"Good."
Noah remembered being confused.
His father had crouched in front of him.
"Never be proud because you can hurt someone."
He tapped Noah's chest.
"Be proud when you can choose not to."
That sentence had become the foundation of Noah's life.
Until his father died.
Five years ago.
A heart attack.
No warning.
No goodbye.
Just gone.
After that, Noah changed.
He trained harder.
He fought harder.
He stopped talking about his feelings.
And slowly, control became something he thought he understood.
That night, Noah sat beneath the photograph.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Coach Miller.
6 A.M.
Noah stared at it.
Then typed:
No.
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Another message came.
Then 7.
Noah almost smiled.
He typed:
You're annoying.
Miller replied:
You're predictable.
Noah threw the phone onto the couch.
He stood.
Opened his refrigerator.
Nothing.
He closed it.
Then he noticed the old gloves on the shelf.
His father's gloves.
Noah picked them up.
The leather was cracked.
The stitching was worn.
He had promised his father he would become a champion.
He had never asked what kind of champion.
Noah sat on the edge of his bed.
For the first time in years, he wondered whether he had misunderstood the promise.
His phone rang.
Maya.
He almost ignored it.
Instead, he answered.
"Hello?"
"Hey."
Noah said nothing.
Maya sighed.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You weren't fine today."
"I'm tired."
"So am I."
Silence.
Then Maya said:
"You scared me."
Noah closed his eyes.
"I didn't mean to."
"I know."
"But?"
"But intention isn't everything."
Noah looked at his father's photograph.
Maya continued.
"I don't hate you."