The roar of the crowd echoed through the stands, but Samantha kept her focus on the open page of her sketchbook. The stadium buzzed with energy, but her charcoal pencil captured only quiet lines—curving, intersecting, creating something her mind couldn't yet name. It was her way of coping with the chaos.

Her boyfriend, Tyler, had begged her to come to the homecoming game. He'd been so excited, practically bouncing as he asked. Despite her reluctance, she couldn't say no to his hopeful grin. Tyler loved football; Samantha loved him.

"Come on, Sam," he'd pleaded earlier that week. "It's the biggest game of the season! It'll mean everything to me if you're there."

So here she was, perched awkwardly in the bleachers while the rest of the school screamed around her. She didn't mind supporting him, but she hated the overwhelming noise, the sweaty crush of bodies, and the way her personal space seemed to vanish. She tucked a loose strand of auburn hair behind her ear and glanced up briefly. Tyler was on the field, scanning for his next play. He looked up, his eyes finding her in the crowd. He smiled.

She gave a small wave, hoping it was enough.

The whistle blew, and the game snapped back into motion. Tyler turned, ball in hand, but his focus had wavered. He didn't see the defender until it was too late.

The impact was brutal. Tyler hit the ground hard, the ball bouncing loose as the opposing player landed on top of him. The crowd gasped collectively, the air electric with tension. Samantha's stomach twisted. She stood, clutching her sketchbook, as the medics rushed onto the field.

"Get up, Tyler," she whispered.

After what felt like forever, he was helped to his feet. He waved to the crowd, signaling he was okay, but Samantha could see the stiffness in his movements. Relief swept over her, but it was tinged with unease.

---

The hospital visit delayed their arrival at the afterparty. Tyler insisted he was fine—just a bruised rib—but Samantha couldn't shake the image of him crumpled on the field. When they finally made it to the party, the energy felt off to her.

Music blasted from oversized speakers, and the air smelled of beer and perfume. Samantha stuck close to Tyler as he navigated the crowded house. She felt out of place, her thrifted cardigan and jeans contrasting with the glittery dresses and skin tight leather leggings around her.

"Hey, you okay?" Tyler asked, leaning close to be heard over the music.

"Yeah," she lied, forcing a smile. "Just... not really my scene."

He nodded, slipping his arm around her waist. For a moment, she felt comforted, but then his grip tightened as he guided her toward an empty couch in the corner.

They sat together, Tyler's hand moving from her waist to her knee. She tensed, but he didn't notice.

"You looked so beautiful tonight," he said, his voice softer now.

"Thanks," she murmured, glancing at the door.

"I'm glad you came, Sam. I missed you out there. Seeing you in the crowd kept me going." He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her cheek.

Her heart pounded, but not in the way it should have. His touch, his closeness—it was too much. Memories she'd buried deep began to surface, uninvited and sharp.

"Tyler, wait," she said, her voice trembling.

He pulled back, confusion flashing across his face. "What's wrong?"

"I—I can't do this." She stood abruptly, clutching her sketchbook like a lifeline. "I'm sorry. I need to go."

"Sam, come on, I didn't mean—"

"I'll call you later." She bolted for the door, her heart racing.

---

The following week, Samantha avoided Tyler at school. She couldn't face him—not yet. She felt guilty for leaving the party, for running away without explaining. But the thought of opening up to him terrified her.

On Friday, Tyler caught her after art class.

"Sam," he said, blocking her path. "Wait."

She froze, her pulse quickening. "Tyler, I—"

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I shouldn't have pushed you. I wasn't thinking. I just... I wanted to be close to you. But I messed up, and I hate that I made you uncomfortable."

His earnestness disarmed her. She looked into his eyes, seeing the regret there.

"It's not your fault," she said quietly. "I should've said something sooner. It's just... hard for me."

"I get it," he said, surprising her. "Or, at least, I want to. Can I make it up to you? Give me a chance?"

She hesitated, then nodded. "Okay."

"Great," he said, his smile cautious but hopeful. "Tomorrow. Let me plan something."

---

Saturday was perfect. Tyler picked her up in his truck, driving them to a quiet art museum just outside of town. They wandered through the exhibits together, Tyler asking questions about the pieces while Samantha explained the nuances of light and shadow.

Afterward, they had a picnic in the park, the autumn leaves creating a vibrant canopy above them.

"This is more my speed," she admitted, sipping lemonade as they sat on the blanket.

"Noted," Tyler said with a grin.

They talked for hours, about art, football, and everything in between. For the first time in a while, Samantha felt like she could breathe.

"Thank you," she said as he walked her to her door that evening.

"For what?"

"For understanding."

"Always," he said, and she believed him.