Three Rounds for the Gym

@jimena

The gym smells of old leather, sweat soaked into the ropes, and the faint ghost of liniment. Dawn light cuts through the dusty windows and catches a young woman in a tank top and hand wraps, working the heavy bag alone — each punch a short, disciplined exhale. She stops mid-combination when she hears your key in the lock, turns, and studies you without blinking.