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Since he was a child, Carlos was raised to be a fighter. To pursue victories. To be glorious.
Whatever it takes.
It took countless hours hitting balls in sweltering heat. He was already swinging racquets even before he could write properly. Sometimes, all he wanted was just to play in the beach, instead of chasing and hitting yellow balls, but Carlos knew, if he wanted to be the World No. 1, he couldn't do that. He strived for the very best. He lived for tennis. Every time he got on the court, he made sure to beat the yesterday version of himself.
Looking back, it was painful and exhausting. But, when he got the sweet taste of victory, and how those wins keep piling up, it was worth it.
Somehow, he is already eighteen, and he already won his first ATP title. At eighteen years young. He is no longer just an awkward teenager from a small town in Spain, he is now a teenage sensation that shocked the world with his insane tennis. He was just a World No. 146 in the beginning of the year, and months later, he booked himself a place in a Grand Slam quarter finals, beating top seeds on his run.
What a crazy year.
Someone asks him how he feels and he can't lie. He is happy. Elated. Overjoyed, maybe. But, not satisfied. Never once. Being a Grand Slam quarterfinalist at eighteen sounds crazy, but it's still not good enough.
He craves more. Carlos Alcaraz, Grand Slam champion. That sounds even better. That's the dream. He wants it, badly, yet his legs won't let him continue, and he had to settle for quarter final. The injury tore him apart, but his coach convinced him that he'll still have another chance at Grand Slam. He's still eighteen after all. Carlos hopes so.
For now, he'll aim for another greatness. Another milestone. Masters 1000.
“Your next matchup will be with Sinner. Jannik Sinner.” Juanki tells him as his physio massages his legs.
Jannik Sinner. He perks up at the mention of the name. Interesting.
“You beat him once.” Juanki adds.
Carlos hums in response, “Yeah, I remember.”
Of course, he remembers. It was his first Challenger match ever. The memory flashes on his mind, the tall lanky boy with ginger curls in bright yellow shirt, standing across on the opposite side of the court. His face was so pale and under the Alicante sun, his cheek turned so red.
The match with Jannik was unlike anything he had before. Sure, he'd only played junior level matches, and it's obvious that pro tennis level would be different.
But, Jannik. He was too good. Carlos didn't expect Jannik to steal the second set from him, when Carlos was convinced he would win the match after winning the first set. With every point in the final deciding set, Carlos forced himself to be even better. To increase his playing level to outplay Jannik's crazy skills. No holding back. Giving it his all.
After three sets, he got out of that match victorious. He took a long moment to stare at the Italian boy as they shook hands on the net. The seventeen year old kid might've lost but he was too good. Too difficult to defeat.
At that moment, Carlos knew this boy is destined for amazing career ahead. He wouldn't be surprised if this boy would win many titles later in his career.
Two years had passed, and Carlos' instinct turns to be right. Jannik is a whole different player now. The Italian young star, the unstoppable young force, now with several titles under his belt, a Roland Garros quarter finalist, and already breaking the World Top 10.
He wants to be in his position. Or to be even better than that boy. Being the World No. 1. The dream.
He did beat him once, but can he beat the current version of Jannik Sinner? Excitement rushes through him.
He can't wait.
Carlos takes a deep breath. He approaches the baseline, and steadies himself. The ball is tossed in the air, and he sends it towards Jannik's forehand.
And, Jannik. He returns the ball with much power. The ball falls deep on the line and Carlos fails to get it.
Sinner wins the point on the first serve of Alcaraz. Sinner wins the game. 1-0.
Carlos chuckles. It's just his first serve game, and it's broken already. Well, damn. Incredible.
It's Jannik's turn to serve now. Carlos watches him preparing for the serve, with such intense gaze. So laser focused. The player that stands across the Paris court is a whole different player than the Alicante Jannik Sinner. Way taller, stronger, and faster. And more dangerous. His ground strokes are pure brutal.
It forces Carlos to play better. He must, to survive.
He tries his best to return Jannik's serves, and he breaks back on the second game. 1-1.
The match goes on and on. Carlos has to evolve his level to keep up with his level. Stronger hits. Better serve accuracy. Faster footwork. He'll do it all to win. Whatever it takes.
