Anthologies {MIKHAIAH AU}

love all pt 3

The court was quiet except for the rhythmic thwack of Mikha's racket connecting with the ball. Her volleys had improved—cleaner, sharper, more controlled—but her mind wasn't on tennis today. Not really.

Aiah stood by the net, tossing her another ball. "Nice one! Ang ganda ng timing mo dun," she said, her voice as calm and encouraging as always.

Mikha managed a small smile, trying to focus. "Thanks, Coach," she replied, though her chest was tight.

It had been a few days since their café conversation, and Mikha hadn't stopped thinking about it. About the way Aiah had smiled when she'd said she was single. About the subtle tilt in her voice when she'd said Kiko wasn't her boyfriend and "he'd be barking up the wrong tree." The implications had sent Mikha into a spiral of overthinking ever since.

She wanted to say something today. To do something. But the idea of actually asking Aiah out—of risking the tentative dynamic they had—made her palms sweat and her throat dry.

"Okay, last drill," Aiah said, walking over to stand beside Mikha. "We'll do some reaction volleys. Just quick reflexes, no overthinking."

"Got it," Mikha said, nodding. Her grip tightened on the racket as Aiah stepped closer to demonstrate.

"Remember," Aiah said, positioning herself just behind Mikha to adjust her stance, "stay loose. Don't lock your elbows. Relax lang."

Mikha froze as she felt Aiah's hand on her arm, warm and steady. Her brain immediately decided to short-circuit, and it took all her effort not to drop the racket entirely.

"You okay?" Aiah asked, stepping back and giving her a curious look.

"Y-Yeah! Totally fine!" Mikha said, forcing a laugh. "Relax. Loose. Got it."

She swung at the first volley—and missed by a mile.

Aiah laughed softly, shaking her head. "Okay, masyado kang tight ulit. Let's try again."

The next ball came, and this time Mikha managed to hit it, though her swing was wobbly. By the third attempt, she found her rhythm, and by the time the drill ended, Aiah was smiling.

"Much better," Aiah said, nodding in approval. "You're getting there, Mikha. Ang laki na ng progress mo."

"Thanks," Mikha said, her voice softer now. She glanced at Aiah, her heart pounding.

Just say it, she told herself. You're literally alone on the court with her. It's now or never.

But as Aiah walked over to grab the basket of balls, Mikha's nerves flared. She could feel the words bubbling up, but they caught in her throat. What if this was a mistake? What if Aiah said no? What if she ruined everything?

"Everything okay?" Aiah's voice pulled her out of her spiral. She was standing by the net again, looking at Mikha with that same calm, steady gaze that always made Mikha feel like she was the only person in the room.

Mikha took a deep breath. "Actually... can I ask you something?"

Aiah tilted her head slightly. "Of course."

Mikha's hands fidgeted with the grip of her racket, her palms clammy. "Um... I was just wondering if..." She hesitated, her heart racing. "If maybe... you'd want to hang out sometime. Like... outside of tennis. You know, just casually."

Aiah blinked, and for a moment, Mikha wanted to crawl into a hole. Oh my God, I made it weird. Abort. Abort!

But then Aiah smiled—a small, soft smile that made her dimples deepen just slightly. "You mean, like... a date?" she asked, her tone light but careful.