"Sometimes… when I wish to identify the warmth in my heart,
It is in my tears that I feel this heat…
A heat that lingers on my cheek before drying out.
This tear reminds me of my purity and the kindness within me...
Of my hard work and endless effort.
It is through this tear that I have realized how life is not the same without you,
And it is these tears that I have learned how to live without you."
I have learned that being naive will only lead to betrayal and pain. Many tend to take advantage of someone who's still learning—who lacks the basic knowledge of what others deem obvious. I've learned that liars live a better life and that life is filled with everything but fairness.
This world has torn me down into fragments and hardened my heart. It was this world that taught me to hate...
I'm Elizah, an indecisive tennis player... and a taekwondo star in my free time.
To think I've lost almost everything by choice. It all began with a simple arm injury.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You should have been more careful! How do you expect her to start her new career with her arm like that now?" Zamin shouted, shoving Owais against the hospital wall.
"Don't you two have better things to do than fight? It's not as impressive as you're trying to make it look," I said, stepping into my cab. Ignoring them, I turned to my phone.
I was already exhausted from juggling two careers—tennis and taekwondo. This injury was a blessing in disguise; now I had a reason to quit tennis. I'd already forfeited my black belt a month ago after injuring my opponent during the Rising-Senior Nationals. I wasn't ready to face that side of myself again.
Both sports held a special place in my heart, especially taekwondo. It earned me many scholarships and was how I connected with my father—a man who spoke only when necessary. Tennis, on the other hand, was my mother and sister's doing. It wasn't much of a story; I just used it to get into university. I never truly cared for the sport.
I never had the chance to reach my full potential on the court or the mat, as both demanded my split attention. Now, I wanted nothing to do with either, despite the years I'd wasted perfecting them.
I switched off my phone after declining Zamin's calls. He was always the overly sensitive one, constantly checking on me. But not today. Today, I wanted peace and silence—no whining, no *"How are you?"* and definitely none of Owais's criticism.
I arrived home and rushed to my room, calling my tennis instructor to inform him about my condition. I'd be turning in my racket soon.
My mother placed my mail on my bed after listing articles on how to eat, sleep, and shower with a cast. She also left a few job listings. After an hour of her lecturing, I sifted through the mail... and there it was.
My acceptance letter into South Africa's number-one kickboxing academy. Finally, something *I* wanted to do.
I inhaled the scent of the letter—it smelled like success, like direction!
I could hardly believe it. For once, I could pursue something without the burden of expectations. Not that I hadn't enjoyed those sports at some point, but I'd grown bored. I planned to give this my all, though there was one problem: training started tomorrow. My progress might be hampered since I could only train my legs for now, but I'd applied for a double program.
Zamin's sister was the head sensei, and Owais was her assistant. Now, it was my turn to rely on—and annoy—him. He was the clingy martial arts friend I'd made years ago, along with his crush (or whatever he called her). Even after months of criticism from the martial arts world and losing the respect I'd earned, he still supported me.
A fresh start was all I'd craved for years—even without my parents' approval.
The one thing that always cheered me up was a good meal with the people I loved...
Fried, dipped, dunked… even the greens everyone hated, we loved—as long as it was halal!
It all tasted better with a smiling face across the table. Food was also why so many let their guard down.
"I heard you got the letter," Owais said, kicking off his shoes before rushing inside with grocery bags.
"Did my mother make you run errands again?"
"We basically live here. It's the least I could do… Are you sure you're up for training with your arm like that?"
"I should be asking *you* that," I snapped. "Just do whatever my mother called you for. I have to meet Zamin later."
"Poor Zamin, dealing with you today of all days… The abuse…"
I stuck out my tongue at him before leaving. He wasn't wrong—they *did* basically live with me. Eating together, shopping together, training together. I needed new friends.
After my doctor's check-up with Zamin, we went to the tennis board to formally hand in my racket. The relief that washed over me was followed by mixed emotions—giving up something I'd known for half my life wasn't easy. The pay was good, but for once, I wanted to take risks and do my own thing.
Afterward, I rushed home for a warm meal with my parents. The soup's warmth and the meat's tenderness melted my worries away. A happy tummy leads to a happy mind.