Matchpoint

Prologue:

Tennis. It's a game of love, a game of dynamics and tactics, and a game of strategy. It's the game that started my life and would most likely...nope, most definitely, be the end of my life.

If it weren't for this hypnotic sport, my parents would never have met, and well, I'd never exist.

My mother, Aria Dunn, is a tennis champion, 4 titles, and 6 grand slams to her name. Her highest ranking in her prime years was 6th, though she always dreamed of going higher, further, better, that future just wasn't for her, and instead, she suffered a severe shoulder injury which put her off playing permanently.

But that was after she met my father, Alistor Dunn. My father is the most prestigious tennis referee known in this sport. He knows this game like a child knows a nursery rhyme. He has learnt it off by heart.

My father had watched my mother play for years, entranced by her passion, her determination, and commitment to such a sport. He enjoyed refereeing her games, especially when she'd argued his calls. Father admits that he occasionally made the wrong call just so that she would chip him for it.

When they finally married, the tennis world was contempt. It was as if their romance had bridged the path between sport and love. It was, well, iconic.

Once they both retired, mum, unfortunately, sooner than she had hoped, they opened up their very own tennis academy. The academy is filled with some of the most incredible tennis players, both coaches and students.

Then, there is me, the daughter of two of the most well-known sporting influencers of our time. I'd love to say that I followed in my mother's footsteps, or at least my father's, but unfortunately, playing competitively was never my calling. I like the game, don't get me wrong, I've played ever since I could walk, holding that tennis racket tight in my grip is like holding the hand of an old friend.

However, much to my parents' disappointment, playing competitively seemed like a waste of time to me. Why would I want to base my life off of a ranking that changes as fast as the seasons? I couldn't imagine something more painful than to spend my days being miserable because I didn't quite break the top 10.

Instead, I am a part-time university student studying sports psychology. In my free time, I work for mum and dad as an assistant coach. Though it's not exactly an assistant coach, it's more like I get to rally with the best of the best, testing their limits and seeing how good they truly are. The lucky thing about being a tennis child prodigy is that I get to show this stuck up sport know it all's that they may think that they're the best, but there is always someone who can out play you. That's why you always have to push your limits.

Tennis, a game of love, a game of hate, a game of loss, a game of gain. You name it, this sport has it all. My parents' greatest loss of this game was when I decided not to go professional. I have the talent, I know I do, but I couldn't think of something worse to do in my life. If I were to be a professional tennis player, I would have my parents breathing down my neck every second of every day.

"Clove, did you eat enough veggies?"
"Clove, have you looked at the new sports schedule?"
"Clove, did you warm down properly, we don't need any injures?"

Maybe, if my parents weren't so involved in the sport, I could've been a player or maybe even a coach, but the idea of doing either seems absurd. That's why I settle for being an assistant, unfortunately, that's the lowest I can go without becoming a disappointment to my parents.

Besides, let's be honest. Every sport has its scandals. And tennis scandals, well, they're a little more complicated (we've all seen challengers... surely...Zendaya wasn't far off the truth).

When I was little, mum used to tell me all her wild stories about when she was on tour. She saw a thing or two that changed her life and a little quicker than she had expected, and drugs, well, let's just say that the players love to get on the smokes.

Sporting scandals are a whole new level, and I'd rather not be a part of that shit. Especially with this new generation, with tennis royalty like Shelton and Fraser.

God, don't even get me started on Dominic Fraser. My parents love him, they think he is the next big thing in tennis, which maybe he will be, but I hate how much my parents adore him. I have seen him play. He is sloppy and lazy, and to be honest, he looks like he'd rather be anywhere but on the court. Not to mention his awful attitude, he has the anger issues of a child losing their favourite toy.

However, he is an upcoming star, with a ranking of 11 at this very moment and four major titles under his belt. Fraser has played since he was six, became professional at 12, and started playing the big leagues at 15. Now 22, the boy, admittedly, has improved at an incredible rate, especially with the guidance of Sean Daniels.

Tennis, it's a game of love and hate, of connections and bonds.

It's a passionate dance, one where you learn the triumphs and the struggles, the highs and the lows, and the joys and frustrations of a sport.

Ever since I was little, I have seen the court as a stage where elegance and power entwine. With one single strike of the wrist, the ball can be sent soaring with precision and grace. It's hypnotic, it's powerful, and it's glorifying.

Mother used to describe it as a beauty that transcends the competition. You may not be the player, you may not play the game, but the sport, the movements, they can pull you in effortlessly.

I may not play the sport religiously, but I watch with adoration, with intruige and interest. I can not help but pick up on the little things, to be enchanted by the silence before a serve, where time stands still or when the rallies unfold like epic duels. As a spectator, you can see the connection blossoming between the players. It's undeniable.

Like life, the game is one of strategy, every move is calculated, and every decision is critical.

One wrong move and it's game over, one wrong shot and you're in a downward spiral, one wrong decision, and you'll go down in history.