Four Years Ago…

The sun had barely risen over Camelot Academy when Mia broke the news.

“I’m… leaving. My parents are moving overseas. It’s not temporary.” Her voice cracked as she faced her team. Her family. Her heart.

They were twelve or thirteen then—too young to grasp true distance, old enough to feel the ache of goodbye.

Tristan didn’t speak. Not when Lancelot protested, or when Gareth cried, or when Ivy turned away to hide her trembling fingers. He just stood there. Watching her walk away. Now…

Camelot Academy had changed. So had its team. But some wounds never truly healed.

Tristan, now 17, stood at the same field. Still the strongest. Still the most distant. But something had been missing since that day. Someone.

He hit a clean drive—200 meters, precise and perfect. Yet satisfaction never came.

“You still think about her?” Elaine asked softly, approaching. He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. Elsewhere…

Lancelot swung too hard. “She just left. Not even a goodbye. No letter.” But his hesitation before the next shot said everything.

Gareth lay in the grass, staring at the sky. “She was our sun,” he whispered. “I even saved her favorite cake… not the real one, but still.”

Ivy remembered the date. Wrote every year. Never sent a word. “She changed our rhythm. We adapted. But we never healed.”

What they didn’t know was that Mia had written to them every week from Brazil—about her tan, how she missed them, her new 480-yard swing, even the smallest details… just like always. The Camelot Cup

It was the biggest day of the year. Six students would be called to compete. The crowd waited. Everyone knew the five. But the sixth?

Mr. Thomas stepped forward. “For Tristan’s doubles partner and individuals… it’s going to be Mia.”

The team froze. Huh? Wasn’t she in Brazil?

That’s when the door opened. A tanned 15-year-old with a toned build, golf bag slung over her shoulder, and a wide smile stepped inside.

Mia had returned.