The Vitamin Deficiency

The vibration against her palm was persistent, demanding. Maria stared at her iphone where it lay on the nightstand at 3 AM. Another notification from him. Always him.

She'd started running six months ago, thinking it might fix the hollow feeling in her chest. Endorphins, they said. Natural mood lifters. Instead, she'd discovered that running alone in the pre-dawn darkness mostly gave her too much time to think about how her best friend had stolen her promotion, her boyfriend, and somehow, her will to leave bed.

Her therapist recommended vitamin D supplements. "Seasonal affective disorder," she'd diagnosed, clicking her pen with that professional detachment. Maria took them every morning, along with a multivitamin that promised to restore her vitality, her energy, her life. She wondered if they made pills for replacing the parts of yourself you'd let other people take.

The invitation came from nowhere: padel tennis with coworkers Friday night. Sarah—the one with the boyfriend, the promotion, the life Maria should have had—had organized it. "Team building," the group chat announced. Maria almost declined. She almost always declined now.

She stood at 7 PM outside the court, clutching her racket like it might protect her. The court lights hummed, illuminating sweat already forming on her palm. This was ridiculous. She should go home.

Then she saw him—Jake from accounting—stretching alone near the fence. He looked as uncomfortable as she felt. Their eyes met. Something shifted.

"You play?" he asked, and Maria heard herself saying yes before she could think about it.

The game was terrible. Her racket missed the ball more than it connected. Jake wasn't much better. But somewhere between the second game and their third water break, between laughs about their complete lack of coordination and the realization that neither of them wanted to be there, Maria's phone stayed dark in her bag.

"You run?" Jake asked afterward, as they leaned against the fence, hearts still racing. "I see you in the mornings sometimes."

She looked at him, really looked at him. He had kind eyes. Eyes that didn't measure her worth by her productivity or her performance or whether she responded within three minutes.

"I do," she said. "Want to join me?"

Her iphone could wait. Sarah could wait. The vitamins could wait. For the first time in months, Maria wasn't running from anything. She was just running.