𝐋'𝐎𝐄𝐔𝐅, 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋𝗌.

༺ Chapter II ༻

It might have begun right here and then, just like every first week of their juvenile summers. He was found by the wrought-iron gates of the estate, his back against the car, retrieving his belongings from the trunk. Suddenly, he turned swiftly, knowing someone on the balcony was waiting for him. With a quick, flat smile, he raised his hand in a high wave toward the sky towards the balustrade where she stood. He makes his way down the tree-lined driveway, wearing a navy blue wide-open collar polo and ivory white shorts, every movement already asking, 'Which way to the court?'

You watch, Elena thought, this is how he'll say goodbye to her again when the summer season ends. In the meantime, she'd put up with this man until he decided to leave here again. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then suddenly felt like it was years ago.

Elena's brother ran to him, and grappled him into a hug, loud as ever. Another summer house guest, another bore. She always thought of her older brother as an adequately loud person at times, but every time he introduced someone new into the house, he could get insufferable. Always excited to explain in detail every corner of the house, its history, and remarkable stories. At this time, he invited a good friend from his boarding school, he always talked about him when the whole family had dinners back in the city, she heard lots of him through his narrative; a potential champion, smart and gentle, good-looking blonde guy.

He was just like she pictured him to be, a shy smiley thing, soft-spoken and delicate with his words. And maybe it was one thing she did not like about him at all, there was something about him that troubled her, he seemed easily influenced and vulnerable. He always listened to everything her brother would say, think, or do.

Her brother was difficult to imagine being ever lonely, bored, or even despondent; his equanimity was bottomless. He was easily liked by everyone he met, a quality of his that Elena always wished she had.

— ʚ♡ɞ —

Everyone settled in the southern area of the manor, they gathered under the canopy for brunch, retractable wooden lunch tables stood ready, accompanied by wooden stools. The helpers bustled about, serving meals and refreshments directly via the cook's kitchen. Chatters were everywhere and everybody seemed to have stories to tell. The younger ones played in the sun-drenched meadows outside, while some of the adolescents and adults stayed under the canopy, however, some were a tad preoccupied with an intense match of tennis on the other side of the estate.

The sun bathed the tennis court in a warm glow, casting elongated shadows across the grass field. The players, clad in crisp white attire, moved with precision and grace. Their rackets sliced through the air, sending the ball back and forth in a rhythmic dance.

On one side of the net stood Eric Vanguard, a seasoned player with a wicked backhand. His opponent, Art Donaldson, was equally skilled, his fiery determination evident in every stroke. Elena huddled on the sidelines, her eyes darting between the players, caught up in the exhilarating contest.

The first set had been a seesaw battle, each game fought tooth and nail. Vanguard's powerful serves were met with Donaldson's lightning-quick returns. The score remained deadlocked at 5-5, tension thick in the air.

As the match wore on, the sun climbed higher, casting sharper shadows. Vanguard wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes narrowing as he prepared for another serve. Donaldson adjusted his grip, his gaze unwavering. Elena held her breath.

The ball shot across the net, a white blur. Donaldson lunged, his racket connecting cleanly. The ball sailed over the net, just grazing the line. 'Game, Donaldson.' Vanguard clenched his jaw, frustration etching lines on his face. The next few points were a blur of volleys, smashes, and desperate lunges. The score swung in Donaldson's favor, 6-5.