The ball hit the wooden floor and bounced with a sharp, steady sound: thud, thud, thud. The rhythm filled the indoor court like a beating drum.

Fluorescent lights hummed overhead. Sneakers squeaked as players changed direction. A few people in the bleachers called out cues and cheered, but most of the noise was just the court itself, the bouncing, the breathing, and the small, satisfied sighs when a shot landed true.

On the far side, standing very still, she watched. She had been there for almost ten minutes. Her hands were folded in front of her, her shoulders straight, and her eyes fixed on one player.

Yashwant Shekhawat.

People talked about him in low voices. Some named him with a hint of fear, others with admiration. On the court he looked like a man who expected things to go his way. He moved as if the hardwood belonged to him.

She did not watch like a fan. She watched like a player. She had been one herself for years, fast, accurate, and smart on the court. Those years taught her the language of basketball: timing, balance, wrist control, and foot placement. She noticed details that most people missed.

When Yashwant pivoted on his left foot and spun past two defenders, she counted quietly in her head. She watched his shoulders, his hips, and the way his knee bent. His form was almost perfect. Almost. Her lips barely moved.

"Too much pressure on the wrist…" she thought.

When he released the ball, his wrist looked tight. The spin was a little flat; the arc slightly low. That tiny error could be seen only by somebody who knew what to look for. Had the defenders been alert and quick enough, they could have intercepted the ball at that moment.

Still, the ball flew in a clean curve and slipped through the net with a soft swish. The sound made a ripple of applause run through the small crowd. She exhaled softly, feeling both admiration and irritation. He shouldn’t have scored that shot with that wrist position, and yet he had.

Yashwant didn’t celebrate. He jogged back to his half of the court with unreadable calm. He did not pump his fist or grin. He simply returned to play, as if winning was the only reasonable outcome.

He had come here alone against six boys; they were younger, quick, and eager. Usually, those odds would make someone nervous. But Yashwant moved like someone who expected resistance and enjoyed breaking it. He dribbled low and fast, the ball glued to his hand, his footwork a smooth blur. When the boys tightened in a defensive wall, he slipped like smoke through their fingers, a turn, a fake, and a quick reverse of direction.

She watched every move. "Nice crossover," she heard herself say under her breath as he shifted the ball from right to left between his legs. But her eyes narrowed immediately. He is leaning too much on his right knee. That will limit his vertical push for a layup. She knew the result before it happened: a half-second hesitation midair, a moment of imbalance. The ball kissed the backboard and still fell in.

Her jaw tightened. He was breaking balance and still scoring because he was calm enough to predict and control what the others did. He was not the smoothest, not the most technical; he was something else, a player whose mind controlled the game instead of allowing the game to control him.

When a defender lunged for a steal, Yashwant didn’t flinch. With a quick flick, he switched the ball to his left hand and burst past the defender. She smiled just a little. He baits mistakes, she thought. He waits for the opponent’s impatience and uses it.

Then the third shot came. This time he stood near the three-point line. For a heartbeat, everything else froze. He could have passed, driven, or jabbed. Instead he lifted, body balanced, knees tight, gaze fixed on the rim. The release was clean and textbook, with the ball drawing a perfect parabola before swishing through the net. Three straight goals. Back-to-back. Flawless.

The court fell into a stunned hush that broke into cheers. She found herself clapping once, an involuntary response to skill. It was not excitement for the man; it was respect for what she had watched, the certainty of someone who could carry a game by will alone.

After the game, Yashwant’s opponents came forward, breathing hard, trying to make light conversation. From where she stood, Tithi could not hear the words. But she watched his face change. The hard focus that had been carved on his features softened for a moment. He smiled, a quick, honest smile, the kind that creased the corners of his eyes and made him look, briefly, less untouchable. He lifted a towel to his neck and walked off the court without looking back.

She stayed a bit longer, watching his retreating figure. The man had flaws; she had seen them clearly, yet the result mattered more than the mistakes. He had beaten six players by himself. That took something beyond ordinary talent. It took a stubborn, driven hunger. And for reasons she could not quite explain, that hunger drew her attention. A bright voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“TITHI… Finally my work is done,” her friend Kalpana shouted as she hurried toward the court, waving a thin file like a signal flag. Kalpana was all energy and relief. She clutched the paper to her chest.

“Transfer certificate... Done…” (She danced in joy.) I can finally breathe. Now there is only one big thing left: wedding planning. And you, my partner-in-crime, are not escaping this time.”

