The Goldfish at Court Seven

The orange ball bounced against the padel court's glass walls, each impact like a small heartbeat. Elena watched David serve, his movements fluid and practiced, the way they used to be together three years ago before everything calcified.

"Your form's getting better," she said, returning the ball with more force than necessary. It slammed into the back wall, a hollow sound.

David wiped sweat from his forehead. "Thanks. Took lessons while you were in Berlin."

The words hung between them like the goldfish bowl that still sat on their kitchen counter, its lone inhabitant circling in endless, meaningless loops. She'd bought it on impulse during the blackout winter of 2021, naming him Sisyphus before she even understood why.

"You mentioned wanting kids," David said suddenly, between points. "Are you still..."

Elena hit the ball into the net. "I don't know. Sometimes I look at that fish and think maybe he's got it right. Just swimming. Eating. Watching us through the glass like we're the ones in an aquarium."

They'd met at this same court, where she'd been wearing that burnt orange dress that caught everyone's eye, but somehow only his. Now she wore athletic gray, blending into the background.

"Sarah asked about you," David continued, relentless. "Said you seemed distant at the conference."

"I am distant. I'm thirty-eight and I still don't know what I want, David. Except that I don't want to be having this conversation while pretending to enjoy padel."

The goldfish at home, Sisyphus, would surface occasionally for flakes, mouth opening and closing in silent communication. Maybe he was trying to tell them something.

"Remember the night we found this court closed?" David's voice softened. "We climbed the fence anyway."

Elena smiled despite herself. "Security chased us off. We ran through the orange grove behind the industrial park."

"Your dress glowed in the streetlights," he said. "Like you were on fire."

She served then, not caring where the ball landed. They stood in the sudden quiet of the court, surrounded by the echo of their history.

"Feed the fish when you get home," she said, walking toward the gate. "He's probably wondering where we are."

David's paddle hit the ground with a final, decisive clatter. "Elena."

She kept walking. Some things, like goldfish and marriages and orange sunsets, you either keep alive or you don't. She wasn't sure anymore which she'd chosen.