The Power of Habit

Nabil reached the community hall early enough to hear the table-tennis balls already clicking behind the partition. On the ladder board, someone had crossed out Arian's name beside his and written Samir in blue marker.

“He had to go,” said Farah, who was collecting the entry coins. “You still get your game.”

Nabil looked through the open door. Samir was short, in a yellow shirt, and holding his paddle with the rubber side turned outward as if he had just bought it. Two of Nabil's old teammates were leaning on the radiator, watching him notice.

“Arian said you were looking forward to this,” Samir said.

“Did he?” Nabil put his bag under the bench.

They played to eleven. Samir missed the first three serves, then stopped swinging hard at the ball and began dropping it just over the net. Nabil had to run in for each one. By six-all, his shirt was sticking to his back and one of the old teammates had stopped pretending to check his phone.

At eight-all, Samir sent a return wide. Nabil caught it before it hit the floor.

“Nine-eight,” Samir said.

“It was eight-all.”

Samir blinked. “You served after my point.”

Farah was counting coins at the desk. The others said nothing. Nabil set the ball on the table.

“Play it again,” he said.

Samir nodded too quickly. On the replayed point, he reached for a short ball, slipped, and laughed from the floor before getting up. Nabil laughed too, then wished he had not.

The hall lights flickered once. Farah called that they had five minutes before the caretaker locked the side entrance. Samir picked up the ball.

“Nine-eight?” he asked.

Nabil wiped his palm on his shirt and took his position at the far end. “Serve.”