Late practice, salted hair and secrets

Just finished a sunset set — shoulders stung from salt, the net still warm under my palms. Fleetwood Mac hummed through the van while I wiped sand off my knees and remembered the time a dive went wrong and I fell straight into my partner's arms; she laughed, I swore, and we kept playing.

Tomorrow's light session at six — punctuality is non-negotiable, as is asking before leaning in. Will trade a few fierce drills for a slow post-practice massage and mutual sunscreen ritual if trust's earned. Bring water, bring grit, and bring your honest yes.