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My focus is back on the match.
Vio’s in control, dictating the pace of the game with her relentless aggression.
With each game that passes, her dominance only grows.
Sasha is getting tired, and I know that Vio’s training doesn’t let her get tired. Most of the time, she plays the equivalent of the duration and games of a male tennis game with Sofia. All that training is paying off right now.
Vio’s shots become more precise, and her serves are more powerful.
Vio’s in her element, and there’s no stopping her. This is what she should be playing like all time. It hits me yet again. Sometimes she doesn’t play like she deserves because I mess with her head. At this moment, I realize that I’m not going to see her after the match. I won’t see her at all afterward. Because she needs this stability in one of the biggest matches of the season.
I’m not going to take this away from her.
The score tilts heavily in her favor, and the crowd is on their feet.
She just needs one more set to win and here she is in the final game winning.
“Match point,” the umpire calls out.
Everyone becomes hyper-aware as we all lean forward in our chairs in anticipation.
I let out a shaky breath. I’m nervous for her. But not a sliver of nerves shows on her face. She’s confident, rightly so.
Vio has the serves. She bounces the ball on the clay, making the bright orange powder stain the ball. The bounce reverberates through the crowd before throwing the ball into the air. I can tell just by the glimmer of her eye that she’s putting everything she has into this serve.
The net of her racket hits the ball hard.
It flies over the net and bounces too fast for Sasha to catch it. She runs toward the ball and, slipping in the process, her body gets closer to the ball in the air. But Sasha falls to the ground and witnesses the ominous second bounce of the tennis ball right in front of her eyes.
“Fuck yes!” My yell dissolves into the crowd as it explodes into a thunderous roar, their admiration for her performance undeniable.
Knowing the final point is won, Vio raises her arms in triumph. Relief spreads across her face and at that moment I know she could win this.
But if she’s going to do it, I can’t be by her side.
I’ll watch from afar.
This isn’t just a win to take her farther, it’s a revenge of sorts. The match is going to show her that she has the ability to beat anyone if she has the right mindset.
I can’t help but beam as she walks toward the net, shaking hands with Sasha.
Vio is smiling from ear to ear and it’s my favorite view in the world.
I applaud her with all my might, the words of admiration stuck in my throat.
She’s done it.
She’s shown the world what she’s capable of.
Today, Roland-Garros witnessed the obliteration of an opponent, but more importantly, it saw the rise of a star—a star that shines brighter with each passing victory.
And as someone who eventually would be honored to be called her boyfriend, I’ll be right there by her side, cheering her on, through every triumph and every challenge that lies ahead.
Including our own.
I have to make it right and for now, that means walking away and letting her do her thing.
I’m not going to be the cause of her second-guessing her abilities.
