Page 82 of Rafi

Milo is there, wrapping his hands with practiced ease. He looks up when he sees me, his brows furrowing. “Didn’t expect to see you here tonight,” he says, his tone light but curious.

“Need to let off some steam,” I mutter, pulling off my jacket and tossing it over a nearby bench.

Milo eyes me carefully. “You sure? You don’t look?—”

“Just get in the cage,” I cut him off, my voice sharper than I mean it to be.

He hesitates for a moment, then nods, stepping into the cage without another word. I follow, shutting the gate behind me with a metallic clang. The sound reverberates in my chest, sharp and final, like a lock turning.

We circle each other, the dim light above casting long shadows across the mat. My fists are up, but my heart isn’t in it.My mind is elsewhere—on Tayana, on the plane, on the way she didn’t even say goodbye.

Milo throws the first jab, a testing shot that grazes my jaw. I don’t react.

“Come on, man,” he says, his voice low and steady. “At least make it a fair fight. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing,” I snap, lunging forward with a wild hook that he easily sidesteps.

He shakes his head, frustration flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t hold back. His next punch lands square on my ribs, the impact sharp and jarring. I stagger but don’t fall.

Good. The pain feels good.

I want to feel it.

Milo doesn’t wait for me to recover. He comes at me again, a combination of strikes that I barely bother to block. His fist connects with my cheekbone, then my gut, driving the air from my lungs.

I welcome the sharp, bitter edge of pain that blooms across my body.

By the third round, I’m barely standing. My breaths are ragged, my vision blurred, but I don’t stop. I throw a sluggish punch that misses by a mile, leaving myself wide open. Milo takes the opportunity, landing a brutal right hook that sends me crashing to the mat.

I lie there, the cool surface pressing against my skin as the ceiling of the gym comes into view. The fluorescent lights buzz faintly, casting a harsh, unforgiving glow. My chest heaves, and for a moment, all I can do is stare up at those lights, unblinking, mesmerized by their magic glow.

It’s not the pain that gets me. It’s the emptiness.

I came here to lose myself, to drown in the hurt, but instead, I’m confronted by it. The memories flood back—Tayana’s laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about anything andeverything, the way she so effortlessly carried a room like she owned it. That first night at the club…when she so shamelessly walked away from me, then watched from across the dance floor as women clawed at me, when all I wanted was to havehersee me.

An epiphany starts to form, a flicker of something I can’t quite grasp. Maybe it’s clarity, maybe it’s acceptance. Maybe?—

“Kanyan,” I whisper, realizing too late that the face above me isn’t my imagination.

Kanyan stands over me, arms crossed, his expression a mix of exasperation and something softer, almost sadness. “Enjoying your little pity party?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

I blink, confused, as he crouches down, his face coming into sharper focus.

“Come on, Rafi,” he says, his voice gentler now. “How long are you planning to stay down there?”

“Not long enough,” I mutter, but he doesn’t laugh.

He holds out a hand, and after a moment, I take it, letting him pull me to my feet. My legs wobble, and my ribs scream in protest, but I manage to stand. Kanyan steadies me with a hand on my shoulder, his gaze searching mine.

“You’re not the first person to lose someone,” he says quietly. “And you won’t be the last. But staying here, letting yourself get beat to hell—it’s not going to bring her back any sooner.”

I want to argue, to tell him he doesn’t understand, but the words die in my throat. Because he’s right. And that’s the hardest part.

“You say that like you expect her to come back.”

I glance back at the cage, at Milo, who’s leaning against the ropes, watching us with a mix of concern and confusion. The fight’s over, but the war inside me rages on.

Kanyan gives my shoulder a firm squeeze. “You’ve got a choice to make, Rafi. You can stay here, wallowing, or you can get up and do something about it.”

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