Something About You

It felt like falling in love. Again.

For the past week, Layla had been doing her best to avoid Aaron. It wasn’t a deliberate, calculated effort—at least, that’s what she told herself—but every time she thought about their last few encounters, her chest tightened in an uncomfortable way. The i********: DM still lingered at the back of her mind like an itch she couldn’t scratch, and the awkwardness that came with it made facing him feel impossible. So, she kept her distance.

It wasn’t too hard, considering how busy Aaron had become. His schedule had been packed with photo shoots, meetings, and events, most of them related to his endorsements. Layla often saw glimpses of him from a distance—working with ambassadors from other sports brands, posing for cameras, laughing with PR staff—but she made sure to stay out of sight. Every morning she mentally mapped out her shifts, ensuring she could get through her duties without running into him.

Instead of checking on Aaron directly, Layla busied herself with the other players. She made a habit of showing up early for medical checks, often attending to the squad members who were already waiting. If a staff member suggested she go see Aaron, she would find a way to deflect it—saying someone else needed urgent attention or that she had equipment to organize.

For the most part, it worked. She managed to keep herself occupied with routine tasks—restocking supplies, cleaning the medical room, and monitoring the players' recovery progress. The other staff didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, and Aaron himself seemed too preoccupied to notice her absence.

Aaron’s commitments stretched him thin, and it showed. Layla overheard conversations between staff about how Aaron was juggling multiple sponsorships—working with international brands, attending promotional events, and squeezing in ambassador meetings between practices. Some days, he barely had time to catch his breath before running off to the next obligation.

Layla knew firsthand how draining such demands could be. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion; it was the pressure—the constant need to perform, to meet expectations, to not let anyone down. She’d seen that look before in others, the way exhaustion seeped beneath the surface, camouflaged by a carefully constructed smile.

And yet, despite her understanding, she kept her distance. She told herself it was better this way—better not to get involved, not to complicate things. Aaron had enough on his plate without her awkwardness adding to it.

But even as she tried to stay out of his way, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was running from something she wasn’t ready to face.

It was match day, and the stadium buzzed with energy, filled with restless supporters. The atmosphere was electric, the tension thick in the air as the game neared its final minutes. Layla stood near the edge of the field with the other medical staff, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, watching the players move with calculated precision. Lionsgate United, the club she worked for, was locked in a 1-1 tie, and time was slipping away fast. They needed one more goal—a winning goal—but it was still anyone’s game.

Aaron was on the pitch, his jersey clinging to him with sweat, his expression focused and tense. His dark hair clung to his forehead, and even from where Layla stood, she could see the weight of the match etched in every movement he made. For the past week, she had kept her distance from him, but right now, on the field, he was the Aaron she remembered—sharp, determined, and relentless.

88th minute. Only two minutes left of regulation time, plus whatever injury time the referee would add. Every play mattered now. The fans roared from the stands, urging the team forward, their chants echoing through the stadium. The players moved frantically—defenders chasing down strikers, midfielders intercepting passes, and forwards sprinting into position.

Layla’s heart thudded in her chest as Aaron received a pass just outside the box, surrounded by two defenders. He dribbled with ease, slipping past one, then the other, his eyes locked on the goal. For a moment, the crowd held its breath, sensing the chance they had been waiting for.

The stadium erupted as Aaron sent a cross into the box toward a teammate. But the opposing goalkeeper leaped at the last second, deflecting the ball with an outstretched glove.

"Come on, come on!" one of the coaches on the sideline muttered anxiously, pacing back and forth.

Layla could feel the anxiety rippling through the staff around her. One of the physiotherapists beside her shifted nervously on his feet.

"This is brutal," he whispered under his breath, glancing at Layla. "If this ends in a draw, they’ll drop in the standings—Aaron’s going to be fuming."

Layla nodded absently, her eyes still glued to Aaron. He jogged back into position, calling out instructions to his teammates with a quick flick of his hand. His voice, though faint under the roaring crowd, was clear and commanding.

“Push up! Keep pressing! We’ve got this!” Aaron shouted, his voice hoarse from exhaustion but filled with determination.

Another midfielder picked up the ball and launched it down the wing, sending it hurtling toward Aaron once again. Layla watched as he sprinted toward it, narrowly beating a defender to the pass. He trapped the ball effortlessly and pivoted, scanning the field for an opening.

"Aaron’s got space! C’mon, lad, make it count!" one of the assistant coaches shouted, clapping his hands together.

Aaron dribbled closer, and for a moment, it looked like he might take the shot himself. But at the last second, he spotted a teammate cutting into the box and made a quick pass.

The striker received the ball, took a touch, and fired it toward the goal. Layla held her breath as the ball soared past the goalkeeper’s outstretched arms—

CLANG!

