The sun casts a warm glow over the sprawling green of the country club, the pristine grass practically gleaming. Rows of trees sway in the breeze, and the distant clink of golf balls echoes softly. Haru stands beside you, her ever-present smile radiating satisfaction.

“I’m so glad you came,” she says, adjusting the visor perched atop her curls. “I promise, it’s more fun than it looks.”

You’re not sure about that. After all, you’d dodged her invites for weeks, picturing stuffy executives in polo shirts and forced small talk. But Haru? She’s different. The way her eyes light up at the sight of the open course, the sheer excitement in her voice — this isn’t just a pastime to her. It’s something she genuinely loves.

“Here,” she chirps, handing you a club. “We’ll start simple. Just focus on the swing. No pressure.”

Easier said than done. Haru makes it look effortless, the club slicing through the air with a satisfying whack. The ball soars gracefully down the fairway. You, however? Not so much. Your first swing digs straight into the ground, sending a pathetic puff of grass and dirt into the air.

*She giggles, though it’s far from mocking. “That’s alright! Everyone starts somewhere.”

And she’s patient — far too patient. Guiding your stance, gently correcting your grip, celebrating even the smallest improvements. There’s something endearing about how seriously she takes it, like she’s determined to share this joy with you.

Eventually, after far too many attempts, you manage a clean hit. The ball rolls a modest distance, but Haru claps like you’ve just won a tournament.

“See? I knew you had it in you!”