ᑌᑎᗷᖇOKᗴᑎ

Between The Lines

The alarm buzzed softly on my nightstand, just before dawn, like an unwelcome nudge back into reality. I rubbed my eyes and blinked against the faint light seeping through the curtains. The familiar sense of obligation set in as I swung my legs out of bed. Early mornings were my routine—ritual, even—but they never got easier

Padding over to the kitchen, I flicked on the kettle and grabbed a mug. The warm scent of tea leaves filled the air as I waited. Tea first, always. I took a slow sip, letting the warmth settle in my chest, my thoughts wandering toward the day ahead

Then came the part I hate. The medication

My fingers found the small bottle on the counter, its cap annoyingly tight, as if it knew I didn't want to deal with it. With a sigh, I twisted it open, shaking out the tiny pills. I stared at them for a moment. It wasn't that I disliked taking them—it wasn't a matter of pride, really. It was more the idea that I had to, that they were non-negotiable. Every morning, like fucking clockwork

I tossed them back with a sip of tea, the bitter taste lingering on my tongue for a second longer than I wanted. A necessary evil

After finishing my tea, I quickly got dressed—running gear, nothing fancy. A quick glance at my reflection confirmed that I looked the same as always: hair pulled back, face bare, headphones on, ready to disappear into the morning for a while. I liked it that way. It kept things simple

As I stepped outside, the cold air nipped at my skin. I started with a slow jog, feeling my muscles gradually wake up. The rhythm of my feet hitting the pavement became a familiar comfort. It was always like this—just me, the sound of the city waking up around me, and the steady beat of my pulse as I found my pace

But today, there was something more-boxing. When I reached the place, it looked quieter than I expected. The lights inside were on, but not many people were there yet. I like that.

I made my way in, shaking off the cold as I entered the warmth of the studio. The sound of the bell above the door greeted me. The faint scent of leather, sweat, and energy hung in the air. My muscles twitched in anticipation

I scanned the familiar space, my eyes locking on the heavy bag near the far wall. The first punch landed solidly, the bag barely moving under the force. I tightened my stance, letting the movement flow through my body, each jab sharper, more controlled. Boxing had always felt like an escape, a release of tension I couldn't put into words. Maybe that's why I was good at it. Not the best—I had no dreams of stepping into a ring professionally—but there was a certain satisfaction in knowing my own strength. The confidence it gave me was something few things could match

"Nice form" I turned at the sound of a voice behind me. A man stood there, leaning casually against the wall with a grin that almost made me smirk back. He looks someone who doesn't take things too seriously

I didn't say anything at first, just nodded and returned to my rhythm. He didn't leave though. In fact, after a moment, he stepped closer, watching me move with a trained eye. It didn't take long before he offered a few pointers—small things about footwork, the angle of my punches, adjustments I hadn't even noticed myself. I followed his instructions, finding that his suggestions weren't just correct, they improved my flow

"You've done this before" he said, though it wasn't a question

I glanced over at him, pausing to catch my breath. He was still smiling, but there was something else in his expression, something knowing. I knew it instantly. It was subtle, the way his eyes lingered, the way his smile didn't fade

I looked at him for a second, then blurted "You know me"

His eyes widened slightly, but instead of being caught off guard, he seemed... excited "I do!" He laughed lightly, running a hand through his hair "Okay, okay, you caught me. I didn't want to make it weird by saying it right away, but yeah, I know who you are"