The ball ricocheted off the post. The crowd groaned, hands flying to heads in disbelief, and the sound of frustration rippled through the stadium.

Layla exhaled sharply, clutching her clipboard tighter. Even though she wasn't on the field, the pressure was unbearable. She glanced at Aaron, who stood frozen for a second, his hands on his hips, jaw clenched.

“Unlucky,” the physiotherapist beside her muttered. “They’re running out of time.”

Aaron shook his head, frustration flashing across his features, but he didn’t let it linger. With a quick nod to his teammates, he motioned for them to reset. The clock ticked mercilessly—89th minute now. They were running out of time to make something happen.

Layla watched as Aaron jogged back into position, barking orders to his teammates with a sharpness that cut through the noise. "Keep pushing! One more chance!"

The ball was back in play, moving rapidly across the pitch. The midfielders worked tirelessly, connecting passes, trying to break down the opposing defense. Every second felt like an eternity. Layla knew that if they didn’t score soon, the whistle would blow, and all their efforts would end in a draw.

Aaron was everywhere on the field, dropping deep to help the defense, then sprinting forward to support the attack. It was clear that exhaustion weighed heavily on him—his movements slightly less fluid, his breaths more labored. But he didn’t slow down, didn’t give in.

The referee glanced at his watch—one minute of regular time left. Aaron intercepted a loose pass and launched it forward with a precise through-ball to the winger on the left side.

Layla found herself leaning forward unconsciously, her pulse quickening. “Come on,” she whispered to herself, her hands gripping the edge of the bench.

The winger took off down the sideline, cutting inside just as Aaron surged into the box. Layla could see the determination burning in his eyes, the way every muscle in his body screamed with effort. He wanted this win—he needed it.

The winger sent a low cross into the box, and Aaron lunged forward, sliding in just ahead of the defender—

And with a flick of his boot, the ball curved toward the far post.

For a split second, the entire stadium seemed to hold its breath.

And then—

GOAL!

The stadium roared to life, waves of noise crashing down from the stands as fans erupted in celebration. Red and gold flags waved wildly in the air, and the thundering sound of drums reverberated throughout the arena. The scoreboard blinked: 2-1. Victory belonged to Lionsgate United.

Aaron sprinted toward the corner flag, adrenaline pumping through his veins. His teammates chased after him, their shouts drowned out by the crowd's cheers. Aaron’s heart raced, his chest heaving with every breath, but all he could feel was triumph—pure and unfiltered. He slowed near the corner, catching his breath just enough to raise his hands and form the shape of a B’ with his fingers, a small gesture that seemed deliberate but subtle enough to go unnoticed by most.

The fans near the sideline screamed louder, and Aaron flashed a grin before running toward the bench. His teammates waiting on the sidelines had already stood up, arms outstretched, ready to pull him into a tight embrace. He leapt into their arms without hesitation, grinning like a kid, sweat-soaked but alive with joy.

“Man, you killed it!” one of the substitutes yelled, slapping Aaron on the back as they huddled together.

“I thought we were going into penalties for sure,” another player chimed in with a laugh, ruffling Aaron’s hair.

Aaron’s laugh was loud and genuine, the kind that came from deep in his chest. “Told you we’d get it done,” he panted, resting his hands on his knees to catch his breath. His voice was hoarse from shouting, but his energy was infectious.

“Legend,” someone else called out, pulling Aaron into another hug. “Absolute legend, mate.”

Aaron grinned and bumped his forehead against a teammate’s playfully. “One more for the win, yeah?”

The whole scene was chaotic and euphoric—players embracing, trainers congratulating one another, and the crowd still chanting Aaron’s name. But amid the celebration, one person stood frozen on the sidelines, lost in her own world.

Layla.

She watched him with wide eyes, her breath caught in her throat. Aaron’s happiness was palpable—bright, unrestrained, the kind of joy that made him look almost invincible. He looked free. And it was in that moment, watching him laugh with his teammates, that something inside her shifted.

Her heart raced painfully fast, and she pressed a hand to her chest as if to steady it. Her cheeks grew warm, burning with the kind of heat that she couldn’t explain away as just the stadium atmosphere. No, it was something else—something she hadn’t expected to feel again.

Am I… falling for him?

The thought was sudden, intrusive, and terrifying. Layla swallowed hard, trying to shake it off, but the feeling lingered like a stubborn flame. It wasn’t just admiration for how well Aaron played or how his teammates gravitated toward him—it was deeper than that. It felt like falling in love. Again.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a second, trying to ground herself, but it was useless. No matter how hard she tried, her heart betrayed her, pounding faster every time she looked at him.

Around her, the medical staff erupted into joyful chatter. Sarah nudged her playfully, grinning from ear to ear. “We did it! That was insane!” she shouted, throwing her arms up in excitement.

