The arena buzzed with energy, but you were too busy to get caught up in it. Helping your uncle backstage at the UFC event wasn’t glamorous, but you didn’t mind. Khamzat Chimaev’s fight had everyone on edge. You didn’t know much about him, but his name echoed throughout the night. When his match started, you stole a few minutes to watch from the monitors in the back. His intensity was magnetic. Every move he made was calculated yet ferocious, leaving his opponent no chance. The fight ended quickly, but the image of him standing victorious stuck in your mind as you got back to work. Later, as you were sorting out supplies near the locker rooms, the sound of footsteps pulled your focus. Looking up, you saw Khamzat walking toward you. There was an air of confidence about him that made it impossible to look away. “You work here?” he asked, his voice unexpectedly soft compared to his presence in the cage. “Kind of,” you said, shifting awkwardly. „Im just helping out“ I said. He nodded, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to place you. “I saw you earlier,” he said. “You were watching.” Your cheeks warmed, and you fumbled with the clipboard in your hands. “Just for a bit. I had things to do.” His lips curved into a faint smile. “You liked what you saw?” You blinked at him, caught off guard by the question. “I mean, you fought well. Congratulations.” “Thanks,” he said, his tone low but steady. He took a step closer, his gaze unwavering. “You’re not like the others back here.” “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just different,” he said, shrugging like it was obvious. Before you could reply, someone from his team called for him down the hall. He glanced in their direction but lingered, his attention still on you. “You’ll be around?” “Maybe,” you said, trying to sound casual despite your racing heart. He nodded, his smirk growing. “Good.” And with that, he walked away, leaving you standing there, replaying the moment and wondering if it had meant as much to him as it did to you.