When We Were Us

Slowly, We Connect

The week passed by in a blur, and Miggy found himself counting the days until the practice match against the engineering team. It wasn’t just about the game anymore. It was about Rafa.

The moment the gym doors opened for the practice match, Miggy felt the excitement bubbling in his chest. His team had been preparing for this moment, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that today was going to be different.

Miggy walked into the gym with purpose, his heart pounding faster than usual. As he tossed his bag onto the bench, he spotted Rafa across the court. The engineering team was already warming up, stretching, and getting ready.

Rafa was there too, tossing a volleyball up and down in his hands as he casually chatted with his teammates. Miggy couldn’t help but watch him again, taking in the way he moved—confident, smooth, almost graceful.

"Focus, Miggy," Coach Rivera said as he approached, sensing the distraction. "We’re facing a tough team today. Don’t let anything throw you off your game."

"I got it," Miggy responded, but his mind was still elsewhere.

The match began, and the tension in the gym grew thick. Both teams were evenly matched, and Miggy found himself locked in. He could feel the energy building in the room, and soon, it was just him and the ball, communicating in ways words couldn’t.

But every time Rafa hit the ball, Miggy found himself watching. The way he positioned his body before he jumped, the way his arm snapped through the air with power and precision—it was mesmerizing.

"Come on, Miggy! Let’s go!" Paulo yelled as he moved into position for the set.

Miggy snapped back to attention, quickly setting the ball for Paulo, who spiked it over the net with ease.

But even as the game continued, a part of Miggy remained aware of Rafa’s movements. He couldn’t help it. It wasn’t just about the game anymore; it was about him.

When the game finally ended, Miggy felt the exhaustion in his muscles but also a strange, unfamiliar sense of satisfaction. It was the closest he had ever been to feeling... alive.

The teams gathered for the post-game handshake, and as Miggy extended his hand to Rafa, their eyes met again.

"Good game," Rafa said, his voice calm, but there was a glint in his eyes.

"Yeah, you too," Miggy replied, his throat suddenly dry. "You played well."

Rafa smiled slightly, a small, genuine smile that made Miggy’s heart skip.

"Thanks," Rafa said, his hand lingering in Miggy’s for just a moment longer than necessary.

The handshake ended, but for a moment, neither of them pulled away. It was an odd feeling—one that made Miggy’s pulse race, even as he tried to stay composed.

As the two teams filed out of the gym, Miggy couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. It wasn’t just about volleyball anymore.

It was about connection.