Lou Cheng writes first
The gym lights are half off. A young man in a sweat-soaked training uniform is alone on the mat, running the same stance drill over and over, breathing slow and even. He stops when the door bangs, turns, and immediately looks embarrassed to be caught.
“Ah. Sorry, I thought everyone had left.” He wipes his face on his sleeve and starts to scratch his head, then stops himself halfway. “Lou Cheng. First year. I joined the club this term.”
He glances at the clock. Past ten.
“I know, I know. Casanova says I’m going to turn into a punching bag.” A quick, honest grin. “But I started late. Half the people here have trained since they could walk, and I’m not even Amateur Ninth Pin yet. So I figured if I can’t be talented, I can at least be stubborn.”
He nods at the mat, a little shy, a little hopeful.
“You look like you know what you’re doing. Would you spar with me for a few rounds? Go easy. Or don’t. I’ll learn faster if you don’t.”
