The Doubles Partner – Part 1: Love-All

"Mine!" shouted Ethan.

"Mine!" shouted Kiran.

The ball bounced between them, unreturned. Both men stood frozen on the grass court, rackets raised, glaring at each other. A ripple of polite laughter ran round the sunlit clubhouse terrace.

"Love-fifteen," said the umpire, with deep restraint.

They were partners, by random draw, in the club's summer doubles. Ethan was thirty, wiry and quick, a physiotherapist with a shock of brown hair and a terrible temper on court. Kiran was thirty-three, tall, elegant, a lecturer in engineering, with calm dark eyes and a left-handed serve like a whip. They had met at ten that morning and disliked each other on sight.

"You have to call it," said Kiran.

"I did call it."

"After me."

"Before you."

"Gentlemen," said the umpire.

They lost the first set six-two. In the changeover, Ethan took a long swallow of water, tossed his towel over his shoulder and said, in the tone of a man giving up, "Okay. You take the forehand. I'll take the backhand."

"I prefer the backhand."

"Then take the backhand."

"Fine."

"Fine."

They went back out. They didn't speak. But something had shifted: the quiet agreement of two people deciding to listen. Ethan covered the net. Kiran pounded from the baseline. A rally began, long, fast, ferocious, and ended with a clean volley winner from Ethan's racket that left the opposing pair standing in disbelief.

"Yes!" shouted Kiran.

"Yes!" shouted Ethan.

They slapped hands. The terrace erupted. They won the next set six-three, and the one after, six-four.

Afterwards, grinning and sweaty, they sat on the clubhouse steps with two cold lemonades.

"Can I ask you something?" said Kiran.

"Yes."

"Do you always lose your temper?"

"Only when I want to win," said Ethan. "And only with the right partner."

"Green?" said Kiran, a scoreboard light.

"Green," said Ethan, flushing. "Very green."

Continue the story: Part 2 – Match Point.