3

Volleyball court, next morning. Aryan shows up in track pants and messy hair, holding a bottle like it’s a shield. Rudra is already there, casually bouncing the ball on his knee.
Rudra
Rudra
“Good. You’re only ten minutes late. That’s a new record
Aryan
Aryan
(deadpan)“I was rethinking life choices. This training was in top 3 regrets.
Rudra
Rudra
“Oh, come on. We’re just playing. Not going to war.”
Aryan
Aryan
“I saw a video last night. A volleyball hit a guy and he forgot his own name.”
Rudra
Rudra
(laughing)“I promise I’ll remind you yours if that happens.”
. . .
Rudra tosses the ball lightly. Aryan panics. Misses.
Aryan
Aryan
“I panicked.”
Rudra
Rudra
“Panicked? The ball came slower than my grandma’s Wi-Fi.”
Rudra walks over, casually fixes Aryan’s hand posture. Aryan stands still, heart racing.
Rudra
Rudra
(calmly)“Hands together. Lock your elbows. Don’t overthink.”
Aryan
Aryan
“I’m only overthinking.”
Their hands brush. Aryan looks away fast.
Rudra
Rudra
“You always get this nervous around me?”
Aryan
Aryan
“No. I’m like this with... air too.”
. . .
They try again. Aryan hits the ball. It flies off sideways and smacks a metal pole. Loud CLANG.
Aryan
Aryan
“I broke the pole! Am I banned now?!”
Rudra
Rudra
(laughing, holding his stomach)
Rudra
Rudra
Forget volleyball. You’re a weapon.
Rudra
Rudra
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