The moment stretched, lighter than it should’ve been, until the inevitable crept in. We both had places to be, schedules tugging us in opposite directions. With a quick smile that didn’t quite mask the reluctance, I murmured a goodbye and turned away.
As I walked down the hallway, the noise of the lobby faded, replaced by the thud of my heartbeat and the steady scuff of my shoes. I told myself I’d done the right thing, keeping a little distance, protecting my focus. But the truth sat heavier than my bag: the distraction I was meant to push away wasn’t some outside noise or media chatter.
It was Alex. Her grin, her teasing, her sheer presence. And if I really wanted to quiet my mind, sooner or later, I’d have to face what that meant.
ALEXANDRA
The pool lights glowed soft blue, rippling shadows against the ceiling as I kicked through another lap. My shoulders burned, but I didn’t stop. Dad always said the grind was in the silence, not the medals.
I surfaced, pushing my goggles up, and for a second my gaze drifted past the glass walls of the academy. From here, you could almost see the outline of the tennis courts through the trees. It was late, way too late for anyone sane to still be out there. And yet… some part of me wondered if Olivia was there.
Nostalgia hit like a sucker punch, the memory of watching her practice serves until her wrist gave out, the way she’d scowl at her own shadow until she got it right.
I sat there for a long minute, legs dangling in the water, fighting the urge to just… wander over. Maybe I’d catch her in the middle of a serve.
I shook my head hard, muttering, “Get a grip, Alex. You’ve got an Asia Tri Cup to qualify for.”
Footsteps echoed faintly across the tiles. I glanced up, and my heart nearly stalled.
I look back and see the girl that has been on my mind the whole time. She froze the moment our eyes met, just as shocked to see me there as I was to see her. It was past eight, the pool area practically deserted.
Olivia’s brows lifted. “What on earth are you doing here this late?”
I try to look casual despite the fact my pulse was hammering. “Training.” I gave her a lopsided grin. “I could say the same to you. Don’t tell me you’ve been serving balls in the dark?”
She exhaled as if she’d been caught. “I just wanted to see what you said, that there’s a swimming pool half the size of the standard Olympic one. Had to check if you were exaggerating.”
I smirked. “And? Do I exaggerate?”
Her gaze flicked to the expanse of water glimmering under the dim overhead lights, then back at me. “Maybe not this time. But you still have a reputation.”
I clutched my chest dramatically. “Ruthless.”
That earned me a small laugh, quiet, but real. She drifted closer, then dropped onto the bench just a few feet from where I sat on the pool’s edge, still dripping in my speedo.
“Doesn’t it get cold?” she asked, glancing at the water beading down my arms.
“Not really. You warm up fast if you’re moving,” I said, then leaned forward, lowering my voice.
The water had started to feel heavy on my skin, so I hauled myself out, grabbing a towel from the chair and wrapping it around me. My legs still dripped onto the tiles, but it felt easier to stand there on even ground with her.
She watched me for a second before her gaze flicked down, then away, as if she’d caught herself. Her voice softened, almost casual, but not quite. “Do you actually like training this much?”
I rubbed the towel over my hair. “Most days, yeah. It’s hard, sure, but it’s… grounding, I guess. When I’m training, it feels like I know who I am.”
Her brows drew together, thoughtful. “So it isn’t just about winning?”
I gave a small laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, I love winning. But it’s more than that. Training, it’s the only part I get to control. Competitions can go sideways… but training? That’s mine. No one else’s.”
She nodded slowly, absorbing it. Then her eyes softened in a way that made my chest ache. “That sounds… safe. I don’t think I’ve ever thought of it like that. For me, training is just the thing I have to do to even get a shot at competing. It’s the pressure. The standard I have to hit just to stay afloat.”
I tilted my head, watching her. “You don’t love it?”
She gave a small, rueful smile. “I love the game. I love match days, the fight of it, the strategy. But training? It’s like I’m always chasing something just out of reach. And some days it feels like no matter how much I push, I’ll never catch it.”
For a moment, we just sat with that. Her honesty hung between us, raw and unguarded.
I let the towel drop onto the bench beside me, sitting down so I was closer to her. “Maybe that’s why you’re brilliant, though. Because you care enough to keep chasing it.”
