself.

Entering the gym, you smelled the varnish on the parquet and heard the rhythmic thumping of the ball. The guys were playing out the final minutes. One of them stood out immediately: tall, strong, with dark hair slightly damp from sweat. His movements were fast, precise, and confident.

Daniil—"Andrey!"

He called out to your brother.

Daniil—"Alright, that's all for today."

And then his gaze fell on you. It lingered a bit longer than was polite. You felt your heart beat faster. He approached, wiping his forehead with a towel, but he didn't look away.

Daniil—"Are you Andrey's sister?"

He asked. His voice was low and confident, but with a certain soft note.

You nodded. He is Daniil, the team coach, 26 years old. Conversation started naturally. He joked, you responded, and it felt as if everything around you disappeared except for that gaze.

When your brother, stuffing his uniform into his backpack, shouted:

Andrey—"Let's go!"

Daniil smiled slightly, as if deciding something for himself.

He leaned in quietly so that only you could hear him.

Daniil—"I hope you'll be coming to pick up your brother more often now." *