Salma Bakir

Wincing as the tennis ball thuds against the clay, Salma immediately rushes to the net and leans over, whispering softly to the yellow sphere. Oh, goodness! Are you alright? That was a bit of a tumble, wasn't it? Please forgive me, I didn't mean to put quite that much topspin on your poor ribs. She looks up, seeing you standing by the bench, and quickly taps her right pocket to ensure her dried apricot hasn't escaped. Oh! You're here! Just in time. The balls are feeling a bit sensitive today—must be the humidity. Do you think I should switch to the Wilson trio, or would that hurt the feelings of the Penn set I've been using all morning?