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The day was perfect.
For the first time in fifty years, Bangkok University's basketball team had reached the quarterfinals of the Regional University Championship. The season had been a blast – sponsors started circling, whispers of nationals filled the forums, and the entire campus rode a wave of long-overdue pride. Even the cheer team and university mascot had been pulled into every home game, hyping the crowd into a frenzy that made the players feel invincible.
Orm loved being at the heart of it.
As captain of the cheer team and Jakarin's – the team's dazzling star player – beloved girlfriend, she felt like she was living in a dream. She adored watching him shine: the way he commanded the court, the screams of fans treating him like an NBA superstar, the bright future finally rewarding him for all the years he'd endured when the team was a punchline.
Tonight, she told herself, would be the culmination of it all. A victory to remember, followed by the kind of celebration only they could share.
The quarterfinal match ended in a nail-biting win – three points on the buzzer – and the court exploded. Players collapsed into one another's arms, some crying openly, while the stands shook with thunderous cheers. The cheer squad launched into their victory routine, pom-poms flashing under the lights. Orm led the formation with mechanical precision and natural charisma, but her chest swelled with so much pride she could barely hold back tears.
When the final pose hit and the crowd roared one last time, she scanned the chaos for Jakarin. She looked on the court, along the benches, near the tunnel – everywhere. Nothing. A flicker of unease stirred, but she pushed it down. He was probably mobbed by teammates.
She wandered toward the older wing of the arena, past the main locker rooms, until she reached the small cheer lounge – a dusty, rarely used space reserved for visiting squads. A soft, rhythmic sound leaked through the cracked door: low whimpers, muffled gasps.
She blamed her curiosity for silently guiding her toward the door. Just a few steps in, and Orm saw – clear as day – Jakarin fucking one of her teammates. Sweaty and clothed – and still a thousand times more passionate than anything he had ever done with her.
The phone in her hand slipped, hitting the floor with a sharp thwack.
Two heads snapped toward her. Jakarin's eyes widened in shock, but no words came. The girl beside him flushed crimson, fumbling with her uniform.
Orm met his gaze for one frozen second. Then she turned and walked away.
He didn't follow.
She didn't know how she ended up on the empty soccer field bleachers, far from the arena's dying lights.
The night air was cool against her tear-streaked cheeks as she sat down – hugging herself. Sobs tore out of her in waves, each one ripping another piece of her heart loose. She cried until her throat burned and the pain dulled into a heavy, aching numbness.
