Stay Away

confirmations

I go into tournament mode before I can begin to fully dote on Fleur or think about how badly I want to call Leah and make things official. Both are very overwhelming urges that take a bit of energy to suppress as Juan and I begin to prepare for the first match.

Just like in Adelaide, I forget what it feels like to lose.

Opponents, while sometimes more difficult than expected, amount to almost nothing against my determination to win the first of the big four this season. There are two people who are having to watch this instead of talking to me, and I want to be able to have a good conversation topic the minute I can call each of them.

My body seems impenetrable by fatigue as we get deeper into the tournament. I do not feel the ache in my joints, nor the cramps in my muscles. It is as if I have been injected with some sort of super-human serum. They even call me in for a 'random' drug test after I thrash Donna Vekic in the quarterfinals. My phone remains in Juan's hotel room. I pass the time by completing crosswords and racing Leah in our month-long competition for who can be the first to finish the sudoku puzzle book we each have a copy of. I don't know how she is doing, but I only have three left to do.

Similarly to the quarters, the semis feel easy. I remember how to play tennis for fun. It occupies me while I deal with my self-imposed ban which bars me from talking to my two most favourite people in the world.

I face Elena Rybakina in the final, and it is obviously a little tougher than the other games this tournament. Nevertheless, I beat her comfortably.

There are no tears from me as I win, nor any ecstatic shouting and screaming. In fact, upon rewatching the match with commentary, my celebration is described as me being 'as cool as a cucumber'. The most I find it in myself to do is to look at Juan with relief as he makes a phone sign with his hand and holds it to his ear. I can't wait to call her.

The press conference is numbing as I go through the motions of briefly analysing my game and answering some odder questions that are thrown into the mix. As I stand up to leave, the tiredness sets in – something that I will feel for the next four days while I sleep and swim to recover. I have already planned to go surfing with my cousins (and their children because everyone seems to be having children now) in a few days.

Juan has my phone in his hand the minute I get out of the room, and it is fully charged and ready to be used. I get to the changing room with no intention of having a shower until I have at least spent a good thirty minutes talking to Leah, instead opting to sit comfortably with my back resting against the lockers, clicking on her contact with haste.

It is the morning for her in England, and she is at the Arsenal training centre. She cannot FaceTime. I will settle for hearing her voice.

"I did it and now we can talk," is the first thing I say, blurting it out. I am sure I had planned something during one of those nights in which I missed her the most, but I cannot remember any of it now. "I miss you. I love you. I won."

"I love you too," Leah replies, laughing. "And I know! I watched the match. Cool as a cucumber."

"All I was thinking about was this," I confess readily. I have stopped wanting to hold back. Two weeks of thinking about her made me realise there is no point in wasting time. There are only so many minutes a person can live. "The whole time. I won and everything and that's great, but this feels even better."

"Someone's feeling poetic." I shake my head, rolling my eyes at her. She can't see, but I am sure she can imagine.

"I wish you were here."