The quick snap of the racket, the propulsion of the birdie through the air, and the vibration felt from the racket’s string bed throughout her entire arm heightened her adrenaline. ‘You’ve been training for this all season, you can do this, it’s not out of your reach.”
She watched the white birdie propel itself high in the air, creating an arc of practiced and precise symmetry.
Across, on the other side of the net, her partner returned the shot, half heartedly, with little mobility and even less precision.
“Court Four, Please start your match.”
She walked over to her partner, who stood there staring absently into the bleachers, gazing morosely at the remaining games unfolding around her.
“We’re going to win today,” I murmured, glancing up at her to see if she shared the same sentiment.
“Uh huh.”
“What’s wrong with you? Do you even want to play?”
“No. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to play and I wasn’t going to show up today, but you know, I kind of had to.”

I’ve never had a partner since.