handwritten. | :: thoughts ::

Black and Copper Pen
from Pexels;

The gym was an invasion of my privacy, from the narrow spaces of walkways due to the machines clogged everywhere to the eighteen persons exercising. My health was at risk and this became my quick solution, but I did not know how to handle it. I asked a “Lea” to help me with the equipment.

Every day, I went to the crowded and dangerous realm I never knew I would be in to, but Lea was there to tell me the sets of exercises I needed to get done; the temporary relief set in. After the third week, my fears constricted and I kept looking forward on the new set of exercises.

“What did you do earlier?” she asked me in my fourth week.

“I didn’t do any class course. What should we do?” I asked. She bit her lower lip and her eyes wandered around her thoughts. When she raised them to me, something turned off. “I’ll write a routine for you.”

Lea returned beside me and handed me a piece of paper. Her incoherent handwriting designed rehearsed exercises to do. “Do this twice a day and then you’re off,” she said before she beamed one last time and walked away.

I held the piece of paper and folded it neatly. I did not want to read it or memorize the steps, but I wanted to remember the way it was written. The next afternoon, I clutched my fingers on the paper. She greeted me with a less-warmth “hello.” I did not answer back.

Two weeks later, I began to notice changes in my health and body. Maybe I became healthier, but I knew I should go on and strive better.

After my second series, I took a rest and soothed my ragged breaths. I did not acknowledge Lea, but I could draw her figure from my peripheral vision. I clipped my fingers on the piece of paper I hid in my pocket and forced my lungs to breathe—in, out and nothing else.


WORD COUNT: 335

Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.

let me hold your words before you leave;

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