The faint smell of sweat and leather filled the air as the rhythmic thud, thud, thud of punches echoed through the old gym. Rays of sunlight streamed through dusty windows, casting golden light onto the scarred boxing ring in the center. Owen Knight, this was home—a place of refuge from the chaos of high school and his fractured home life. He threw another jab, the punch hitting the bag with precision, but his mind was elsewhere.

It wasn't the next fight he was thinking about. It was her.

Jorie Leonhart was the last person Owen expected to walk into a gym like this. She was all sharp wit and pristine notebooks, the kind of girl who sat in the front row of every class and never missed a homework assignment. He could still hear her voice from earlier that day in English class when she asked if anyone believed in love at first sight. Owen had scoffed—loudly. Now, he wasn't so sure.

The sound of sneakers squeaking against the gym floor snapped him out of his thoughts. He glanced over and nearly dropped his gloves. Speak of the devil.

Jorie stood near the doorway, clutching her ever-present notebook. Her auburn hair was tied back in a messy bun, and her cheeks were flushed, though whether it was from the effort of finding this place or nerves, he couldn't tell.

"Hey," she said, her voice cutting through the hum of the gym. "You're Owen, right?"

He frowned, stepping away from the bag. "Depends. What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Her brow furrowed, but she didn't back down. "I need help with...boxing. And Coach said you were the best."

Owen blinked. "You? Boxing?"

Jorie raised her chin. "What, you don't think I can handle it?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Not what I said. It's just... unexpected. What's the catch?"

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around her notebook. "There's a scholarship competition for girls' boxing. If I win, it could cover college. But I need someone to train me—and fast."

Owen stared at her, trying to reconcile the image of Jorie, star student, with someone willing to trade essays for uppercuts. It didn't make sense. But there was something in her eyes—a mix of determination and desperation—that struck a chord.

"Alright," he said slowly, pulling off his gloves. "But this won't be easy. You're gonna have to work hard."

She smiled, a glimmer of relief breaking through her nerves. "I can handle hard."

As Jorie stepped closer to the ring, Owen felt a strange mix of anticipation and unease. He had no idea what he was getting into, but one thing was clear—life, both inside and outside the ring, was about to get a whole lot more interesting.