Volleyball player

 I’ve never been one to revel in the world of sports. Each time a game lights up the television screen, my hand instinctively seeks the remote, eager to escape. The charm of athletic contests has always been a mystery to me… until this momentous day.

Oh my goodness, what a revelation! I’ve never witnessed such elegance in an athlete. She stands tall, her strength matched only by her grace. Her movements are precise, deliberate. I find myself captivated, unable to look away. It’s as if she’s performing a dance with the ball, and the ball is more than willing to follow her lead.

Her large, black hair cascades and undulates, perfectly in sync with every nuanced movement. It’s mesmerizing, really, how it accentuates her every action.

She leaps, she sprints, she converses with the sphere as if it were a trusted companion. And she will never let the ball fall — it’s a vow she’s not prepared to forsake.

I gaze upon her, utterly transfixed, incapable of diverting my eyes, not even for a blink. At times, it appears as though she’s engaging in a playful dance with the sun itself, rather than a mere volleyball.

As the game concludes, the players join hands, their voices rising in a chorus of jubilation. The young woman’s visage radiates sheer joy, a testament to the triumph they’ve shared.

There I stand, contemplating how to close the distance between us, searching for the right words to express my admiration. Yet, one thing is clear: I cannot let this moment pass without knowing her name, without a clue of where to find her again.

I glance at my camera, my steadfast ally, and the solution emerges effortlessly.

“Excuse me, Miss, I’m a photographer. I observed the game and snapped some shots that I’d love to share with you.”

“Really? That’s quite surprising, but thank you.”

“If you’d be so kind as to share your email, I’ll ensure the photos reach you. The match was incredible… I’m Iñaki, by the way.”

“Thank you… I’m Eloise. Jot down my email.”