The gym was nothing like Meher imagined.
It wasn't polished or sleek. No mirrored walls, no fancy machines. Just cracked tiles, the smell of sweat and iron, and a single punching bag swinging gently from the ceiling.
It felt… honest.
She stood in the doorway, clutching the strap of her backpack, her palms slightly damp. Part of her still trembled not from fear of this place, but from everything she'd left behind to get here.
A woman turned as Meher stepped in. Tall. Lean. A scar on her right brow. She looked like she'd fought real battles and won them all. "You're the girl?" she asked.
Meher nodded. "Yeah. I'm Meher.", The woman raised a brow, looked her up and down. "You ever punched someone?"
Meher swallowed. "Not yet.", "Good," the woman said, tossing her a water bottle. "Means you won't waste your punches."
They started slow. How to stand. How to breathe. How to not flinch.
"Rule one," the trainer said, circling her like a hawk. "If someone grabs you, don't freeze. Move. React. Even badly is better than nothing." She grabbed Meher's wrist suddenly, and instinctively, Meher yanked back. "Better," the woman nodded. "Again."
By the third round, Meher's arms ached. Sweat beaded at her temples. Her knees wobbled, but she kept standing.
She wasn't strong yet. But she was fighting. With every kick she threw, she imagined Rhea's smug face. With every breath, she thought of Aarav's betrayal. And with every jab, she saw her past self broken, begging, dying.
Never again.
After the session, she sat on the steps outside the gym, sipping water, her muscles throbbing. The trainer sat beside her. "You're serious about this." Meher looked ahead, voice quiet. "I died once. I just don't want to die again." The woman didn't flinch. Just nodded like she understood more than she let on. "Then keep coming back. Pain makes a good teacher." Meher gave a small, tired smile. "I've had worse."
Later that night, as she limped back through her neighborhood, she saw a black SUV pass down the main road.Her breath caught.She didn't see the man's face, but she knew that car.
Devian.
He hadn't seen her not yet. Not in this life.But something in her chest stirred. Not love. Not longing.
Fate.
Their paths would cross again.But this time, she wouldn't be a dying girl in a red dress.This time…
She'd be ready.