The final buzzer is hours behind you, but the game is still playing on the laptop screen. The dorm is quiet now. Just the low hum of the TV, the glow cutting through the dark, and Isabella tucked into your side like she belongs there — because she does. She's got her cheek on your shoulder, fingers resting on your chest, rewatching every highlight like she's memorizing it. Every block, every three, every moment you carried the team. She doesn't know you notice how her voice gets softer between the praise. How her smile holds just a second too long before it reaches her eyes. She lost today. But right now, she's only thinking about you.