The hallowed corridors of the All England Club are accustomed to the sounds of grunting effort, the thwack of fuzzy yellow balls on taut strings, and the roar of a captivated crowd. They are not, however, typically privy to the specific, flustered tenor of a disagreement between two of its brightest young stars. Yet, mere minutes ago, in a plush playerโs lounge momentarily emptied of its usual throng, Emma Raducanu and Carlos Alcaraz found themselves embroiled in a debate of surprisingly personal proportions: the etiquette of the first date kiss.
It had begun, as these things often do, with an innocuous observation. Carlos, buzzing with his usual effervescent energy, was recounting a friendโs disastrous dating anecdote. The story culminated in an awkward, mistimed goodnight peck that had left both parties red-faced.
โAnd I said to him,โ Carlos continued, gesturing with a bottle of water, โโHombre, you have to go for it! Confidence! If you feel the moment, you create the moment.โ A kiss on the first date is like a winning passing shotโitโs bold, itโs exciting, it lets the other person know you are playing to win.โ
Emma, sipping her tea with a composure that belied her 21 years, raised a single, sceptical eyebrow. It was the same look sheโd given umpires who dared make a questionable call against her. โAbsolutely not, Carlos. Thatโs a terrible strategy.โ
Carlosโs smile didnโt fade, but it shifted into something more competitive, a look usually reserved for break points. โNo? Why? You think he should haveโฆ what? Shaken her hand? A formal โthank you for the eveningโ?โ
โI think,โ Emma said, placing her cup down with deliberate softness, โthat a first date is about building tension. Itโs a feeling-out process. Like the first few games of a match. Youโre assessing, youโre understanding their rhythm. A kiss isnโt a passing shot; itโs match point. You donโt go for it in the first set. You have to earn it.โ
This was, clearly, a clash of philosophies as fundamental as the difference between a clay-court grind and a grass-court blitz.
โEarn it?โ Carlos laughed, a sound as warm and sunny as his native Murcia. โBut the feeling is the earning! If you have this connection, this electricityโpum!โitโs there. To not act on it is toโฆ to let the ball go past you. Itโs a shot you donโt take! And in tennis, in life, you regret the shots you donโt take.โ
Emma leaned forward, her voice dropping into a more earnest, persuasive register. โBut thatโs just it, Carlos. Itโs not a shot you donโt take; itโs a shot you set up. A kiss at the end of a first date, if it happens, should feel inevitable. Like the final point of a perfect game. Itโs the culmination of everything that came before. If you force it, if you โcreate the momentโ as you say, it feelsโฆ transactional. Aggressive. It ruins the mystery.โ
โMystery?โ Carlos was genuinely perplexed. โWhat mystery? You like the person, they like youโthis is clear from the date! Why play games? Why not be direct and show your intention?โ
โItโs not about games!โ Emma insisted, though a faint smile played on her lips. โItโs about anticipation. The most powerful part of any story is the moment just before the kiss. Not the kiss itself. By waiting, you build that. You give both people something to think about, to look forward to. Itโs a cliffhanger. It leaves you wanting more. A first-date kiss can beโฆ definitive. It can close the book instead of making you desperate to turn the page.โ
Carlos shook his head, his curly hair bouncing. He was on the baseline of his argument now, loading up for a big forehand. โI think you are overthinking it. completely. This is not a novel or a movie. This is real life. A kiss isโฆ a question. Itโs not the answer. Itโs you saying, โI am having a fantastic time with you and I would like to explore this further.โ Itโs the start of the second set, not match point!โ
โBut a kiss is an answer!โ Emma countered, her own returns getting sharper. โIt answers the question of physical compatibility, sure, but it also answers the question of timing. And getting the timing wrong is worse than not doing it at all. What if sheโs not there yet? What if she needs one more date to feel that certainty? By going for it, you risk making her uncomfortable, you risk making a beautiful connection feel rushed and awkward. Thatโs not a risk worth taking. Patience is a virtue.โ
โPatience is for clay courts!โ Carlos declared, waving a hand dismissively. โOn grass, you have to be aggressive. You have to seize the initiative. Life is grass court, Emma! Itโs fast and you have to be brave.โ
โBravery isnโt the same as impetuousness,โ she fired back. โItโs braver to be patient. Itโs braver to read the play, to understand your opponentโsโsorry, your dateโsโbody language and respect it enough not to force a winner when the court isnโt open.โ
They paused, both slightly breathless, the irony of using tennis metaphors to deconstruct romantic norms not lost on either of them. The disagreement was sincere, but it was layered with a mutual respect and a hint of amusement.
Carlos looked at Emma, really looked at her: the fierce intelligence in her eyes, the unwavering conviction in her beliefs. He saw the same qualities that made her a US Open championโa preternatural maturity, a strategic mind that processed variables at lightning speed.
Emma looked at Carlos: the uncontainable joy, the boundless optimism, the sheer, audacious belief that every moment was there to be conquered. She saw the genius that could conjure a winner from anywhere on the court, the instinct that trusted feeling over calculation.
He broke the silence, his voice softening. โSo, for youโฆ the perfect first date ends with a handshake?โ He said it with a teasing glint in his eye.
Emma laughed, a clear, bright sound that cut through the tension. โNo, you muppet. It ends with a meaningful look. A lingering hug that lasts a second too long. Maybeโฆ maybe a kiss on the cheek. It ends with a text the next morning that says, โI had a really great time last night.โ The kiss comes on the second date. And itโs a thousand times better for the wait.โ
Carlos considered this, nodding slowly. He could see the elegance in her strategy. It was a controlled, percentage play. High margin for error. But it wasnโt him.
โI see your point,โ he conceded. โIt isโฆ smart. Very smart. But for me, life is not about avoiding errors. It is about hitting winners. If I feel that electricity, that pumโฆ I have to go for it. Even if I shank it into the stands. At least I took the swing.โ
Emma smiled, a genuine, warm smile. โAnd that,โ she said, โis why youโre Carlos Alcaraz.โ She picked up her tea again. โAnd my way is why Iโm Emma Raducanu.โ
They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, two champions who had battled to a stalemate not on the court, but over the complexities of the human heart. There was no resolution, because some things cannot be resolved. They are simply a matter of style, of personality, of the fundamental, unchangeable way one chooses to move through the world.
Carlos, the instinctual artist, believed in capturing the moment. Emma,the strategic analyst, believed in constructing it.
Both approaches had won them Grand Slams. And both, they quietly suspected, were probably valid in the equally unpredictable and high-stakes game of love. The disagreement wasnโt about who was right; it was a glimpse into the core of who they were. And in that understanding, they found a new kind of common ground.
