Shuttle Of Heart

Chapter 1- The First Glance

"Don't get close to him." "He's rude." "Cold. Always has that 'stay away' look." "Zayen’s just... not someone you want to mess with."

That’s all I ever heard about him.

Zayen—the senior with the sharp game, sharp jawline, and even sharper silences. He didn’t talk. He didn’t smile. He didn’t care.

At least, that’s what they said.

But I don’t believe in reputations. I believe in moments. And the moment I first saw him, everything I’d heard seemed suddenly, completely wrong.

It was the first week of the new term. I’d just joined the badminton team, and my stomach twisted with nerves as I stepped into the gym.

I wasn't nervous about playing. I was nervous about belonging.

The gym was mostly empty when I arrived early for practice. The overhead lights buzzed faintly, casting long golden beams over the court. The smell of varnish and sweat lingered like a memory.

And there he was.

Zayen.

On the court. Alone.

He moved like a ghost with purpose. Every step precise. Every stroke of the racket clean, no wasted energy.

He wasn’t just playing. He was fighting something only he could see.

He served the shuttle to the wall, over and over. Each time it bounced back, he met it perfectly, returning it like it was a real opponent.

No noise. No drama. Just rhythm. And silence.

I stood quietly by the benches, unsure if I should interrupt. Maybe he didn’t even know I was there.

But then he turned.

Our eyes met.

Sharp brown eyes under messy dark hair. A flicker of surprise, then stillness.

He didn’t frown. He didn’t nod.

He just looked.

I was supposed to look away. Everyone else always did.

But I didn’t.

I held his gaze. Calm. Curious. Then, instinctively, I smiled.

It wasn’t wide. Just enough. A simple smile that said, "I see you."

He blinked.

Then turned back to his practice.

Not coldly. Not rudely. Just... quietly.

Something about that moment stayed with me. I didn’t know why. Maybe because it was the first time Zayen hadn’t felt like a warning sign.

He felt... human.

And a little lost.

The next day, I found myself arriving early again.

He was there.

Again.

This time, he wasn’t practicing. He was just sitting on the floor, stretching in silence. His headphones were in, and he stared at the floor like it held the answers to questions he couldn’t ask out loud.

I placed my bag down and started warming up. I didn’t expect anything. Didn’t try to make him notice me.

But as I reached down to tie my laces, a shadow fell across my sneakers.

I looked up.

Zayen stood there. Holding a shuttle.

He didn’t speak. Just tapped it toward me with his racket.

It landed near my foot.

An invitation.

I raised an eyebrow, amused. Then smiled again.

I picked it up, stepped onto the court, and served.

That was our first rally.

Not a match. Not a challenge. A conversation without words.

He adjusted to my rhythm. Matched my pace. Gave me space to breathe, even as we moved.

And I realized—he wasn’t just skilled. He was intentional.

Every swing meant something.

When our rally ended, we didn’t say goodbye. He just walked past me again, slower this time. And I noticed it—the slight tilt of his head, the almost-smile playing on his lips.

Or maybe I imagined it.

The days that followed blurred into soft moments. I started looking for him. Not because I had to. Because I wanted to.

He didn’t speak to me. But he noticed me.

He started giving subtle nods when I arrived. Not a greeting. More like an acknowledgment.

Like he was saying: "You’re not like them."

And I wasn’t.

Everyone else feared him. I was fascinated.

Everyone else whispered behind his back. I wanted to hear his story.

And I was willing to wait for it.

One afternoon, after a long rally in practice, I dropped to the floor, breathing hard, sweat dripping down my forehead.

A bottle of water rolled toward me.

Zayen stood across the court, arms crossed, not saying a word.