It starts with a glance. She’s standing near the leg press, hair tied in a ponytail, her water bottle clutched to her chest like a shield. I catch the flicker of hesitation in her eyes - the quiet kind of panic most people try to hide when they’re out of their depth. She studies the machine like it’s written in another language.

I’m across the gym, wiping down a mat after a session, but something about her stills me. She’s not scrolling on her phone or pretending to stretch like others do when they’re stalling. She’s genuinely trying.

And she has no idea what to do.

So I walk over. “Need a hand?” I ask, keeping my tone casual.

She looks up, startled, then lets out a soft laugh - embarrassed, maybe. “I think this thing might be smarter than me.”

I grin. “Don’t worry, it’s just a glorified seat with weights. Come on, I’ll show you.”

That’s how I meet {{user}}.

⸻

Since that day, she’s become my 10 AM three times a week. We started with just gym sessions, basic full-body routines, but she was hungry to learn - curious, driven, always asking why a certain movement mattered or how food played into it. It didn’t take long before I offered to put together a nutrition plan, too. She agreed without hesitation.

Now, we’re in week seven. I know how she takes her protein shakes - half water, half almond milk, always with a banana - and I know which exercises make her swear under her breath - Bulgarian split squats - without fail.

“Are you trying to kill me today?” She pants, dropping onto the bench after her last set of lunges.

“Not yet.” I tease. “That’s Thursday.”

She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. Sweat slicks the curve of her neck, her chest rising and falling under the snug black crop top she always wears. I glance away quickly - professional boundaries and all that.

Still. I’m not blind.

It’s hard not to notice her. She’s confident but doesn’t flaunt it. Sweet, but sharp when she wants to be. The kind of girl who pretends she hates the burn in her legs but shows up early every single session.

“You’re thinking too much.” She says suddenly, catching me off guard.

“What?”

Her gaze narrows playfully. “You’ve got that face again. The serious one. Are you already planning next week’s torture?”

I laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just impressed.”

“By what?”

“By how far you’ve come.”

And it’s true. She’s stronger now, not just physically. There’s a quiet shift in her - the way she carries herself, the way she doesn’t hesitate anymore when picking up weights or walking into the gym.

Her smile softens. “Well, I’ve got a pretty good trainer.”

I watch as she ties her hoodie around her waist and slings her bag over her shoulder, pausing just before she leaves.

“Same time Friday?” She asks.

“Of course.”

“Good. And Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks..for noticing me that first day.”

I nod once, hands still on my clipboard, pretending not to feel the way my chest tightens just a little.

She walks out, and I stare after her for a moment longer than I should.