Something About You

All of it Pointed to the Same Truth.

It had been a few weeks since Layla had last seen Alaia and Aaron together. The memory of that awkward encounter still played in her mind, but she had learned to brush it off, acting as if nothing unusual had happened. Life moved on, and so did her routine. Layla found solace in staying busy, whether at work or during her weekends spent volunteering at the local orphanage.

On this particular Saturday, Layla was at the orphanage again, surrounded by the chatter and laughter of the children. She had been coming here for a few months, helping out wherever she could—whether it was assisting the staff or just spending time with the kids. The children, most of them under 12, were always curious about her job. Today was no different.

“So, you really work at the football club?” one of the boys, maybe around ten years old, asked excitedly, his wide eyes shining with curiosity.

Layla smiled, nodding as she kneeled down to be at eye level with him. “I do. I’m one of the medical staff there. You know, I help the players when they get hurt.”

The boy’s eyes widened even more. “Like Aaron Bekker?”

At the mention of Aaron’s name, Layla’s smile faltered for just a second, but she quickly recovered. “Yes, like Aaron Bekker,” she answered, her voice soft. “I’ve worked with him a few times.”

The group of boys and girls around her erupted into excited chatter. Some of them were huge football fans, and Aaron was easily one of their idols. One of the boys tugged on her sleeve, eager to ask more questions.

“Do you think I could become a football player too?” another boy asked, his face hopeful as he gazed up at her.

Layla’s heart warmed at his earnestness. She ruffled his hair gently and said, “Of course, you can. You just have to keep practicing, and never give up on your dreams.” She paused, then added with a wink, “Who knows, maybe one day you’ll play alongside Aaron Bekker.”

The boy grinned, his excitement contagious. “I’ll work hard!”

As the afternoon went on, Layla shared more stories about the club. She described the high-energy atmosphere before a big match, the way the players prepared, and how important teamwork was—both on and off the field. The children listened attentively, absorbing every word like it was a secret glimpse into the world they aspired to be part of.

For Layla, these moments at the orphanage were more than just a way to fill her weekends. They were a reminder of the simpler joys in life. Amid the chaos of her job and the complicated emotions surrounding her recent interactions with Aaron, being here helped her reconnect with a sense of purpose.

Later that day, the children gathered for one of their favorite activities—crafting their own projects. The orphanage often organized these sessions to help the kids express themselves, and today the goal was to make personal "wish books." The kids could draw, paste pictures, or write whatever dreams they had inside the little booklets they were given.

Layla moved between the small groups, smiling at the sight of crayons, scissors, and glue scattered across the tables. The children were deep in concentration, their tongues poking out in focus as they carefully drew colorful stars and footballs, scribbled letters, and decorated their books with stickers.

She crouched next to Calvin, an 8-year-old boy with a mop of unruly hair, to see what he was working on. Calvin was usually quiet, but today, he seemed unusually enthusiastic, hunched over his project with fierce determination.

“What are you working on there, Calvin?” Layla asked, her tone warm and curious.

Calvin looked up briefly and grinned, holding up his small wish book for her to see. “It’s a book… about Aaron Bekker!” he declared proudly.

Layla blinked in surprise. “Oh, really? Can I take a look?”

With a shy nod, Calvin handed the booklet to her. It was filled with small clippings of Aaron’s photos from old magazines and printouts that the boy must have managed to find. Every page had handwritten wishes next to the pictures—sweet and heartfelt ones.

"I hope you win the next match, Aaron!” one page read in wobbly, childlike handwriting. Another had a hand-drawn trophy next to a caption that said, “I wish Aaron becomes the best football player ever!

Layla couldn’t help but smile as she flipped through the pages. One page even had a picture of Aaron with the Lionsgate United jersey, and underneath, Calvin had written, “I want to be like you one day.”

“This is really amazing, Calvin,” Layla said, her chest tightening at the sight of the boy’s simple but heartfelt words. “Aaron would love this if he saw it.”

“Do you think so?” Calvin asked eagerly, his eyes sparkling with hope.

“I know so.” Layla smiled, handing the booklet back to him. “You did a great job. You really put a lot of heart into it.”

Calvin beamed under the praise, his cheeks flushing with pride. “Do you think… maybe one day you could show it to him?” he asked hesitantly.

Layla hesitated for a moment, her mind flashing back to Aaron—how complicated things had become between them lately, how hard she had been trying to avoid him, even at work. But then she looked at Calvin’s hopeful face, and all the tangled thoughts in her mind seemed to quiet.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she promised softly, giving him a reassuring smile.

Calvin’s grin grew even wider, and he quickly returned to his book, adding more details to the pages as if the idea of Aaron seeing it had given him newfound energy.

