"Are you sure you're fine?" Mark finally asked, narrowing his eyes as sweat trickled down his temple. His shirt clung to his chest from the intense workout he'd just finished, but his voice was flat, calm—like always.
Sara didn't answer. Not immediately. She was still hanging from the pull-up bar, a thick chain strapped to her waist, a 20-kilogram plate swinging slightly below her. She pulled herself up again, face flushed red, breath sharp through her nose. Her shoulders trembled, her core locked. Her arms, roped with muscle and glossed with sweat, twitched slightly from the strain—but she didn't stop. Not until her chin cleared the bar one last time.
"Don't talk to me right now," she muttered, lowering herself and letting her feet hit the ground with a dull thud. Her gaze was locked somewhere far off, sharp and restless. "I have too much on my mind."
Mark watched her, silent. She always seemed like carefree person. But watching her now, wiping sweat from her brow with a clenched jaw and blood rushing to her face, he realized she was holding a lot more tension than she ever let on.
She unhooked the weight belt and let it drop with a clank onto the mat.
"How long are you planning to stay up here?" she asked suddenly, as if yanking herself back into the moment. She didn't look at him, just peeled her gloves off and dropped them into her duffel.
Mark picked up the towel beside her and handed it over. "Dinner?" he asked, casual.
Sara glanced at him, took the towel, and wiped the sweat from her face and neck. She had to pay him after all so she agreed, "Sure. I'll pay," she said shortly, already turning toward the locker room.
He watched her go without a word. There was something he wanted to say—maybe a few things—but he didn't. Not yet. His gaze lingered on the closed locker room door before he turned away.
The evening settled down after that. Dinner was quiet. Mark got a call halfway through, his expression darkening as he read the name on the screen. He left with a brief, "I have to go," and didn't offer an explanation. Sara didn't ask.
She finished her meal slowly, alone. Then, without thinking much about it, she stepped out onto the streets. The city was different at night—unhurried, loose around the edges. Couples strolled under the soft gold of streetlamps, kids ran ahead of parents. Restaurants hummed with low laughter and clinking glass.
Sara pulled her hoodie tighter around herself and kept walking.
Her body was aching from the workout, but her mind wouldn't still. The memory of watching Mark train—the sharp discipline in his strikes, the clean geometry of his movements—had stirred something in her.
Why did I just stop swimming?
She had never really asked herself that question before. Not truly. She'd brushed it off with a joke, a new job, a bad injury excuse. But she hadn't been injured. She had been afraid. That much, she knew. But what exactly had pushed her over the edge?
Her thoughts were a mess of fog and splinters.
Without realizing it, she found herself nearing the old bridge overlooking the river that sliced the city in half. She leaned over the railing, watching the dark water ripple quietly beneath her. Patrol boats drifted past, steady and small, and farther off, a yacht shimmered in the distance—lit from within like a floating ballroom.
Her gaze caught on it. She narrowed her eyes.
I've never been on one of those.She was sure. Absolutely sure.But then—why did it feel so familiar?
The way the wind would sting her cheeks up there… the way the sun might soak into her bare shoulders on a deck chair… That sensation—it wasn't imagined. She knew it.
Her hands gripped the railing tightly. "What did I forget?" she whispered. Her voice shook with frustration. "What the hell was it?"
She slammed her hand down on the metal rail, the impact making a few heads nearby turn—but she didn't care.
She felt like an intruder in her own body. Like some critical part of her past had been spliced out, replaced with fog. And now, as her brain itched with that unreachable memory, Her mother said it was probably for the best and she could always make new ones, But how could she jsut forget who she was, it was starting to drive her insane.
She yanked out her phone and checked the date."Oh, of course it's that time," she muttered. "No wonder I feel like this."The pre-period slump. Mood swings, aching muscles, the urge to punch random objects—it all made sense now.
Her back had been sore since morning. She'd blamed the pull-ups. She should've known better.
Clicking her tongue, she glanced back at the glowing yacht in the distance.
"I've been on one of those," she said aloud, squinting at it as if daring it to unlock a secret. "A luxurious one. That much I know. I just… I don't know why or when."
Her fists clenched. "One day, I'll remember everything. I swear."
She spun around and headed back into the city, half on a mission and half hoping she'd find a 24-hour convenience store for tampons. As she walked, she muttered under her breath:
"What a life. I go to work. I come home. I even buy my own tampons."
She huffed dramatically."Better off being a nun. Maybe Mom was right… maybe a few blind dates wouldn't kill me after all."Her voice was low, dry, more resigned than hopeful. The kind of thing you mutter when life slaps you with one too many solo dinners and discount tampon runs.
Finally surrendering to the idea that her "fiercely independent, emotionally unavailable, possibly doomed" era might need retiring, she stared blankly at the passing couples. Too many smiling faces. Too many hands holding other hands. One even shared earbuds.
She squinted like it physically pained her.
"God, what are they even listening to? Love ballads? Probably Ed Sheeran," she grumbled, making a face. "Disgusting." she said but she knew on the inside how lonely she was feeling now.
A pair of teens giggled as they passed, one tucked into the other's oversized hoodie, like nesting dolls of hormonal affection. Sara just shook her head with a dismissive scoff.
"I think it's time I re-enter the dating market," she muttered like someone talking about returning to war. "This isn't sustainable. I'm too young to die single and too old to keep pretending I don't care."
She stopped at the corner waiting for the light, watching as another couple shared a kiss under the blinking pedestrian sign.
"The committed girls have it easy," she sighed. "A built-in date, regular cuddles, someone to kill spiders. I've been building character for years. I'm overdeveloped."