Serving Up the Past

The padel court echoed with the rhythmic thwack of rubber against graphite, a sound that had once been the soundtrack to our Saturday mornings. Five years later, and here we were again—Marcus and me—sweating through what was supposed to be a friendly reunion match.

'You still slice your backhand like you're afraid of it,' Marcus called from across the net, grinning. That grin. The one that had gotten us into trouble in more ways than one.

I wiped my face with the hem of my shirt. The water bottle sat untouched at the baseline, condensation pooling around its base like my own accumulated regrets. 'And you still talk too much when you're losing.'

The ball whizzed past my ear, landing precisely in the corner. Marcus hadn't lost his touch, just like he hadn't lost his ability to make everything feel like a competition I was already losing.

Break time. We sat on the bench, shoulders barely touching. The setting sun painted everything orange—the artificial turf, the chain-link fence, even the bruised sky itself. It was the color of the night we'd ruined everything, the night after his brother's wedding when we'd crossed lines that friends weren't supposed to cross.

'Thanks for coming,' Marcus said, cracking open a fresh bottle. 'I know things have been... weird.'

'Weird.' I laughed without humor. 'That's one word for it.'

He turned to me, and for the first time all evening, the grin was gone. 'I miss you, Elena. Not this—' he gestured between us '—but us. Before everything went sideways.'

I watched a single drop of water slide down my plastic bottle, tracking its path like it was the most important thing in the world. Some things you can't unsay. Some lines you can't uncross.

'I know,' I said finally. 'But we can't go back, Marcus. We can only decide what happens next.'

The court lights flickered on, artificial and harsh, illuminating everything we couldn't say out loud. I stood up, grabbing my racquet.

'One more set?' I asked. 'For old times' sake?'

Marcus's eyes softened. 'For old times' sake.'

Some friendships don't survive the truth. But maybe, just maybe, they could survive what came after.