KISS ME AFTER MATCH POINT

Different courts.
Same dream.
One unexpected partnership.
When their coach pairs them for mixed doubles, practice doesn't just become a battlefield, it becomes something far more complicated.
Sharp words echo between rallies.
Sarcastic smirks follow missed shots.
Fingers brush at the net, only to pull away too quickly.
"Stay out of my way."
"Only if you stop standing in mine."
They argue like it's second nature.
Like it's easier to fight than to admit how perfectly they move together when the pressure rises.
But the real problem isn't the bickering.
It's the way his voice softens when he leans close to explain a strategy.
The way her hand lingers at his waist after a winning point.
The way their eyes meet for half a second too long before a serve.
They fight like rivals.
They play like poetry in motion.
And somewhere between the heated arguments and the almost-touches...
between the smirks and the stolen glances...
they begin to understand that this partnership was never a punishment.
It was the beginning of something neither of them were ready for,
and neither of them can walk away from.