The sun was high and unforgiving as Mikha walked onto the court, her racket slung over her shoulder and her water bottle dangling from one hand. Today wasn't a one-on-one lesson, but she still felt a spring in her step—a sharp contrast to her usual nervous shuffling. She wasn't entirely sure if it was the improvement in her volleys or the memory of Aiah's words of encouragement from last week, but she actually felt... good. Confident, even.
"Ready na?" Colet's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Mikha turned to see her best friend grinning like she was already plotting ways to make Mikha's day more difficult.
"Of course!" Mikha said, squaring her shoulders in mock bravado. "Watch me crush these volleys."
Colet raised an eyebrow. "Wow, ang yabang! Ano meron? Na-enlighten ka ba nung one-on-one session mo with Miss Sports Illustrated?"
Mikha glared at her, though the blush rising in her cheeks betrayed her. "Hindi, Colet. It's called practice. Some of us actually take this seriously."
"Sure, sure," Colet said, waving her hand dismissively. "Pero 'wag kang mag-alala—kahit magaling ka na, crush pa rin kita sa awkwardness mo."
"Boang ka talaga," Mikha muttered, but a small smile crept onto her lips. She shook her head and headed toward the court, ignoring Colet's continued teasing. She wasn't going to let her best friend ruin her mood—not today.
Aiah was already there, standing by the net with her clipboard in hand, as poised and composed as ever. The moment she looked up and saw Mikha, she smiled, and Mikha felt the familiar swoop in her stomach. Relax, Mikha, she told herself. She's just being friendly. Like always.
"Hi, Mikha!" Aiah called, her voice warm and cheerful. "Nauna ka ngayon ah. Ready ka na?"
Mikha grinned nervously. "Of course! Super ready." She glanced at Colet, who was already smirking behind her, and quickly added, "I mean, um, I've been practicing. A lot."
Aiah nodded, clearly pleased. "Good. Kita ko naman na nag-improve ka nung one-on-one natin. I'm excited to see how you do today." She turned to address the rest of the group as they trickled in. "Okay, everyone, warm-up tayo! Alam nyo na ang drill."
The group lesson started smoothly enough. Mikha fell into rhythm easily, her movements steadier and more natural than they'd been before. She could feel the difference—the one-on-one session with Aiah had clearly helped. Her volleys were sharper, her swings more controlled, and she wasn't overthinking every single movement like she used to.
"Nice, Mikha!" Aiah called out after one particularly clean volley. "Ang ganda ng form mo ngayon. Keep it up."
Mikha's heart soared at the praise. She couldn't help but glance over at Colet, who was standing at the baseline, smirking like a cat that had just found an unattended fish.
"Wow, Mikha! May pa-compliment si Coach! Naks naman," Colet called out, loud enough for the entire court to hear. "Ano feeling? Special mention ka na talaga ngayon ah!"
"Shut up, Colet!" Mikha hissed, her face heating up as the other students chuckled. Aiah, thankfully, seemed unfazed, though Mikha swore she caught a hint of amusement in her smile.
"Okay, next drill!" Aiah announced, motioning for everyone to rotate positions. Mikha sighed in relief, thankful for the distraction.
As the lesson continued, Mikha's confidence grew. For the first time, she wasn't second-guessing herself every time she stepped up to hit the ball. Even Aiah seemed to notice, offering her compliments here and there. "Great swing, Mikha," she'd say, or "Good footwork. Ang laking improvement." Each word of encouragement made Mikha stand a little taller, her nerves slowly melting away.
