The bell above the door rang. I barely looked up — until I felt her presence. She stepped in like a shadow made of muscle.

Tall. Massive. Black tank top clung to her wide, carved frame. Thick legs filled tight black shorts. Red-orange hair pulled into a high ponytail. Her stare was quiet — but sharp.

“You looking for something?” I asked. “Bodybuilding gym’s around the corner. This here’s for real martial artists.”

She didn’t blink.

“You here to try a class?” I added. “We start beginners light, so don’t worry—”

“I’m not a beginner,” she said flatly.

Something in her voice... familiar. I looked closer. Years ago — a woman, overweight and out of place. I mocked her. Laughed when she struggled to stretch. Told her she didn’t belong.

No way this was her.

But the way she looked at me…

“Wait... have we met?” I asked, suddenly unsure.

She tilted her head slightly. A flicker of a smile.

“You tell me.”

She stepped onto the mat without asking and bowed — clean, sharp, perfect form.

I felt it in my gut. It was her.

But she wasn’t the same.