6-6. Tie break. Carlos serves wide with blistering speed, and he sees Jannik scrambling to return it. He can't. It's out. Carlos smiles. Game, set, Alcaraz.
The second set is not any easier. Carlos evolves, and Jannik does too. Jannik keeps saving all the break points. He has to do more. It's so difficult.
Jannik Sinner is too good. Good is an understatement.
He is a wonder.
Jannik returns Carlos' serve deep on the court. What an insane forehand. Carlos runs, and returns. When he looks up, Jannik is already close to the net. He thinks, what will he do? Cross court volley? Smash?
Then, in a ridiculous manner, the ball hits the net cord. The ball falls. Jannik fails to return it. Game, Alcaraz.
Carlos catches Jannik's expression through the net. Jannik is grinning. A rare sight to see your opponent just won the game. He looks like he's having fun, no? Yes, it's a fun match.
Jannik serves, and Carlos returns. Carlos busts his ass for the rally, keeping up with Jannik's enormous hitting. He hits the ball to Jannik's forehand. He hits it again, but the ball flies into the net.
Game, set, match, Alcaraz. The crowd roars. Carlos screams. He wins!
He walks towards the net, and shakes Jannik's hand. Usual post-match stuff. He feels Jannik's hand on his shoulder, and he leans down, close.
Then, a whisper. “I hope we play some more.”
Did Carlos mishear? Huh?
Jannik repeats it again, louder this time. I hope we play some more.
Carlos looks up and catches Jannik's eyes staring at him, warmly. It's strange. He just lost a match in straight sets to him, and he wants to play more matches with him? Why? He's just a young kid, far below Jannik, the rising star, the World No. 9, with many titles.
It stirs something within him. He can't help but feel a rush of giddiness. Why does his heart flutter? So silly.
Jannik gives him a big smile, and Carlos stills for a moment, forgetting that he's in the middle of a court with hundreds of spectators around him, but all he can think about is Jannik's smile. His smile is not perfect, but it'sㅡ
Carlos is not sure. Is it strange to think that your opponent, who you just defeated, has such a beautiful smile?
“For sure, for sure, me too!” Carlos replies, hoping that he doesn't sound too eager.
Later, he sees a clip of that moment on his Instagram feed. Damn, why does he look that excited? Embarrassing. He likes the post, then he almost closes the app before he sees another clip. A clip of Jannik Sinner in the presser, wearing colorful hoodie with his ginger curls on full display.
I hope we play more matches in the future. He plays very high level, I play high level too, and we're both young. I know he's special since Challenger. He's a special player...
Carlos stares at his screen, and he realizes that he's been smiling. Strange. Jannik shouldn't look that beautiful as he gives him kind praises. Is he going crazy? He shakes his head, trying to shake the thoughts away.
That night, just before he sleeps, that words from Jannik echoes in his mind. The image of the Italian ginger flashes on his mind. Again and again. He shuts his eyes, and to whoever God up there, he prays. I hope we play some more.
It's interesting how many stuffs can happen in just a year. Carlos continues to grind for the dream. He's getting closer. He's broken into top ten. More and more trophies are added into his collections. After titles in Rio and Miami, he's victorious in both Barcelona and Madrid, in front of his home crowd. It's an inexplicable feeling, to have the entire stadium cheering for him, and raising the huge trophy on his home soil. Nothing can replace that insane euphoria. Maybe that'd change if he wins a Slam, but for now, he's still have to fight for that.
He lost to Zverev in Roland Garros. He had high hopes to win, with newfound confidence after successfully beating Rafa and Novak in Madrid, an unbelievable feat, but he had to swallow the bitter taste of loss in the quarter finals.
Then, comes another slam. Wimbledon.
Another encounter with Jannik, this time, on grass. A new surface for the young Sinner-Alcaraz rivalry, and no one is sure what'd be the outcome. Carlos won both on clay and hard. On grass, will the Italian finally win?
Jannik keeps on breaking Carlos' games, and he wins the first two sets. 6-1, 6-4. Jannik has gotten much better since their last encounter in Paris. Carlos is not surprised by Jannik's increase in skills and game strategy, clearly outplaying him. He's that good. Carlos fights hard on the third set, forces Jannik to a tie-break, and wins it. And as expected, Jannik emerges victorious from the match, after winning the fourth set.
