That night, alone in the gym, Layla practices serves until her palm bleeds. Joon-hyuk watches from the shadows. Finally, he steps forward.
She turns. “Because when I was in a camp with nothing—no home, no country—badminton was the only thing that said I still exist. Why do you play?”
Layla Han, a 22-year Syrian-Korean athlete, grips her racket. Sweat drips down her temple. Across the net stands her opponent—and secret first love—Yoo Joon-hyuk, the national champion who once told her she didn’t belong in competitive sports.
He kisses her forehead. “I love all play. But you? You are the match I never want to end.” with the opening song playing: “Fly with my whole heart – أحب كل القلب” That night, alone in the gym, Layla practices
“Why do you still play?” he asks.
They win.
But instead of celebrating, she walks to the net and whispers: “You said I didn’t belong. But my heart belongs to this game. And maybe… it once belonged to you.” She turns
Joon-hyuk is forced to be her mixed doubles partner. The first practice is brutal. He refuses to sync with her. She refuses to adjust her stance. They lose a practice match 21–5.
Layla looks at Joon-hyuk. “Do you love me? Or just winning?”
Now, in the present, Joon-hyuk serves. The shuttlecock flies like a white comet. Layla dives, returns it with a reverse slice. He misses. The crowd gasps. She wins the set. Sweat drips down her temple
“No,” she laughs through tears. “We fly together.”
At match point, Layla tears her calf muscle. The referee offers a medical timeout. Joon-hyuk kneels beside her.