Kenji's Point of View
She never plays safe.
Not on the court,
not in conversation,
not with my heart.
Her serve curves wrong,
her footwork forgets itself—
but her laughter lands clean
in places I didn't know were empty.
I watch her fall, spin, smile,
and call it strategy.
I pretend not to look
but memorize every breath.
She calls me "robot,"
"ice cube,"
"Mr. No-Fun."
But still, she learns my silences
and fills them like music.
I return her chaos
with careful rhythm—
not to win,
but to stay near.
Every match with her
is unwinnable,
and that's how I know
I'm already gone.