Diving Into Deeper Waters

The padel court at sunset looked like something from a lifestyle catalog—golden light on artificial turf, the kind of expensive leisure that Elena had once mocked but now tolerated without thinking. She adjusted her grip on the racket, watching Javier stretch his calves with the practiced ease of a man who played three times a week. They'd met on this same court seven years ago, when his backhand had been terrible and her laugh had come easier.

"You're staring," he said, not looking at her.

"Just thinking about dinner," Elena lied. "That place with the spinach gratin. You said you'd make reservations."

Javier paused mid-stretch. His silence stretched like the shadow across the court. He hadn't made reservations. He'd forgotten their anniversary dinner, or perhaps he was pretending to, which was worse—the manufactured forgetfulness of someone building toward an exit.

"I'll call," he said finally. "After the match."

They played without keeping score. Elena hit the ball harder each time, finding a strange satisfaction in the sharp crack against the glass walls. She remembered their first date: spinach stuck in his teeth, how she'd reached across to wipe it away, the casual intimacy that had felt revolutionary then. Now she wanted to leave the spinach there. Let him discover it later, alone.

Afterward, they walked separately to the pool. The evening swimmers were few—elderly laps, a lone breaststroke. Elena dove without pausing at the edge, without checking if Javier followed. The water closed over her head, silencing everything. She surfaced in the deep end, treading water, watching him stand fully clothed at the pool's edge, a shadow against the resort lights.

"Aren't you coming in?" she called. Her voice sounded small, swallowed by the vast chlorine-scented air.

"I forgot my suit," he said. But he wasn't looking at her. He was checking his phone, its blue light illuminating his face, his smile at whatever message waited there. Something private. Something that wasn't her.

Elena trod water, holding her ground in the deep end. The distance between them wasn't physical anymore. She thought about spinach—how it got stuck in your teeth and you couldn't see it yourself, how someone had to care enough to tell you. But maybe that was the lie. Maybe they'd just stopped looking closely enough to notice.

"I think I'll stay in," she said, beginning another lap. "The water feels good."

Javier's phone buzzed again. He turned and walked away without responding, and Elena kept swimming, counting strokes in the gathering dark, wondering when she'd stopped expecting him to dive in after her.