I throw my tennis rackets on the fake grass and extend my legs beside them. Wow. What a rigorous session. But the gentle breeze, and the warm rays of the setting sun are really making it worth it. The weather is quite literally perfect.

I start massaging my legs on the fake grass, when I feel a figure towering above me. Odd.

When I look up, I cannot believe who it is. Rafiq. And he's staring at me like he also cannot believe it is me.

The sight of him immediately wakes up an angry monster within me. I am still hurt by how he never stood up for me not only last time, but over the last two months. My legs start tingling restless, and I itch to stand up and leave because anger is washing over me like a wave.

But as much as I want to say that all I hold towards him is anger, and resentment, not too far, in the empty chambers of my heart, there is an echo; you really miss him. And I do. And just for a few seconds, I want to stay. I want to relish in this moment forever, no matter how insignificant, before we are officially divorced in a few days because to me it's not that insignificant. Like a homeless person, I am looking for any scraps of love I can get. My father that when I'd grow up, I'd make a fool of someone. I don't think he ever considered I would become that fool.

He sits down beside my rackets. "What were you doing?"

Is that the first thing he'll ask me? Weird. I take a moment to answer. "Playing tennis."

"Why?"

Because I miss you. Because I wanted to feel closer to you. Because I can't help long for something I will never have. "Because I felt like it."

I avoid his eye, staring straight ahead, and he does too. We stay silent for a few minutes, staring at the sunset and cooling down under the breeze. To an outsider, this is petty. We look like moody teenagers on the field ignoring each other.

And maybe,... they're not too far off.

He's not exactly sitting in front of me, and I take advantage of this opportunity to steal a glance at him. That's when I notice his attire. Black dress pants, and a comfortable black t-shirt. His specific work attire. It's nearing 9pm though. That is way too late for the office.

Why hasn't he gone home? Was he hanging out with a certain someone?

"Filing" a divorce order with a spouse you love is like laying in a warm bed and hearing the alarm clock. No matter how comfortable you are right now, you know you must get up.

I've never officially told him we're done, even though I've been feeling that way for days. I should. Right now.

But first, one more thing. "What are you doing here this late?"

He shrugs. "I missed you."

I don't like his answer. It's so nonchalant, like he's discussing the weather with me. but this is about our marriage. How we feel about each other is not nonchalant, because it could change everything.

I frown, and he seems to catch himself. "I was driving in the area. Probably because I missed you. Never mind, that's why I was here." He locks eyes with me. "I want to be more honest with you. I don't think I've been doing that enough with you."

I look away, confused and a bit flustered. At least I'm not the only one.

The alarm has rung long enough. I'm getting myself mentally ready to get up when he speaks again.

"I'm debating whether I should let you know what I'm thinking. It's--"

"I don't want to know." A car's headlights light up his face, and that's when I notice how terrible he looks. His eye bags are big and dark, and his skin looks dry. Drier than when I used to remind him to moisturize it every night.

My theory is that every lover wants to know that their beloved visibly misses them. But in my case, it makes it harder to be firm in my decision. Maybe this will sound pathetic to some, but I never thought I would ever be so important that someone would look that miserable over me.

I've read once that butterflies can't see the color of their wings, and that we humans are the same. We always think our impact is smaller than it really is. We never assign to ourselves the value others do.

He snaps his head in my direction. "I think I should. Why were you playing tennis? I've told you countless times not to!"

I get up and start packing my stuff. In the bag he brought with him, I catch sight of badminton rackets poking out.

"so you can play my favorite sport, but I can't? how toxic of you. I'm done. I don't want to argue anymore."

He stands up. "it's different."

"how?" I shout. "please explain."

He touches his hair, exasperated, and looks away. "because I don't do them to become you. I do them to understand you better, to have a good time."

"who says it's not the same for me?"

"The reason we're still arguing right now is because it's not the same. I want the old you back. Carefree, kind, crazy in the head. I told you there's no manual on how to be with each other. We've done it before. just lay back, and let your instincts guide."

