The hallway leading to the cafeteria was quiet—except for the rhythmic squeak of rubber soles and the gentle hum of an almost flirtatious debate about chocolate versus cheese bread.
"I'm just saying," Jomar argued, swinging his racket case lazily as he walked, "cheese bread is superior in every possible way."
Mira raised an eyebrow. "That's a bold claim for a guy who hits tennis balls into other sports."
"That was one time," he shot back. "And I apologized to Rina. Twice!"
"You did," Mira grinned. "And you gave her a juice box. Very mature."
They both laughed.
It was a nice walk.
Comfortable.
Totally, absolutely, undeniably "friends only."
Probably.
Maybe.
Okay, maybe Mira did brush his arm a little longer when she nudged him. And maybe Jomar did walk a bit slower so their strides matched.
But they weren't thinking about that.
They were thinking about snacks.
At least, until—
"NOOOOO~!!"
A dramatic, echoing wail crashed through the quiet hallway like a scene from a telenovela.
Jomar paused mid-step. "Did… did someone just get rejected by the universe?"
Mira tilted her head toward the gym. "Gym's open. Wanna investigate?"
He nodded. "Lead the way, Sherlock."
They peeked through the open doors—and were immediately greeted by a scene worthy of an opera.
Inside, the badminton team was wrapping up drills. A few players were stretching, others gathering shuttlecocks.
And at the center of it all:
Alona, clutching a racket like it was her last lifeline.
On her knees.
Begging.
"Please, Coach! Just this once! Let me play doubles with Nina!"
Coach Cely, arms crossed and lips pursed in professional disapproval, stood firm like a wall of strict wisdom.
"No, Alona. You're playing singles. We need that win. You're our best bet."
"But—but—but Nina and I have chemistry!" Alona wailed.
"Chemistry doesn't win tournaments," Coach Cely said flatly. "Winning does."
Behind Alona, Nina gave a shy wave to Jomar and Mira, who were both frozen near the doorway.
"Hi," Nina whispered.
Mira waved back awkwardly. "Um. Are we intruding?"
"Nope!" Nina beamed. "This happens like… twice a month."
Alona turned toward them dramatically. "You two! Witness this injustice! They're tearing two souls apart!"
Jomar blinked. "Aren't you just being assigned to singles?"
Alona gasped. "JUST singles?! Sir, I'll have you know this is a tragic romance of split destinies!"
Nina walked over and patted Alona's head like one would calm a chihuahua.
"She's fine," she whispered to Mira. "She just really hates playing singles alone."
"I don't hate it," Alona muttered into the floor. "I'm just better with my bestie."
Coach Cely sighed and rubbed her temples.
"Alona. If you win your singles match, I'll consider putting you in doubles next round."
Alona stood up in a flash. "Deal!"
And just like that, the scene was over. The tragic opera became a casual practice once more.
As Jomar and Mira left the gym, now holding cheese bread and chocolate muffins (because compromise), Jomar glanced at her.
"She's chaotic."
"She's Alona," Mira shrugged. "Her chaos is an art form."
"Reminds me of someone," Jomar teased.
Mira smirked. "Watch it, Rocket Boy."
Outside, the afternoon sun was soft. The tennis court in the distance shimmered under it.
They kept walking, snacks in hand.
And though neither said it, both were thinking the same thing:
Some doubles just work.
Even if the coach doesn't always see it.