Episode 1 — Hate on the Court 

The Osu Sports Stadium twinkled in the noon heat, the tennis court, a blue rectangle, stretched out like a stage waiting for trouble. 

A crowd had gathered, coaches, curious fans, and players resting between matches, drawn by the wild flow of rackets clashing. The ball flew like lightning. Each stroke cracked through the humid air. An exhibition match with hate was going on.

“Out!” the umpire yelled.

“Check your eyes, sir,” the girl shot back, her tone dripping with polished arrogance.

Ama Duplan—heiress to the Duplan fortune, sponsor of half the tournaments in Accra, and rumored to have trained in Monaco, wasn’t used to being called out. Her white tennis dress hugged her body. Her legs revealed a smooth skin of luxury, her visor tilted just enough to show a daring smile.

Across the net, Kwesi Biney rolled his shoulders, sweat glistening on his arms. He came from Nima, where broken rackets were glued with hope and tape, and where tennis was a way out, not a game. He had a reputation, a dangerous backhand, quicker mouth, and a list of broken hearts longer than the scoreboard.

“Ball was out,” Kwesi said, wiping his face with his wristband. “Even your family’s money can’t buy gravity, sweetheart.”

The crowd murmured.

Ama’s eyes flashed. “And you can’t buy class.”

For a heartbeat, silence. Then Kwesi grinned, that lazy, reckless grin that made too many girls forget reason. “Don’t need class to beat you, princess.”

He served before she was ready. The ball tore through the air like a gunshot, clipping the line. Ace.

Ama froze. The crowd gasped. Kwesi turned, walking past her like a man who’d already won.

“You play dirty,” she hissed.

He looked back. “No, just hungry.”

Her next serve was furious, fire and precision. He returned with raw power. Every point became war, her grace against his grit, her perfection against his unpredictability. Sweat poured. Tempers flared. And somewhere in the rhythm of fury, admiration began to pulse beneath the hate.

At 6–6, match point, Ama’s serve hit the net. She cursed softly, eyes meeting his. He smirked, twirling his racket like a street hustler flipping a coin.

“Want me to go easy on you?” he teased.

“I’d rather die.”

He served. The rally stretched like time itself, ball, racket, breath. Then a slip, a second’s hesitation got her ankle twisted. She gasped and stumbled. He crossed the court instantly, catching her before she hit the ground.

Their eyes locked.

For a moment, the entire stadium disappeared.

Her perfume, something foreign and expensive, clung to his skin. His heartbeat thundered through his chest against her shoulder. She pulled away quickly, embarrassed, angry at her own weakness.

“Don’t touch me, shove off” she said.

Kwesi’s grin softened. “Next time, princess, try not to fall for me on the court.”

Ama’s jaw tightened. “You’ll regret that.”

As she limped away, reporters whispered, cameras clicked, and Kwesi watched her go, half amused, half bewitched.

to be continued..

Episode 2 Link:

LOVE AND TENNIS. Episode 2 | By Kafui Avaworyi | Crowdpen