"Layla, did you see that goal?!" another medic asked, still buzzing with energy. "Aaron saved us at the last second. I swear I stopped breathing."

Sarah laughed and nudged Layla again. "He really pulled that off, huh? That guy’s ridiculous."

But Layla barely registered their words. Her gaze was still glued to Aaron, who was now hugging the assistant coaches and high-fiving the other players. His face was glowing, not just with the exertion of the match but with the kind of happiness that was contagious.

"Layla?" Sarah leaned closer, waving a hand in front of her. "Hellooo? Earth to Layla!"

Layla blinked, startled out of her daze. "Huh? Sorry, what?"

Sarah gave her a curious look, her eyebrows raised. "You okay? You’ve been weirdly quiet. I thought you’d be more hyped—we won, girl!"

"Yeah, yeah, I’m fine," Layla murmured, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Sarah squinted at her, unconvinced. "You sure? You’ve been avoiding Aaron all week, and now you’re spacing out during the best moment of the season. Spill. What’s going on?"

"Nothing," Layla said quickly, too quickly. "Just… tired, I guess."

Sarah tilted her head, clearly skeptical, but before she could press further, one of the trainers called her name, drawing her attention away.

"Be right back," Sarah said, giving Layla a light pat on the shoulder before walking off to handle whatever needed her attention.

Layla let out a quiet sigh of relief and ran a hand through her hair, trying to calm herself down. Her mind was racing, her emotions in turmoil, and she didn’t even know how to make sense of it all.

She knew she shouldn’t feel this way—not after everything. But here she was, heart pounding and cheeks flushed, watching Aaron like she was seeing him for the first time all over again.

The crowd’s cheers continued to fill the stadium, but for Layla, everything else felt muted. All she could focus on was him—his messy hair, his easy smile, the way he lit up when he was surrounded by the people who mattered to him.

And in that moment, Layla knew one thing for sure: no matter how hard she tried to avoid him, Aaron was still the one person who could make her heart race in ways she didn’t understand.

Aaron stood on the edge of the pitch, hands resting on his hips, a sense of satisfaction settling in his chest. The match had gone better than he could’ve hoped for. A goal in the final minutes, a comeback win—he could practically feel the buzz from the stands still humming in the air. For a brief moment, he soaked it all in: the cheers, the flags, the stadium lights casting a glow over the field. It was moments like these that made everything worth it.

But as the noise around him began to die down, Aaron’s thoughts drifted elsewhere. His eyes scanned the field instinctively, searching. Where’s Layla?

She had been distant this past week, always finding a way to avoid him. He’d catch glimpses of her with the other players but never long enough to say anything. He tried to ignore the gnawing curiosity in his chest—it wasn’t like her to disappear like that.

With a small shake of his head, Aaron pulled his focus back to the moment. She’s probably in the medical room, he thought, brushing it off. There would be time to check in on her later. For now, he had someone else to meet.

He headed toward the VIP section, weaving through the crowd of staff and players still lingering on the sidelines. Up in the stands, his father had been watching—just as he always did.

“Dad!” Aaron called as he reached the VIP gate. His father, a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and the same easy smile as Aaron’s, opened his arms wide as his son approached.

“There’s my boy!” his father greeted, pulling Aaron into a strong embrace.

Aaron smiled, the familiar warmth of his father’s hug grounding him after the chaos of the game. “You see that goal?” Aaron asked, his voice tinged with pride.

His father chuckled, patting his son’s back. “Saw the whole thing. You were brilliant out there.”

Aaron grinned, the praise meaning more to him than any cheer from the crowd. "Thanks, Dad."

Just as they pulled apart, a familiar voice rang out from behind him.

“There you are!”

Aaron barely had time to react before he felt a pair of arms wrap around his waist from behind. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Alaia, her bright smile lighting up her face as she hugged him.

"Alaia," Aaron greeted, a little caught off guard but returning the hug out of habit.

Alaia looked up at him, her grin mischievous. “You didn’t think I’d miss your big moment, did you?”

Aaron chuckled softly. “Didn’t expect you to come down here, though.”

“I wouldn’t miss the chance,” Alaia said with a playful smirk. She adjusted her jacket and tugged on his arm. “Come on, let's get a picture on the pitch! You know, for the memories.”

Aaron gave a small nod, and together they made their way back toward the field, weaving between the remaining crew members. Alaia’s energy was infectious, and she practically skipped across the grass, dragging Aaron along with her.

“Okay,” Alaia said excitedly, looking around. “We need someone to take the picture for us…”

Her gaze wandered until it landed on someone standing near the medical staff's bench. Her eyes lit up in recognition, and before Aaron could process it, she called out.

“Layla...?”