He served. She smiled. His heart forgot the score.
The sun in Goa wasn't forgiving.
It scorched the cracked courts of the college tennis complex, bounced off sweat-soaked foreheads, and turned every rally into a battle between heatstroke and stubbornness.
Jericho Cesar Molan, second-year Civil Engineering student and Singles A player of the varsity team, didn't mind.
He thrived in it.
In fact, he always said: "Pain is temporary. But championships look good on résumés."
"Serve it hard, Molan!" Joel yelled from the bench, twirling a racket like it was a mic. "Make the ball cry!"
Jericho smirked, spun the tennis ball in his hand, and tossed it high into the sky like he was summoning lightning.
He jumped. Swung.
CRACK!
"OUT!" Redmond called, not even looking up from his Mountain Dew.
"Wala na. Panira ng momentum," Gregory muttered.
Jericho blinked. That couldn't be out.
But then—
Out of the corner of his eye, near the campus walkway lined with santan and gumamela—
She walked by.
Not floated. Not glided. Walked. Like a regular girl with a purple tote bag, black umbrella, and serious "I don't care about you sweaty boys" energy.
He didn't even know her name.
But for one second, she looked toward the court.
Not at him. Not really. Just… toward.
But it was enough. His brain, previously occupied with topspins and course units, turned into a choir of "Oh no. Oh no. OH NO."
Joel was already beside him, grinning. "Hoy. Bro. Earth to Jericho. You just got hit by Cupid with a racket."
"I—I wasn't looking," Jericho muttered, trying to restart the rally.
"'Di mo siya kilala? Freshie 'yan. Tourism. Parang si Heart Evangelista pag finals week."
Redmond stood and stretched. "Wala na, men. We lost him. Crush na 'to. Pack up na. Emote session na."
As his teammates erupted into laughter, Jericho stared at the empty walkway where she'd disappeared.
He didn't know her name.
He didn't know her section.
He didn't even know if she was real or just heatstroke in a skirt.
But he knew one thing:
He had to find her.
Because whatever that smile was — even if it wasn't meant for him — it had already rewritten his heart's syllabus.