By the time she reached the edge of the pitch, Kian hadjust dodged Coach Reese again. He turned to her, face flushed, eyes wild with devotion. Smelling vaguely like soda.
Riya yanked the cord free from the amp. The music cut.
The crowd’s jeers fell into a dead, ringing silence.
Kian blinked, breathless. “Riya! They tried to stop me, but I—”
“You need tostop,” she hissed.
Kian’s smile faltered. “I don’t understand. I just wanted to show you—”
“I know!” Riya snapped. Her breath was coming too fast. “Iknow. But look around you. People areangry, Kian.”
He looked. At the field. The crowd. A chant started somewhere in the bleachers:Lo-ver-boy! Lo-ver-boy!
Kian looked back at her. “So...? Who cares what they think?” he said. “Onlyyoumatter. This.Us. That’s all.”
“Kian,” Riya managed, pressing a hand to her temple as if she could press the world back into place, “you’re ruining the game. You’re—you’re ruiningyourself.”
His fingers tightened around the neck of his guitar. “I don’t care,” he said, calm. “What I’m doing is how people show their love. Big things. Loud things. To make sure you don’t ever forget.”
A humorless laugh escaped her. Ofcourse. If one grand gesture hadn’t worked, his curse-addled brain had convinced him to go bigger.
“I never asked for this,” she replied. “Love isn’t aperformance. You can’t throw your feelings at someone and expect them to stick.”
Kian flinched. His bravado twisted into something smaller.
“Then tell me what to do instead,” he said, voice breaking. “Tell me, and I’ll do it.”
For a second, she saw it: the crack in him. Something fragile behind all the noise.
Riya shut her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose. When she finally spoke again, her voice was tight.
“I don’t know, Kian. Maybe you prove it by knowing when tostop.”
Coach Reese barreled toward them, his face the color of a stop sign. “Kian Kho, what thehelldo you think this is? Your own personalstage?”
Players from both teams had gathered midfield, pacing impatiently. Even Andrew let out a loud exhale. “What amess.”
Kian’s shoulders sagged, his guitar dangling limply at his side. For a second, something gold flickered behind his eyes.
Then he swayed.
Riya’s heart stopped.“Kian?”
He staggered, color draining from his face. Riya’s hand lifted toward him, instinctively. Almost reached him. But Kian caught himself.
“I’m sorry, Riya. You’re right. I’ll—I’ll stop,” he said, smiling weakly.
The referee’s whistle shrieked. Coach Reese cursed and waved security forward. He grabbed Kian’s shoulder. “You and I are going to have alongtalk.”
Kian didn’t argue. He just stood there, swallowed by bright, pitiless lights. Lost.
For one breathless second, Riya thought: maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe she could fix this.Miss Justice Junkie. That’s what he’d called her. A jab at the time, but true. She was someone who spoke up. Who stepped in.
But if she moved now, the questions would start. About why he did this. About her. And once adults got involved, there’d be meetings, reports, statements. Her spotless record, the looming shadow of Caltech, her future stacked like a house of cards—all of that would be at risk. No way to protect the secret. No way to fix the curse quietly.
She met Kian’s bruised, bewildered eyes as security began to drag him off the pitch, and something inside her fractured. Kian didn’t deserve to be left alone.
