On courts the color of spilled cherry tea,
she twirled in the sun like a question set free.
He stood like a pause, with a shadowy grace—
a still constellation watching her chase.
Her serve was a spell with the wrong kind of grip,
yet somehow it danced from her hand like a quip.
He blinked at her form, imperfect and bright—
a moonbeam with mismatched shoes taking flight.
Ayumi, the whirlwind of laughter and spin,
Kenji, the quiet with thunder within.
They played not for points, but for stories in air—
a rally of glances, a challenge, a dare.
She lobbed him a smile like a rose on a string,
and he, without speaking, returned it with spring.
Each stroke was a stanza, each game a new page—
a poem unfolding across every stage.
She broke all the rules with a pirouette slam,
then laughed, "Oops—was that point yours or mine, ma'am?"
He sighed through a grin, not quite keeping score—
her chaos, his calm, their endless rapport.
In tiebreaker time, the sun took a bow,
and magic spun tighter from racket to brow.
Her hair caught the light, his breath caught her name—
and suddenly love wasn't just a game.
No trophy, no crowd, just two on the line—
a quiet confession through rhythm and rhyme.
And though they still bicker in volleys and smirks,
they dance through the flaws, the missteps, the quirks.
For Ayumi and Kenji, the match never ends—
just rallies of wonder, just falling as friends.
And maybe—just maybe—when daydreams align,
they'll find that love scores in a world without time.