Is it strange that while Carlos' dream is to win Slams, he's happy to see Jannik, his rival, winning against him, ending his Wimbledon run? Shouldn't he be angry? Shouldn't he be disappointed?
Jannik walks towards the net, and Carlos is already there. He hugs the Spaniard's waist, and leans closer. “I'm happy I can play with you today. You played good. It's really fun, no?”
It always is.
Carlos whispers. “You deserve this. Go win Wimbledon, Jannik.”
It is brief, but the ghost of Jannik's touch on his waist lingers too long for Carlos' liking.
It takes one month for another scheduled encounter for Sinner-Alcaraz. This time, it's different. They're not meeting in Round of 32, or 16 anymore.
They meet in a Final.
They cross path in the locker room before the match. Jannik offers him a smile, with his eyes crinkle, and a gentle pat on his shoulder. We meet again here, huh? Good luck to you, Carlos. May the best one win, no? he says. Carlos nods and wishes him good luck eagerly, hoping it would conceal his clumsy panic, an usual effect of Jannik Sinner has on him.
This time, Carlos wins the first set. Not an easy one, he has to go on a tie-break. He smiles in joy.
Then, he sees the fire on Jannik's eyes. The same gaze he saw through the net in Wimbledon. The gaze of a fighter. Just like him. He knows that Jannik will fight hard.
And he does.
He plays on another level. Completely new level that Carlos had never seen before. Carlos tries to attack Jannik, but he's way too good at his defense. Stuffs that are successful in Paris or Wimbledon, simply don't work well here. And his shots. Too good.
Then. Does Jannik also study Carlos' match to know how to handle Carlos' attacks? Does he try to find his shortcomings, so he can attack where it hurts? Just like Carlos does? The thought somehow excites him.
Jannik wins the next twelve of thirteen games, and he comes out of the match as the victorious fighter. May the best one win. Game, set, match, Sinner. 7-6, 1-6, 1-6.
It's Jannik's glory here in Umag, with the ginger holding giant azure trophy while Carlos got a much smaller version of it. Jannik seems to struggle to hold it, and it looks funny.
“You know, if it's too heavy, you can give me that,” Carlos cracks a joke playfully, and Jannik turns to him, laughing hard.
“Nah, you've held too much trophies this year. You're too good with that now,” Jannik says between his giggles, “Last time I hold this is last year. It's heavy!"
“You'll win a lot again soon, Jannik,” Carlos says with certainty.
Jannik stares at him for a moment, and smiles wryly. “I hope so. You too, I believe you'll win more tournaments. And Slams, Carlitos. Can I call you that?”
Carlos nods. “Sure.” Carlos loves how his name rolls off his tongue. And of course, it goes unsaid.
Then, the fireworks explode. Colorful sparks blooming on the dark Croatian night sky. Carlos glances at Jannik, competely captivated by the fireworks. The fireworks is beautiful, but Jannik, with childlike fascination on his face, is a more gorgeous spectacle for Carlos. He can't take his eyes off the Italian.
Carlos wants all the titles in the world if he can. It'd make him happy, of course. But, to get there, the road to his huge dream is full of fear, pain, and loneliness. And it's nice to have a supportive rival who believes in him by his side. Who fights for the same thing. Who pushes him to be a better player, so he can stop losing to him. Who motivates him to win more. A rival, a good friend, in the same person. Carlos is lucky to share the court with Jannik.
Then, a dangerous thought creep into his mind, and Carlos tries to fight it. How would it feel to kiss Jannik?
He's crazy. Is it the atmosphere? He shouldn't think of a rival this way. He should figure out how to beat Jannik after two consecutive loss. How to win Slams, how to be the World No. 1. He shouldn't think about kissing a rival who just denied him a title win.
Maybe, in another universe where Carlos was brave enough, Carlos would like to pull Jannik closer, until gap no longer exists between them, and plant a kiss on his lips under this firework celebration. It would be beautiful. He would let go of everything for a while, and just kiss Jannik hard until they're both breathless and gasping for air, without any thoughts.
But, for now, he'll just stare at him quietly. At the wonder, that is Jannik Sinner. I hope we play some more. For a long, long time.