Chapter 5 - When Crystal Fell

Chapter 5: When Crystal Fell (on the Court)

It was supposed to be a simple Monday afternoon badminton session.

Nothing dramatic.

Just four undergrads blowing off steam after class, pretending they were training for the Olympics when, really, they could barely maintain a decent rally without someone yelling “Eh, out la!”

Aleem arrived first—again. Racket in hand, wireless earphones in, bouncing lightly on his feet as he warmed up. Then came Ivan, balancing a cup of Gong Cha with one hand and his gear in the other.

“Drinking milk tea before cardio?” Aleem raised a brow.

“It’s called pre-smash motivation,” Ivan said, sipping proudly.

Crystal and Isabelle came in moments later, Crystal swinging her racket like it was a baton and Isabelle looking like she had second thoughts about exercising indoors during exam season.

“Warm up properly this time, ah,” Aleem warned Crystal as she skipped past him.

“Please, I was born warm.”

Aleem and Ivan exchanged glances. This was the same confidence that led to her rolling her ankle during the first session… and insisting she was fine, only to limp dramatically five minutes later.

But today felt different. The air was lighter, the banter louder, and the rallies surprisingly cleaner. They rotated teams every game—Isabelle’s sneaky drop shots, Ivan’s unexpected smashes, Aleem’s court awareness, and Crystal’s… enthusiasm.

It all blended like a chaotic smoothie.

Then came The Fall.

It was Game 3.

Crystal was paired with Ivan, facing Aleem and Isabelle.

The score was 18–18. Tension? Manufactured. Stakes? Non-existent. But pride? Immense.

Aleem served.

Crystal responded with a wild backhand return, clearly meant for style points. The shuttlecock popped into the air, wobbling straight up like it was undecided on where to land.

“Mine!” she shouted confidently.

And then, chaos.

Crystal sprinted forward.

Slipped.

And fell.

Spectacularly.

In slow motion, like a scene from an over-dramatic K-drama. Arms flailing. Racket tossed. A thud. A pause.

Then—“Ow.”

For a second, nobody moved.

Then Aleem burst out laughing. Ivan doubled over. Isabelle was frozen mid-step, unsure whether to help or take a photo.

Crystal lay sprawled across the court, eyes to the ceiling.

“Did I win the point?” she asked, deadpan.

“You won the drama,” Aleem said between wheezes.

“I told you to warm up properly,” Isabelle added, now kneeling beside her.

“I did! I even stretched my arms like the TikTok girl showed—”

“You stretched like, once,” Ivan snorted. “While scrolling through your playlist.”

They eventually helped her up, and despite the fall (and minor bruised ego), Crystal grinned like she had just won MVP. And in a way, she had.

Because that fall?

It became legendary.

They gathered later at their usual food haunt—sweaty, tired, laughing at Crystal’s “signature move.”

Someone had already edited the slow-mo replay from Ivan’s phone and added dramatic orchestral music. Isabelle was crying from laughter.

“Okay but real talk,” Crystal said through mouthfuls of char kway teow. “Thanks for not making it a big deal.”

“You mean your face-plant?” Ivan smirked.

“No lah. I mean like… not being weird about it. I fall, you laugh, we move on. Feels nice.”

Aleem nodded, his voice quieter. “That’s kind of how this group works, right?”

“We catch each other,” Isabelle added, smiling.

“Or we laugh first, then catch,” Ivan said. “But we catch.”

There it was again—that feeling. That unsaid understanding. Like puzzle pieces clicking into place, shaped not by similarity, but by respect, support, and honest-to-god vibes.

ABIX wasn’t perfect.

They weren’t the same.

But they fit.

And that was more than enough.