Mixed Doubles

Maya's summer goal: stop checking her iPhone every three minutes.

Standing at the edge of the padel court, she watched Jessica and her squad in their matching outfits, laughing like they'd been best friends since kindergarten. Meanwhile, Maya's phone burned in her pocket, demanding attention. Just one glance. One notification check. That's all.

"You gonna play or what?"

The voice belonged to Ryan—new kid from London, holding a padel racquet like he actually knew what he was doing. His curls were messy, his smile crooked, and he was wearing swim trunks with regular sneakers. Totally violating club dress code.

"I'm observing," Maya said, though they both knew she was hiding.

The club's massive spread beckoned—perfect little fruit arrangements, tropical everything. Maya's stomach growled. She reached for a slice of papaya, suddenly conscious of how everyone else was eating elegant finger sandwiches while she was just... eating papaya like some kind of animal.

"Never tried it?" Ryan appeared beside her. "It's actually brilliant if you add lime."

Maya almost rolled her eyes. Almost.

They sat on the edge of the fountain, papaya and lime between them, watching the padel games like they were the US Open. "So what's your deal?" Ryan asked. "You've been staring at your pocket all day like it holds state secrets."

"It's my iPhone," she admitted. "I have this problem where I need to check if people are... existing without me."

Ryan laughed. "Mate, they're definitely existing without you. That's kind of the point."

Something about the way he said it—so casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world—made Maya reach for her phone. Then stop. Then reach again.

"Don't," Ryan said. "Watch this instead."

He handed her his racquet. "Your serve."

The papaya sat forgotten on the fountain edge. The iPhone stayed dark in her pocket. And Maya, who had spent three months worrying about fitting in, finally stepped onto the court.