Gemotions

The gym was different. Coach Miller's absence was a palpable thing, a weight that settled in his chest as he walked onto the court. He remembered the sting of the whistle, the roar of the crowd, the smell of sweat and liniment. He picked up a basketball, the worn leather familiar against his palm, and dribbled, the sound echoing in the empty space. His muscles ached with a phantom memory of the drills, of the endless hours spent pushing himself, always with Miller's unwavering presence as a guide.