Chapter 3 - Backhand Beginnings
Chapter 3: Backhand Beginnings
Isabelle sat at the corner of the NTU sports hall, legs tucked in, fiddling with the zipper on her racket bag. The echoes of shuttlecocks bouncing and sneakers squeaking around her only made the silence in her head louder.
Everyone seemed to have someone. Aleem, who already knew Crystal. Crystal, who moved like she belonged everywhere. Ivan, who at least had a shared laugh with Aleem from earlier. And Isabelle? She was just… Isabelle. Late bloomer, slow to open, unsure of her place in the rhythm of others.
She stared blankly at her racket stringing, wondering if she should have just taken swimming instead.
“Hey, Belle!”
Crystal plopped down beside her like a ball of energy wrapped in a ponytail and a mischievous grin.
“Huh?”
“Why so serious?” Crystal nudged her with a shoulder. “You okay?”
Isabelle offered a small smile. “I just… don’t know anyone here. You all seem so connected already.”
Crystal blinked. “What? No lah. I only know Aleem from another camp. Ivan just showed up today. We’re all still figuring this out.”
“Still… you all click so easily.”
Crystal paused, her voice softening. “Can I tell you a secret?”
Isabelle looked up.
“I’m actually terrified of being alone.”
“You?” Isabelle raised a brow.
“Yah. But my strategy is: act like I belong until I do. It works, sometimes.”
That made Isabelle laugh, and Crystal lit up like she just won an achievement. “There it is! See, progress already.”
The coach clapped, calling for warm-up drills. Isabelle rose with the others, still uncertain but slightly steadier now.
As the four were paired again—Aleem with Crystal, Isabelle with Ivan—Crystal tossed her a glance mid-drill and mouthed, You got this.
Between rallies, something shifted. Ivan, surprisingly gentle in his feedback, offered pointers without sounding superior. Aleem, while focused and competitive, gave encouraging nods when Isabelle landed her shots. Crystal, of course, cheered for everyone like she was at a K-pop concert.
And by the end of the class, something small but solid had formed—an invisible thread tying the four together.
Later that day, at the food court, they sat at the same table. Ivan was halfway into his chicken chop when Aleem slid into the seat across him.
“Eh,” Ivan said between bites, “remember the time in primary school, the teacher confiscated your rubber band launcher?”
“You helped me build it, bro,” Aleem shot back.
“Guilty by association,” Ivan grinned.
Crystal sipped her iced milo. “I feel like I missed a whole sitcom episode.”
“Don’t worry, you’re the plot twist,” Aleem quipped.
Isabelle laughed, wiping her mouth with a tissue. For the first time that day, she didn’t feel like an extra. She felt like part of the cast.
And right there, in the laughter over half-finished food and overlapping stories, ABIX was no longer just a makeshift team name.
It was the beginning of something real.