Storm Over the Padel Court

The vitamin C bottle sat on his nightstand, a daily ritual he'd maintained since the affair—six months of orange pills and silence. Elena never asked about them anymore. She just asked if he was coming to play.

Padel had become their religion. Every Thursday evening, they stood on the enclosed court, racquets in hand, smashing balls against walls that absorbed every sound but theirs. Their doubles partners, Mark and Sofia, exchanged knowing glances whenever Daniel missed an easy shot, whenever Elena served with unnecessary aggression.

"You're running scared," she'd told him two nights ago, after finding the receipt for a solo flight to Barcelona. "You think I don't see what you're doing?"

He'd started running in the mornings—actual running, miles through the park while she slept, the rhythm of his sneakers against pavement drowning out the ghost of his name in her mouth. It was the first time he'd exercised in years, and his knees ached, and he hated it, and he kept doing it anyway.

The storm broke during their match tonight. One moment, the court was bathed in artificial light; the next, lightning splintered the sky, turning the glass walls into an electric cage. The rain followed instantly, drumming against the roof like applause.

They stopped playing. Mark and Sofia retreated to the clubhouse. Daniel and Elena stayed on the court, damp with sweat and rain and something else.

"I canceled the flight," he said.

Another flash of lightning illuminated her face—gaunt, gorgeous, exhausted. She wasn't taking vitamins anymore. She wasn't eating.

"Why?" she asked, and the word hung between them like the suspended ball before the serve.

"Because I'd rather be miserable with you than happy alone," he said, and the terrible truth of it made him laugh, a dark, broken sound.

She set down her racquet. "Vitamin won't fix this."

"I know," he said. "Nothing will."

"Then why are we still standing here?"

He crossed the court, his shoes squeaking against the floor, and took her face in his hands. Outside, the lightning struck again, closer this time, and for the first time in months, she leaned into his touch instead of pulling away.