Layla watched him for a moment, feeling a mixture of emotions she couldn’t quite untangle—pride for Calvin, a lingering ache at the thought of Aaron, and something else she didn’t want to name.

But for now, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Calvin, like so many of the other kids here, still had dreams worth chasing. And if helping them believe in those dreams meant crossing paths with Aaron again... maybe it was worth it.

Layla continued flipping through Calvin's wish book, lingering on a particular page that tugged at something deep inside her. The words, scrawled in careful but uneven letters, read:

"If Aaron ever feels like giving up, don’t forget to remember your prayers."

The simple, heartfelt words made Layla pause, and a memory stirred in her mind, taking her back to a moment she'd witnessed countless times—Aaron on the pitch, right before stepping onto the field. She could see it vividly: the way he always took a quiet moment to himself before the match began.

He always did it, without fail. Just before the whistle blew, Aaron would stand still on the pitch for a few seconds. He’d bring his right hand to his forehead, then to his chest, touching each shoulder, and finally clasping both hands together briefly. The simple act of making the Sign of the Cross—a small, quiet prayer before the chaos of the game began.

Layla had always noticed how grounded he looked afterward, like the prayer centered him no matter what pressure surrounded him. .

There was always something grounding about that ritual. Even when the stadium roared with thousands of voices, Aaron’s little prayer created a stillness within him. It wasn’t for show—it was something personal, a reminder to himself of the faith that had carried him through.

Layla found herself smiling again, her thumb brushing lightly over Calvin’s writing. It was such a simple, beautiful sentiment: no matter how hard things got, faith would always be there to fall back on.

She turned to Calvin, who was fidgeting with some pages in his book, eager but nervous. “This is so amazing,” Layla whispered, the words coming out softer than she intended.

Calvin tilted his head, his big brown eyes shining with expectation. “Do you think he’ll like it?”

Layla gave a small nod, though her heart felt heavy with uncertainty. “He’ll love it,” she said. “And I’ll make sure it gets to him.”

Calvin’s grin widened, and Layla chuckled under her breath at how proud the little boy looked. She held the book carefully in her hands, the weight of both Calvin’s hope and her own hesitation pressing on her.

The idea of handing this to Aaron made her heart race—Would it feel awkward? Would he even care?—but the promise was already made. Somehow, she’d have to follow through.

...

After a long day at the orphanage, Layla finally settled into her small London apartment, dropping onto her couch with a sigh. She felt a mix of exhaustion and contentment from spending time with the kids. Her mind wandered back to Calvin's handmade book, now tucked safely in her bag. I'll give it to Aaron... eventually, she told herself, though the idea still made her feel uneasy.

Layla lay sprawled on her bed, finally allowing her body to relax after a long day at the orphanage. The familiar hum of her apartment filled the background—the distant sound of cars outside, the soft buzz from the fridge, and the comforting weight of her blanket over her legs.

Her phone rested on her chest, and with a lazy exhale, she picked it up, her thumb instinctively scrolling through i********:. Mindless scrolling had become her guilty pleasure—an easy escape from the overthinking that always crept in when she was alone for too long.

She tapped through a few stories and posts until something familiar caught her eye. Aaron’s profile.

A new post.

Layla’s heart gave a small jolt. It was rare for him to post—he was usually more reserved online. With a flick of her thumb, she opened the post and stared at the first slide. It was a carousel of moments from the match a few weeks ago, the one where Lionsgate United had secured that critical win. She swiped through the photos, her thumb hesitant but steady.

The first image showed Aaron mid-play, his eyes sharp with focus, his body in perfect motion, ready to pass the ball. In the second slide, he stood triumphant, arms raised toward the crowd as teammates gathered around him. The cheers of the stadium practically echoed through her screen, and Layla couldn’t help but smile.

Then she swiped again—the third photo.

There he was, mid-celebration, forming that B shape with his fingers, a small grin on his lips. Layla tilted her head, her brow furrowing. She lingered on the image for a moment longer than she expected, trying to decipher the meaning behind the gesture. But no explanation came. Maybe it was just a random celebration—players did that all the time.

“It’s probably nothing,” she mumbled to herself, brushing it off. Aaron had always been a bit hard to read. She had long since learned not to overthink every little thing he did.

With a flick of her thumb, she moved to the next slide. More photos—some candid shots of Aaron with his teammates at the bench, laughing and celebrating, his energy infectious even through the screen.

And then, before she realized it, her thumb hovered over the heart icon. Tap.

The red heart popped up, and a tiny notification appeared at the bottom: Liked by layla_ and 367,252 others.

Her heart dropped. Oh no. What did I just do?

