Undercover at the Padel Courts

Maya adjusted her sunglasses inside the indoor courts, feeling like a total fraud. She'd never held a padel racket in her life, but here she was, Wednesday afternoon clinics, risking public humiliation just to exist within a fifty-foot radius of him.

"You gonna actually hit the ball, or just stare at it?" Chloe called out, bouncing on the balls of her feet beside the orange dividing line. Chloe was everything Maya wasn't: confident, athletic, seemingly allergic to overthinking.

"Working up to it," Maya muttered, swinging the racket and missing completely. The ball thwacked against the glass wall behind her. Someone snorted. Definitely him.

This entire operation had started three weeks ago when Maya, in a moment of catastrophic weakness, had become a low-key spy on his Instagram stories. She'd noticed the padel posts. The way his hand looked holding a water bottle. Now she was here, spending her allowance on lessons and vitamin D supplements because her mom said she never saw sunlight anymore, missing easy returns and fighting the urge to dissolve into the floor.

"You're gripping it too tight," a voice said behind her.

Maya turned. He was standing there, sweat-dampened hair falling over his forehead, holding an extra racket. "Want me to show you?"

Chloe raised both eyebrows, giving Maya a look that said she was absolutely never living this down.

"Sure," Maya managed, hoping her face wasn't as orange as the court lines.

But as he adjusted her grip—actually gentle, actually patient—she realized something that made her stomach flip in a completely different way. She didn't care about the picture-perfect moment anymore. She just wanted to get good at this. Wanted to belong here, on her own terms.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yeah," Maya said, and meant it. "Thanks."

The ball came over the net. She didn't overthink it. Just swung.

Thwack. Perfect shot.