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ME: Luis Miguel. The volume and essence this man’s single piece of hair hold is something I wish to achieve in my lifetime.
BLONDIE: ??Same, imagine being able to run your fingers through your hair and it just looks perfect. I wish.
ME: I mean, I also have that ability ??
BLONDIE: Very funny.
ME: Don’t lie to yourself.
She kisses me and it feels like acid on my lips.
Valentine’s Day. The twenty-four-hour period where love and affection are the highlights of the world. Cheap cards, balloons, and chocolates with weird artificial strawberry jam inside.
All of it used to be one of my favorite days of the year.
In the beginning stages of my relationship with Marrisa, I went all out. Romantic dinners, gifts, gestures, and my undying attention.
But it’s not like that anymore.
On the fourteenth of February of this year, my attention is focused on a certain blonde.
One that is playing a match in Qatar.
A match I’ve decided to attend inside of a romantic getaway, like every year before.
I convinced Marrisa to come with me for the weekend. She wholeheartedly agreed, thinking that Valentine’s Day like every year with me will be one to remember.
But even so, I adhere to what we do every year.
With the exception of going to a tennis match.
Marrisa and I step through the entrance of the tennis venue hand in hand.
A surge of anticipation courses through my veins at the thought of seeing Vio and the game she’s about to play.
I’ve started to watch tennis religiously since Australia.
Even though this is Vio’s first tournament since then, that hasn’t stopped me from tuning in at the familiar sound of a tennis ball hitting the racket and the energetic buzz of the crowd, instantly igniting a sense of excitement in my body.
As an athlete, I’ve never really loved any other sport except for my own, which is self-explanatory since I chose to dedicate my whole life to Formula One. But since witnessing Vio play, I now know what she means when she uses tennis vernacular through text.
I’m just as invested as her now, and it’s all because she is a tennis player.
The fact that this is her sanctuary, the place where her passion for the sport comes to life, makes me want to be here even more.
The atmosphere is already electric, charged with the energy of competitors and spectators alike, all united by their love for the game.
We got here a little late, but I am happy to see the match hasn’t started yet. The stands aren’t full, but that doesn’t matter because the array of tennis outfits and the intensity etched on spectators’ faces convey the dedication and determination that fuel their intent.
The venue embraces aspiring players and fans of all ages, fostering an environment where camaraderie and sportsmanship thrive.
Vio is standing on her side of the court as she waits for the chair umpire to start the game.
“Xavier.” Sofia acknowledges as if she doesn’t like me. Since the incident in Australia, I haven’t seen her. But she seems like a person who never forgives nor forgets.
“Hi, Sofia.” I don’t hug her like I would usually greet someone. I think I’m scared of her in a way. After she pulled me aside after the first grand slam of the year, let’s just say she’s intimidating. I don’t think we’re going to get along. Which is fine; it’s rare for a person I know not to like me. There will always be those few on occasion, something I have to learn to accept.
But even so, the feeling of someone not liking me creeps in.
