He sighed, realizing, not for the first time, how truly alone he was. There she was, every second of every minute of every day, just waiting across that gap. The white line between them blocked nothing, yet it blocked everything. His only method of communication was the small white ball that passed between them from time to time; he had never owned a voice, nor had he ever known one. He pummeled it as hard as he could, struggling to send every ounce of feeling that he could through it, but it was never enough. He wanted to be with her, to cross the center line, but...

A bloop brought him out of his reverie, as, with a slight shimmer, the mysterious white ball appeared in front of him. He looked at her, she looked back, and they both moved into position. It was time for the daily grind to begin anew, and he sent the ball off into her court, sending his love with it as powerfully as he could. She caught it easily, and threw it back towards him; he caught the faint scent of her perfume as it neared him. The distraction made him stumble, and the ball passed him by on its journey to his goal. The buzzer sounded, her score went up, and the ball materialized again in front of him as he cursed, and he swore he wouldn't be so easily distracted again, shaking his fist, her only response to wink back mischievously.

A firm hit sent the ball ricocheting off the arena walls. It shot across the center line, but she was already waiting for it, easily deflecting the slow-moving projectile, increasing its speed by the smallest amount. Back it went, over the center line, bouncing off the walls towards him, but he was similarly prepared, and the ball was sent flying back towards her side, just a tiny bit faster. This process repeated itself again and again; occasionally, one would dive for the ball and miss, and would lose the point. He would shake and swear, she would pout and sulk, but in short order the game began anew, until suddenly, without warning, they found themselves tied for the final point.

Each looked at the other: he knew she wanted the point, and he was aware she knew he wanted it as well. The ball materialized in front of him, and he glanced down at it for a moment, taking in the blank white texture for what was truly the first time, the smooth surface seeming stranger than ever before. He looked back at her, really met her gaze, tried to convey his regret for what he had to do. He wasn't sure she had gotten the message, but he hoped she had. And as the ball whizzed past her, and the final point was scored, and she spun around and glared at him with her bright, piercing white gaze, he sighed, realizing, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, how truly alone he was.