The glow of the streetlights was fading into daylight as Akiel walked home from the gym. The cold air did little to cool his heated thoughts. Coach Miller's words echoed in his mind, *"You need to keep your head in the game."* It was advice Akiel knew was sound, but hard to apply. Fighting wasn't just physical for him. It was a way of channeling the storm inside, a storm he hadn't fully tamed.
Back in his apartment, the faint smell of coffee brewing from a neighbor's unit wafted through the air. He dropped his gym bag by the door and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his gloves. The note from his mother peeked out of the bag, and for the first time in weeks, he took it out and unfolded it. The handwriting was neat, the words simple but weighted.
*"Dear Akiel,
Don't forget who you are and where you come from. You have a fighter's spirit, and you carry all of us with you. Be strong. Love, Mama."
*Her words grounded him and fueled him in equal measure. She'd worked long hours in the market back home, sacrificing so much to give him the chance to pursue this dream. Failing wasn't an option—not for her, not for himself.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He needed to rest, but his mind wouldn't stop replaying the sparring session with Ruben. He had won, yes, but it wasn't clean. His emotions had almost derailed him. The aggression he tapped into was a double-edged sword, and if he wasn't careful, it would cut him deeper than his opponents.
The sound of his phone vibrating snapped him out of his thoughts. It was a message from his younger sister, Amara.
*"Hey, big bro. Mama says hi. Hope you're eating enough! Don't forget to call us soon. Love you."
*Akiel smiled faintly and typed a quick reply, promising to call soon. His family's love felt like both a comfort and a burden. They believed in him, but he sometimes wondered if he believed in himself.
As the morning crept into afternoon, he finally managed a few hours of restless sleep. By evening, he was back at the gym, shadowboxing in front of a mirror. His movements were precise but lacked the sharpness he'd had earlier. Ruben's words played on his mind. *"Ready for this, mate?"* The truth was, Akiel wasn't sure. Every fight felt like a test he couldn't afford to fail.
Coach Miller's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Akiel, enough with the shadowboxing. Hit the heavy bag. And don't just hit—think. See the fight in your head. Control it."
Akiel nodded and moved to the heavy bag. Each punch was deliberate, a mix of frustration and determination. The room seemed to blur as he focused, the sound of his fists connecting with the bag creating a rhythm that drowned out everything else. He imagined himself in the ring, facing Ruben again, facing his own doubts.
*"That's it,"* Coach Miller said from behind him. *"You're starting to get it. But remember, Akiel, you're fighting more than the guy in front of you. The real fight is always within."*
Akiel stopped, his chest heaving. He looked at Coach Miller and nodded. He didn't have the words to respond, but he understood. And he was ready to keep fighting.