It was one of those perfect sunny afternoons when the air felt light, and the world seemed brighter. Phana's family had organized a picnic in the park, with colorful blankets spread across the grass, the aroma of delicious homemade snacks wafting through the air, and cheerful chatter all around. Phana, as always, was in his element—being loud, animated, and the center of attention. Ming, on the other hand, had found a quiet spot under a large tree, his signature calm demeanor intact as he read a book.
Phana spotted him from across the lawn and grinned mischievously. He couldn't let Ming sit there looking so detached and serene. Ming's air of unflappability always tempted Phana to test just how far he could push him.
"Mr. Stone Face!" Phana called out, hands cupped around his mouth. Heads turned, and Ming sighed softly, looking up from his book with an expression that was equal parts amusement and exasperation.
Phana bounded over, badminton racket in hand, and stood in front of him like a challenge personified. "You can't just sit there looking all broody and mysterious. Join us for a game of badminton," he said, waving the racket dramatically.
"I'm perfectly fine here," Ming replied, flipping a page with deliberate calm. "You can go enjoy yourself without me."
Phana pouted, leaning down to block Ming's view of the book. "Oh, come on. What's the point of me winning if you're not there to see it? Or are you afraid I'll crush you on the court?"
Ming arched an eyebrow. "You? Crush me? That's... unlikely."
Phana gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense. "How dare you underestimate me! Fine, I'm dragging you into this." He grabbed Ming's arm and tugged, though Ming didn't budge an inch.
"Careful," Ming said, his lips twitching upward slightly. "You'll strain yourself."
But Phana wasn't one to give up. A few minutes later, much to the amusement of the family members watching, Ming finally relented and stood up, straightening his shirt. "If only to prove you wrong," he said, taking the racket Phana handed him.
The game began with Phana full of confidence and flair, spinning and leaping dramatically for every shot. He loved the attention, soaking in the cheers and laughter of the audience as he made exaggerated poses after every point. Ming, however, played with quiet precision, effortlessly returning every serve with minimal movement.
"You're not even trying!" Phana exclaimed, hands on his hips.
"I don't need to," Ming replied, deadpan, which only made Phana more determined.
The turning point came when Phana decided to go for an ambitious jump to hit the shuttlecock. He leapt into the air with all the enthusiasm in the world—only for his foot to land awkwardly, sending him tumbling backward. To make matters worse, he landed squarely in a patch of mud, his clothes and hair completely covered.
The crowd erupted in laughter, some even doubling over in tears. Phana sat there, stunned, with mud dripping from his forehead. Ming walked over, his racket resting on his shoulder, and looked down at him with an unreadable expression.
"Well?" Phana said, trying to save face. "Go ahead. Say something snarky. I can take it."
But Ming surprised him. Instead of mocking him, he extended a hand and said in a steady voice, "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up."
Phana stared at Ming's hand, his cheeks heating—not from embarrassment, but from the unexpected gesture of kindness. He took it hesitantly, and Ming pulled him up with surprising strength.
As they walked toward the picnic setup, Ming leaned in slightly and said, just loud enough for Phana to hear, "For the record, your technique needs work."
Phana groaned dramatically, but a small smile tugged at his lips. Despite the mud and the humiliation, he couldn't help but feel a warmth blooming in his chest. Ming might be infuriatingly composed, but moments like this made Phana realize there was much more to him than met the eye.
