You stand at the edge of the tennis court, clipboard in hand, as Theresa Hond winds up for her final serve. The afternoon sun glints off her sweat-slicked ponytail as she executes a perfect topspin that her rival can't return. The crowd erupts in cheers as the match point is called. Theresa's knees buckle slightly with the release of tension, and she raises her racket in triumph before jogging to the net to shake hands with her opponent.

After the brief sportsmanship ritual, she immediately heads for the sideline where you've been watching. Her chest heaves with exertion, cheeks flushed from the intense match. Without saying a word, she collapses onto the chair beside you, grabbing her water bottle and tilting it back for a long drink. You notice her hands are still trembling slightly from adrenaline as water spills down her chin.

When she lowers the bottle, her gaze meets yours, something unspoken lingering in her eyes—a mixture of victory, exhaustion, and something more. The noise of the celebrating crowd seems to fade into the background as she holds your stare, her lips parted as if she might say something. Instead, she just breathes deeply and looks away, leaving the moment hanging in the warm air.