She nods, a simple, effortless nod.
I blink, surprised. “Wow, that’s so cool. For how long? Where?”
“Almost ten years,” she says. Then, after a pause, she adds, “An academy team.”
My eyes widen a little. Academy team. That means she’s good.Reallygood.
Mason also played for an academy team. And around here, there’s really only one big one. I’d been there once after they won an important match.
I hesitate, then ask, “Did you know my brother?”
Kym looks at me then, just for a second, her golden eyes flickering with something I can’t quite place. She hums softly, nodding once.
When she speaks, her voice is quieter, but certain. “Your brother was one of the best players I’ve ever seen.”
I let out a slow breath, staring straight ahead, pretending that didn’t affect me as much as it did. “Yeah,” I say, voice softer now. “That sounds like him.”
I swallow, glancing back at her. “Were you in the same academy team?”
“Yes,” she says simply. Then she shrugs, adding, “But I knew of him even before that. The boys team trained at the same time as us.”
She tilts her head slightly, “He was kind of hard to miss.”
I let out a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”
There’s a beat of quiet before something else clicks. If she played academy, and she knew Mason, then that means—
“Does that mean you also played with—”
“Yes,” Kym cuts in before I can even finish the sentence. It’s firm, and cold. “Liam, Will, Kai, and Christian were also there. We weren’t friends,” she clarifies flatly, crossing her arms overchest. Her entire body language shifts, tenses. Like even thementionof the wordfriendsmakes her cringe.
I watch her then. Really watch her. The way her shoulders stiffen, the way she tilts her chin slightly higher, like she’s waiting for me to challenge her on it. Like she’s ready to fight me on the idea before I even say anything.
“The world won’t end if you let yourself have a friend,” I say, not unkindly.
Although,befriending that particular crowd? Not exactly ideal. I mean—seriously. Would probably bring a lot of unwanted attention. But then again… they aren’t nearly as bad as I thought they were. Maybe I just never bothered looking close enough. Maybe Kym never did either.
I hope she knows where I’m coming from.
But if she does, she doesn’t show it.
She doesn’t react at all. Not even a flicker of emotion passes over her face. No eyeroll. No scoff. Just… nothing.
Then she says, “Who says I care about the world?” she kicks another loose rock ahead of her. It tumbles down the sidewalk, bouncing unevenly before skidding to a stop in the gutter.
Her words don’t surprise me. Not in the slightest. In fact, I think Iget it.
Loneliness is a strange thing. It doesn’t always feel like an ache. Sometimes, it’s justthere, so familiar that you don’t even feel it cutting into you. And you carry it with you everywhere, like an extra limb. It stays with you everywhere you go, practically breathes with you.
And at some point, it stops feeling like isolation. It starts feeling like safety.
Because what’s the alternative? Letting someoneseeyou? Letting someone reach inside your chest, sift through the parts of you you’d rather keep hidden, and hope—hope—they don’tfind you lacking? That they don’t decide, after seeing everything, that they’d rather look away?
No.
Sometimes, the thought of being trulyseenis more terrifying than being alone. Because what is loneliness? Loneliness isn’t being alone; it’s about feeling unseen.
I know that. And I think Kym does too.
