The gym was quiet the next morning.  

Too quiet.

Bailey Dofen stood alone on the empty court, staring at the line where the shuttle had fallen yesterday.  

It felt like a scar—too clean, too precise to ignore.

She tossed a new shuttle into the air, swung, hit—perfect form, perfect silence.  

No static this time. No fading.  

Still, she didn’t trust it.

“Trying to outrun ghosts?” a familiar voice asked.

She didn’t have to turn to know it was him.

“Shouldn’t you be charming a board meeting somewhere?” she said.

“Canceled it,” Man replied. “Turns out watching you hit imaginary enemies is more productive.”

“Great,” she muttered. “Now I’m an entertainment package.”

He walked closer, hands in his pockets, quieter than usual.  

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

He frowned. “That’s your favorite lie.”

“It’s efficient.”

“It’s exhausting,” he said.

She kept her eyes on the court. “I just need to keep moving.”

“Moving isn’t the same as healing.”

“Neither is worrying,” she shot back.

He sighed. “You don’t make it easy.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m not supposed to.”

He didn’t reply right away.  

Instead, he picked up a stray shuttle, spun it between his fingers, and served it gently toward her.  

“Then play,” he said. “If that’s what keeps you breathing.”

She stared at him, then lifted her racket.  

One rally. Then another.  

He wasn’t good—his shots were slow, a little ridiculous—but he matched her rhythm.  

Every time she sent one sharp, he sent one softer.  

She realized what he was doing halfway through: he was trying to meet her where she was.

“Stop holding back,” she said.

He smiled. “You’ll kill me.”

“Maybe.”

“Romantic.”

“Risky.”

“Same thing with you,” he murmured.

She swung harder. He missed. The shuttle hit the floor, rolled between them.

Silence.  

Then he said quietly, “When it happened yesterday—I didn’t know what to do.”

“You did fine.”

“I didn’t.” He exhaled. “I wanted to fix it. But you looked at me like you’d forgotten I existed.”

Her throat tightened. “I didn’t forget.”

“Then what was it?”

“I couldn’t hear you,” she said. “Not even myself.”

He nodded, slowly. “That’s what scared me. Not that you couldn’t hear—but that you looked… peaceful.”

She blinked. “Peaceful?”

“Like you’d rather stay there.”

Her heart stumbled. “Maybe it was quiet.”

“Quiet isn’t peace, Bailey.”

“Sometimes it’s close enough.”

He stepped closer. “Then let me be the noise.”

She froze. “That’s not how it works.”

“Maybe not. But I can try.”

He moved until he was standing just behind her. Close enough to catch her breath when she spoke.  

“Hit another,” he said softly.

She did. The shuttle rose, spun, fell. He caught it midair, laughing.  

“Still too perfect.”

“You’re a bad opponent.”

“I’m a devoted audience.”

“Worse.”

“Honest.”

He stepped around to face her, holding the shuttle like an offering.  

“Do you ever stop fighting everything?”

“It’s a habit.”

“Break it.”

“Not easy.”

“Neither are you.”

“Then we’re even.”

He smiled faintly, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek.  

“Yesterday, when you went quiet,” he said, “the whole place felt wrong.  

Like the world forgot its own rhythm. You don’t get to take that away again.”

“Are you giving me orders now?”

“Just terms of survival.”

She met his eyes—too close, too dark, too much.  

“Man—”

He took a step back, almost as if he’d read her pulse. “Okay. I’ll stop.”

“No,” she said, quieter. “Don’t. Just… not yet.”

He froze. “Not yet?”

She looked away. “If I say I’m fine, it’s because I’m afraid you’ll see I’m not.”

“I already do,” he said. “And I’m still here.”

Something fragile in her cracked open—small, invisible, but real.  

She nodded once, the tiniest surrender.

“Okay,” she whispered.

He smiled, slow and certain. “Then we’re both terrible at boundaries.”

“Definitely.”

“But good at showing up.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I will,” he said. “Every time you forget to.”

Later, when she left the gym, her phone buzzed.  

A message from him.

**M: “I’m ordering earplugs. If the world goes quiet again, I’ll match you.”**

She stared at the screen for a long time before replying.

**B: “You’d hate it.”**

A pause. Then—

**M: “Not if it’s with you.”**

For the first time in a long while, she didn’t feel the silence chasing her.  

It felt like it had finally found somewhere to rest.