The room was all grit and sweat—bare beams overhead, worn mats underfoot, the sharp bite of disinfectant mixing with leather and effort.
No distractions. Just motion.
“Morning, Arden!”
Kasha’s voice rang out from behind the counter, all grin and caffeine-bright energy.
“Ready to knock someone on their ass today?”
Arden smirked, dropping her bag beside the cubbies. “More like get knocked on mine. But I’ll take what I can get.”
She wrapped her hands tight, pulled herself into the warm-up circle, and let the world shrink to nothing but breath and the thud of fists hitting pads.
The instructor didn’t waste time: takedowns, defensive strikes, repetition until muscle overrode thought. Sweat poured down her back. Her arms ached. Her thighs burned.
And it helped.
The hour disappeared into grit and breath and bruises. When it was over, she sank against the wall, chest rising hard, muscles alive with a low, welcome burn.
“You’ve picked up speed,” the instructor noted, giving her a short nod before moving on.
She gave a breathless, crooked smile. “That’s the goal.”
No fanfare. Just a glance, and he was gone.
Arden gathered her things and stepped back into the city’s current. Her limbs throbbed, her pulse steady.
She wasn’t that girl anymore.
Not the one from Morgantown.
Not the one who froze.
Not the one who let fear win.
?
Just a few blocks down, tucked between a bookstore and a boutique, her favorite café offered a hush the city hadn’t touched. Ivy curled along the brick, the old sign faded but familiar like it had been waiting for her.
Inside, warm light spilled over mismatched chairs and worn wood tables. The second she stepped in, warmth hit her—espresso and lavender, settling into her chest like a name she hadn’t heard in years.
“Lavender latte?” the barista called out, already halfway to pouring, with a knowing grin.
“Make it a double,” she said, pulling a bill from her pocket without looking.
The espresso machine kicked on with a soft whir, steady as breath.
She carried the cup to her usual corner—sunlight slanting just so—and wrapped her hands around the mug, letting the first sip settle her.
Bold espresso.
Just enough sweetness.
A floral finish.
For a few stolen minutes, shelet herself breathe.
?
