Anthologies {MIKHAIAH AU}

love all pt 4

Mikha sat on her bed, grinning at her phone as she scrolled through a thread of tennis memes she'd found online. She selected one of a cartoon tennis ball with arms yelling "You've got this! Just don't overthink it!" and sent it to Aiah with a caption:

Mikha: "Me before every serve. Accurate, right? 😂"

A moment later, her phone buzzed.

Aiah: "True, but you're improving. 💪🏽 I'll give you the 'Most Determined Player' award next lesson."

Mikha rolled her eyes and fired back.

Mikha: "Wow, thanks. Such a high honor. 😑"

Aiah: "😂 It's deserved. But you're going to make me retire that award soon. Your serves are getting really good."

Mikha paused, her heart doing a small flip. She hesitated, then typed:

Mikha: "You're just saying that because I told you your tennis outfit was cute last week. 😏"

Aiah: "That's an excellent strategy for extra compliments. I approve."

Mikha: "Noted. 👀"

Aiah: "But seriously, you're doing great. And thanks. I know I look good in green. 💚"

Mikha's grin widened. Aiah knew exactly how to make her feel special while still keeping it light.

/

Mikha was determined to prove herself on the court. Aiah had been coaching her for months now, and while she still had a lot to learn, Mikha decided it was time to show off.

"Okay, Coach," Mikha said, tossing a ball into the air with a smirk. "Today, I'm bringing it."

"Oh, really?" Aiah replied, raising an eyebrow. She crossed her arms, looking amused. "You think you can beat me?"

"I know I can beat you," Mikha shot back, pointing her racket at her dramatically. "Prepare yourself."

Aiah chuckled, stepping into position. "Alright. Bring it on, La Salle."

The rally started off slow, with Mikha hitting decent returns and Aiah sending the ball back effortlessly. Mikha felt confident—she was holding her own. She even managed to score a point with a lucky drop shot that just barely cleared the net.

"That's one point for me!" Mikha yelled triumphantly, throwing her fist into the air.

"Don't get cocky," Aiah warned, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

But then Mikha, in her excitement to return a particularly fast serve from Aiah, swung too late. The ball ricocheted off her racket and slammed directly into her stomach with a loud thwack.

"OWWW!" Mikha cried, doubling over and dropping her racket.

Aiah rushed over, trying not to laugh as she placed a hand on Mikha's shoulder. "Mikha, are you okay?!"

"I'm fine," Mikha groaned dramatically, clutching her stomach. "Just... wounded. Emotionally and physically."

Aiah bit her lip, trying to stifle her laughter, but a giggle escaped anyway. "I warned you not to get cocky."

"Wow, thanks for the support," Mikha said, glaring at her half-heartedly. But when she saw Aiah laughing, she couldn't help but crack a grin. "Okay, okay. Maybe I deserved that."

"Definitely," Aiah said, still laughing.

/

Late one night, Mikha sent a text that wasn't about tennis, but it made Aiah smile nonetheless.