I frown. "Is that what you've been doing? because your advice is clearly horrible."

And I have been letting my instincts guide. This is me. I don't know who the girl from before is. I don't know who he wants me to be.

This is futile. I pick up the tennis bag and adjust it on my shoulder. Rafiq starts saying something, but I cut him off.

"I'm done, Rafiq. For real."

He stills. "I've made the decision a long time ago. I can't—we can't keep doing this."

He holds my hand, and I almost flinch. It hurts to be this close to him. the possibilities. All the what-ifs.

"The future is bright ahead of us, Ihsan. This rough patch is not the end. Plenty of people go through this"

"But maybe it is." I don't think he's ever imagined I would be the first to raise the white flag. I don't think I ever did, too. Family matters to me so much, and he is family. But unfortunately, blood doesn't link us. Legal papers do. And when your shoulders ache from the weight you've been carrying, you find another shoulder to cry on. No matter how much it makes you you cry.

"Don't cry." He says, and pushes my head on his shoulder.

"let's play badminton one last time. And then, whatever decision you make, I'll accept it."

He wipes my tears with his thumbs, then leads me away. Rafiq smiles when I do this, and thinks he has a chance.

But he doesn't.

I didn't have enough strength in me to object, and part of me does want to savor our last moments together before it's officially over. But this is it. This will be the end. No more chances. No more tennis matches. No more crying, or soaked shoulders.

We play for about thirty minutes, and I decide to be the cheerful girl I am not. I laugh loudly, and smile at jokes that aren't funny. I really try to summon the girl he claims I always was-- carefree, smiley, and knows how to get out of her head for a good time. And maybe I was at once. But I changed. What's so wrong with changing? Isn't the new me as worthy of his attention?

When the lights in the courts go off at 11pm, Rafiq is jumping as he comes on my side of the net.

"That was amazing", he says, lifting me up and twirling. I smile, and feel the tears come up to my eyes.

"It was" I croak out, with tears quietly rolling down my cheeks.

"See, we are compatible! I genuinely don't want to go home now. That. was. amazing." He says, walking in front of me towards the car. His eyes are sparkling with excitement and joy, and that makes me even more sad.

Poor us. What did we do? All we ever wanted was a good ending.

His giddiness makes me realize just how imperfect I actually am, how imperfect we are together. We say our goodbyes at my car, and Rafiq doesn't walk very long before he gets into his.

In my car waiting for my face to cool, I notice thar Rafiq hasn't left yet. That's when I hear my phone ping with a new text message.

Rafiq texted me.

Rafiq. Do you know what his name means? Friend. Ally. That was one of the things that attracted me to him at first. The idea of having a forever friend.

Where's forever now?

Rafiq: Your dad invited me to the family dinner tomorrow. let's do this. Together.

He doesn't even ask me about my decision. He thinks it's obvious that I will say yes after that badminton session. I start typing that I am not going but delete it.

Me: see you.

Rafiq: we can do this.

Tomorrow, I'll officially break it to him. the separation shouldn't be too hard. We've spent the last three months away from each other more than together.

No one gets married planning a divorce down the lane. We all wish for forever, but maybe we aren't all fit for that. Sometimes, we must try again because forever was never written in the stars for us.

Sometimes, forever is just an instant. And that instant playing badminton earlier was forever. One thousand percent.

***

I think this chapter is longer than my regular ones. 

First of all, I want to thank you for all the love on this story. It has been added to so many reading lists, and there's so many comments.... just know that i see it all. And KEEP commenting. I love reading you guys! And I respond

This story is my baby, and I think i already have another future story idea :) This one only has a few chapters left (it's a short story kind of). 

SOooo are we happy they're breaking up? ngl it's making me a bit sad :(((. Sad endings always make me sad.

XXX stay safe, and do something out of your comfort zone this week.