𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | 𝐊𝐚𝐢 𝐇𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐢

Chapter 03: Scars can be hidden, can't they?

"Is there any way to erase the past?"

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Ahana

Her knuckles throbbed in pain.

The rhythmic pulsing grew deeper with every hit on the heavy bag. It wasn't enough to stop her though, if anything, it gave a temporary distraction from her thoughts. Something that encouraged her to keep doing that.

People like you crack under pressure, don't they?

The punching bag swung violently, the black leather catching the sunlight that fell from the all wall windows of the gym. She shifted her weight to the balls of her feet, while the chain of the bag in front of her clinked with every oscillation it goes through.

Her jaw clenched at the memory of Kai's smirk, the arrogant lilt in his voice as he tossed the comment at her like it was a fact, not a dig.

The nerve.

What does he even know about her? Nothing.

And still he dared to question her, to assume she would crack under pressure. She knew that this was most probably his way of getting under her skin, of seeing how affected she could get with words, a payback to all the composure she had kept. What bothered her the most, was the fact that he had succeeded in it.

That's why she was here trying to diffuse her annoyance by taking it out on that punching bag. Her phone dinged, the soft click resonating in the empty room. She rolled her shoulders, dropping her gloves near the bag, while she stepped out.

A thin layer of sweat shined on her forehead, despite the air condition of the room. The black tee that covered her abdomen sticking to her skin, the faint outlines of abs and muscles visible. She dropped down on the bench, her hand reaching out for a towel while she read the message from the PR team, informing her about tomorrow's debrief.

A sigh went past her lips, as she kept her phone away. Wiping away the sweat that clung to her skin, for a second, her gaze caught her reflection in the mirror that graced an entire wall, the punching bag swinging a few feets from her visible, though she averted it quickly after adjusting her sleeves near her wrists.

Just as she reached for her water bottle, the door to the gym opened behind her, and an all familiar voice ringed out.

"Are you just in a bad mood or have that punching bag offended you?"

Ahana exhaled sharply, already knowing who it was.

Of course, who else could it be.

"Are you here to waste my time or you wanna proxy for this bag, I wouldn't do that, believe me," she said, standing up and turning around to give him an annoyed smile.

Standing there leaning on the door stood– Ryan Dickenson. Muscled in a way that made gym enthusiasts weep with envy and wearing an easy confidence that bordered on cocky, he looked every bit the golden boy of the Dickenson legacy. His dark hair was artfully messy, as though he'd just rolled out of bed, and his sharp hazel eyes sparkled with mischief and a subtle lit of arrogance as they took her in.