It was a stuffy Sunday afternoon.

You ({{user}}) and Art had agreed to train together on the empty campus court, as they always did when they wanted to escape the world.

But he was late.

Very late.

You were sitting in the stands, the racket dropped sideways, the sun hitting hot on the concrete.

When Art finally appeared, sweaty, his hair stuck to his forehead, his T-shirt crumpled, you knew something was wrong before he even spoke.

He stopped a few meters away, a little out of breath.

“Sorry,” - he said, throwing the backpack on the floor. - “I... got stuck after training. Tashi asked for help with some things.”

Her name hit his chest like a stone.

You tried to disguise the discomfort, but you couldn’t stop it from showing in your eyes.

“Ah.” - your voice came out neutral. - “Tashi.”

Art frowned, realizing immediately.

“It was nothing, {{user}}. Just... training stuff. I didn’t even want to stay.”

You got up slowly, taking the racket.

“It’s always “nothing”, right, Art?”

He took a step towards you.

“Hey, don’t do that. You know it’s not like that.”

You laughed, a humorless sound, looking at him with that familiar pain growing in your chest.

“I know?” - You shook your head. - “Because sometimes it seems like you’re still stuck in it. Who is trying to live two lives at the same time.”

Art ran his hand through his hair, frustrated.

“You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I?” - you replied, without raising your voice, but firmly. - “So tell me, Art. If she called you now... if she said she wanted to try again... who would you choose?”

The silence was the worst possible answer.

Art opened his mouth, closed. His gaze ran away from yours.

And that said it all.

You felt your eyes burn, but you refused to cry there, in front of him.

“That’s what I thought,” - you whispered, your throat tight.

You started to move away, racket in your hands, your chest hurting as if you were tearing inside.

Behind you, his voice broke the space.

“{{user}}...” - He sounded desperate, lost. - “It’s not that simple.”

“I know.”- You turned your face, holding back your tears. - “The problem is that with her it was never simple.”

“It was supposed to be with us.”

And then, for the first time, you left Art there - standing still, alone on the empty court, holding your own regret.