Tithi laughed, letting the tension slip from her shoulders. “You’re getting married. The news is huge. I’m in with everything… dresses, invites, everything…. Now tell me what we have to do first.”

Kalpana flung the file into her bag like it was the last piece of a puzzle.

“Thank god. You have no idea how much that took. Now, are you staying here? I heard you moved back to the city.”

Tithi’s smile softened. “Yes. Dad brought Grandma back. Her Alzheimer’s got worse after Grandpa passed. Whenever there is nobody looking at her, she just walks out from the house, and it is really very difficult for me to be alone with her there… superpower bottles here to live together again.

Kalpana’s voice lost its teasing edge. “I’m glad you’re back. And you’re finally around to help me with everything. No backing out… We have a lot of work.”

Tithi raised an eyebrow. “I won’t. Promise.”

They started walking toward the exit together. For a few steps, the world felt ordinary again, with friends laughing, people closing their bags, and the small comfort of a shared plan. Then Kalpana paused and glanced back toward the empty court. Says in an annoying tone.

"I heard Mr. Businessman held a match here today for some scholarship selection.”

Tithi let out a quiet laugh. Kalpana always spoke like this, dramatic, teasing, and completely unfiltered. She shook her head slightly and turned her eyes back toward the basketball court.

“By the way,” she said, leaning a little closer, “that man you were watching, Yashwant Shekhawat, he won again, didn’t he?”

Tithi nodded. “Yes.”

Kalpana’s smile faded. “Please stay away from him.”

Tithi frowned. “Why? He seemed… focused. Hardly anything else.”

Kalpana sighed. “He’s not someone anybody wants to get messed up with. His reputation is negative. He doesn’t let people into his life. Girls enter and exit his life as frequently as he changes clothes. One day hot, the next day tossed aside. He’s a successful businessman, yes, but that doesn’t make him a decent man. I know people who’ve worked for him. He’s ruthless and cold.”

Tithi’s steps slowed. Kalpana watched her friend carefully. “I’m only telling you because I care. You’ve been my friend since childhood. Don’t get caught up in that shine…. I know you are looking at him because of his basketball skills, but never be there to mess with him.”

Tithi absorbed the warning but did not respond right away. In her head she replayed the plays she had just seen, the wrist flick, the knee lean, and the mental control. Yashwant had seemed like a machine on the court driven, sharp, and relentless. Kalpana painted one picture; what Tithi had watched played out differently in her mind. Strength on the court had looked like discipline, not cruelty.

“Darling, just focus on your wedding…. I’ll be careful,” she said finally, giving Kalpana a small smile. “But remember, watching someone play and judging their life is not the same thing.”

Kalpana snorted softly. “That’s not what I meant. I saw a lot of girls who look at him and totally vanish; that's why I am saying this, because I care for you… You are looking at him with so much interest, which gives me a very dreadful fear… stay far away from him….”

Tithi nodded again. “Okay. I promise.”

They reached the parking area and paused near Kalpana’s car. Kalpana tucked the file under her arm and looked at Tithi with brotherly care. “You know,” she added, “you can always tell me if something feels off. I won’t let you make a stupid mistake.”

Tithi laughed softly. “Thanks. I’ll call you if there’s a wedding crisis.”

Kalpana waved a hand. “Bye, then. Help me plan the best one, no drama.”

Tithi watched Kalpana drive away and then turned back once more to the court. The bleachers were nearly empty now, and the small trash can by the door rattled faintly in the breeze. The court seemed ordinary again, a rectangle of wood and net, but in Tithi’s mind the morning had changed shape. She had seen a talented player, noticed his small technical errors, and watched how a strong will could turn flaws into victory.

She walked home thinking of that single, honest smile. Yashwant had given, at the end, not arrogance, not cruelty, but just the private joy of winning. Kalpana’s warning echoed, but it felt distant, like it belonged to a different map. For now, Tithi kept the game in her head: the timing, the wrists, the feet. She liked the quiet clarity of it. She liked how a single correct read could change everything.

Behind her, on a road not far away, Yashwant slipped into his car in silence. He had finished his game and left as he always did, sure, calm, and very much his own person. He did not know that a pair of observant eyes had followed him for longer than he guessed. He was unaware that someone had just given him a quiet warning on a park bench.

For now, the morning concluded as it usually does: filled with minor certainty and fresh uncertainties. The court stayed where it was, waiting for the next bounce. Tithi kept the image of the game in her head, precise and glowing and walked home, thinking of blessings and responsibilities and the strange comfort of routine. As the world continued to spin, an unnamed challenge quietly sat between two people who were beginning to notice each other.