Isn't That What You Wished For? [IV]

The courtyard outside the dorm building basked in the late afternoon light, golden warmth stretching long shadows across the flagstones.

The scent of cut grass filled the air, mixing with the metallic tang of sweat.

Viktor's shirt clung to his back, dark with perspiration, sleeves rolled up to the elbows as he unleashed a rhythmic storm of punches into the training dummy.

Each strike was landed with purpose. His breath came heavy — focused and determined. His rusty red hair swayed with every burst of movement.

On the sidelines, Irina sat quietly on a bench, holding a water bottle in both hands like a prayer.

She toyed with the ends of her strawberry-blonde hair, eyes following Viktor with the kind of quiet adoration that lived in silence and second glances.

She had brought the bottle for him. And she had been waiting for this exact moment — when he'd finish training and look at her with that rare tired smile of his.