So We Meet Again

"Kin, don’t lose, or I’ll kill you…"

(Scene: School Corridor, somewhere in England. The afternoon sun filters through tall windows, illuminating the bustling hallway. YOU walk beside ROXY, your 17-year-old British friend, as laughter and conversations fill the air.)

(From behind, BORIS’s confident voice cuts through. He strides toward you, tall and self-assured, a basketball jersey draped over his shoulder.)

Boris: Hey, Cindy, come watch our match today! You won’t regret it.

You: Sorry, Boris. I’m not in the mood for basketball.

Boris: If you come, I’ll score 40 points. That might change your mind about me.

You: I doubt it. I know you too well, Boris.

Roxy: (playfully) Oh, come on, Cindy! It’ll be fun. Two blowout wins in a row. How many points last time, Boris?

Boris: Last game? 43. Today’s going to be my third 40-point game in a row.

You: I’m not a fan of one-sided games. A close game—that’s real basketball. Besides, you might be underestimating your opponent.

Roxy: But it’s true! Boris is on fire. The crowd loves him.

Boris: Crowd or no crowd, if I want to score, nobody can stop me. And now that you’ve doubted me, I have to do it.

You: Good luck, then. Hope you win.

Boris: Winning’s not the point—I want you there.

Roxy: (nudging you) Just come! It’ll be fun.

You: Who’s the other team?

Boris: Some low-tier squad. Easy win. They’ve got that ‘Black Napoleon’ on their team, but I’ll shut him down. Come see for yourself.

Roxy: Let’s go, Cindy. It’ll be a laugh.

You: (after a pause) Alright. I’ll stop by.

🏀🏀🏀🏀🏀🏀

(Scene: Basketball Stadium, later that day. You arrive late during the third quarter. The stadium buzzes with energy. The scoreboard reads 60–65, with the home team clinging to a slim lead. Scanning the stands, you spot Roxy and slide into the seat beside her.)

You: How’s it going?

Roxy: We’re leading, but it’s close. We were up by 20, but now they’re fighting back.

(Your eyes drift to the away team—a mix of ethnicities, standing out against the mostly British home team.)

You: That’s unusual. A team like that, in this league.

(The away team calls a timeout. A wiry, small-framed Asian YOUNG MAN with dreadlocks jogs onto the court. Something about him stirs a memory.)

You: (to yourself) That’s strange. Have I seen him before?

(The Young Man’s movements—his dribbles and passes—feel familiar. He glances at the stands often, like he’s searching for someone. You lean forward, narrowing your eyes.)

You: (whispering) No way…

(As the quarter ends, the Young Man looks up and freezes when your eyes meet. You quickly duck behind Roxy.)

Roxy: What’s wrong, Cindy?

You: Just… don’t move. I’ll explain later.

(The Young Man shouts, his voice cutting through the crowd.)

Young Man: Hey—you! Is that… Cindy?!

(The crowd murmurs, glancing your way. Roxy looks between you and the Young Man, bewildered.)

Roxy: (laughing) What’s happening? Do you know him?

(You shrink in your seat, heart pounding. The Young Man’s face breaks into a wide grin. He waves, full of energy.)

Young Man: Cindy! Why are you hiding?

(Reluctantly, you stand, forcing a nervous smile.)

You: Hi, Kin. Long time no see.

(KIN grabs the railings like a monkey, effortlessly pulling himself up to the front row, a look of pure joy on his face.)

Kin: Cindy! I thought I was imagining things, but it’s really you!

(From the sidelines, Boris marches over and looks up.)

Boris: Oh, so this is the guy?

Kin: (confused) What guy? What’s going on?

You: No—He’s not the guy.

Boris: (eyeing Kin) Alright. Doesn’t look like it.

Kin: What’s that supposed to mean?

You: Kin, don’t you have a game to play?

Kin: (grinning) Yeah, but I had to check. I found you—finally!

You: Focus on your game, Kin. We’ll talk later.

Boris: Go ahead, shorty. Your team’s losing anyway.

(Kin doesn’t respond, but the calm intensity of his gaze unsettles Boris. You lean in and whisper to Kin.)

You: Don’t lose, or I’ll kill you… and then kill you again.

(Kin’s eyes light up, recognizing the phrase from childhood.)

Boris: What did you just say?

You: Nothing. Just encouraging him.

Boris: If this kid’s skills are anything to go by, that boyfriend of yours from Hong Kong must’ve been average.

(Before you can retort, Kin speaks up.)

Kin: No, Jay was way better than you.

(Boris glares as Kin jumps down from the front row and jogs back to the bench.)

🏀🏀🏀🏀🏀🏀

(The fourth quarter begins, the game intensifying with every play. You watch Kin dart across the court, his energy contagious. Memories of Hong Kong flood your mind—playing basketball with Jay and Kin on that old court. Your heart aches with nostalgia.)

You: (whispering) Kin, don’t let me down. Don’t let… us down.

(With two minutes left, the away team claws back to tie the game. You lean forward, holding your breath. When Kin steals the ball and races toward the hoop, a smile tugs at your lips.)

(For the first time in years, you feel a spark you thought you’d lost.)

(Posted on 13.1.2025)

#HeartfeltBasketballReunionStory