Her pulse spiked, and Layla sat up straight, gripping her phone as if it had betrayed her. Why did I just like his post? Why?? She groaned aloud, running a hand through her hair, frustration bubbling up in her chest.

“No, no, no,” she muttered under her breath, tapping frantically at the heart icon to unlike it—only to realize the notification would’ve already gone through. There was no taking it back now.

“Damn it” she hissed, dragging her hand down her face. “What the hell is wrong with you?” She stared at the screen, as if willing it to reverse time, but the damage was done. The bright red heart was gone, but the notification had already been sent.

For a second, she sat frozen, her mind racing through worst-case scenarios. What if Aaron sees it? What if he thinks it’s weird? What if he tells Alaia? Or oh God she just like the feed.

Her thoughts spiraled, and she buried her face in her hands, muttering curses under her breath.

Okay. Calm down, Layla, she told herself, taking a few deep breaths. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just a like. It’s not like he’ll even notice—he probably gets thousands of notifications every hour.

She repeated the thought to herself, as if saying it enough times would make it true. “Yeah... There’s no way he’ll even see it,” she whispered, her heart still pounding against her ribcage. “Hundreds of thousands of people liked that post. Mine’s just one of many.”

She glanced back at the screen, as if to double-check her logic. 367,252 others. There was no way one little like would stand out, right? Right?

With a heavy sigh, she locked her phone and tossed it onto the bed, as if distancing herself from it would make the situation go away. “You’re overreacting,” she whispered to herself, running her hands through her hair in frustration. “It’s not like he’ll care.”

Still, the thought gnawed at the back of her mind, and she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling sitting in her chest. Trying to distract herself, she flopped back onto the mattress and pulled the blanket over her face.

“I need to sleep,” she muttered, though her mind was far from settling down.

Just as Layla was about to close her eyes, her phone buzzed on the nightstand. She froze, the soft vibration shattering any hope of peace. Probably some random notification. Ignore it, she told herself, pulling the blanket higher over her head. But curiosity gnawed at her. What if it wasn’t random?

After a few moments of inner debate, she reached for her phone. The screen lit up in the dim room, casting a faint glow across her face. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the notification:

Aaron Bekker sent you a message.

Layla stared at it, wide-eyed, her thumb hovering over the screen. What could he possibly want? she thought, suddenly feeling her stomach twist into a knot. Part of her wanted to ignore it, pretend she hadn’t seen anything. But it was too late. She was already hooked.

With a deep breath, she opened the message.

Aaron:

Which one do you like the most?

Layla blinked. She re-read the message twice, her brain scrambling to make sense of it. Which one…? And then it hit her—he was talking about his recent post.

Her pulse quickened. Is this real life? She stared at the message, her mind racing. It was such a simple question, yet it felt loaded. Why was he asking her? Out of the thousands of people who liked his post, why bother to message her?

She bit her lip, anxiety and excitement tangling in her chest. The logical part of her brain told her it didn’t mean anything—it was probably just Aaron being friendly. But another part, the part that had spent too long trying not to think about him, whispered: What if it does mean something?

Layla stared at the empty message box, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. How was she supposed to respond to that? She couldn’t just say, “I wasn’t even paying attention, I liked it by accident.”

Her thumbs hesitated before she finally typed:

Layla:

They all look good, honestly

She hovered over the send button, then deleted the message entirely. Too vague. Too casual. She tried again:

Layla:

The one where you’re celebrating. That’s a nice moment

Before she could second-guess herself again, she hit send. The message hovered there, staring back at her like a ticking time bomb.

Layla dropped her phone onto the bed, rubbing her face with both hands. What are you doing? Why are you even nervous? It was just a message. But it felt like more. Like some part of the past was sneaking its way back into her life.

Her phone buzzed again, and she snatched it up, heart pounding. Aaron had already replied.

Aaron:

Yeah? That was a good one. Guess it’ll be my new favorite too.

Layla’s breath hitched. She wasn’t sure if it was the words themselves or the thought that he was still sitting there, messaging her instead of anyone else.

Aaron:

It’s been a while. How have you been?

Her stomach flipped. And just like that, the door she’d tried so hard to keep closed had cracked open again.

Layla’s fingers hovered over the screen, re-reading his messages as if they held some hidden meaning. A part of her had hoped she could pretend everything was normal—just a football player she used to know, messaging her about a harmless photo. But the way her heart raced with every reply, the way her breath hitched at the sight of his name, and how her thoughts kept circling back to him told her something she wasn’t ready to admit: she was still in love with Aaron. No matter how much she tried to avoid him, burying thoughts of him under work and distractions, it never went away. Every glance she stole at him, every smile she tried not to overanalyze, even that accidental i********: like—all of it pointed to the same truth.