Crystall’s Confession 017

Ali nodded, panting as he wiped his face with a towel. The tournament wasn't just a competition to him—it was a chance to prove his worth, to himself and everyone who had doubted him.

Ali arrived home that evening, exhausted but satisfied. As he pushed open the door, a cacophony of voices and confetti assaulted him.

"Surprise!" Zahra shouted, her arms wide open.

Farid followed, awkwardly balancing a tray of cupcakes decorated with tiny boxing gloves. "Your farewell party before you inevitably get KO'd!"

Ali blinked, stunned. The small living room was decorated with mismatched streamers and balloons, half of them deflated. A banner hung crookedly across the wall: "Good Luck, Champ!"

"What... What is this?" Ali asked, his voice cracking as he set down his gym bag.

Zahra grinned. "Well, someone has to boost your morale before the big day. Farid wanted to call it 'The Ali Loss Prevention Party,' but I vetoed that."

"I still think it's catchy," Farid muttered, popping a cupcake into his mouth.

Ali's chest tightened, but not from stress. These were his friends—loud, chaotic, and impossibly kind. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve them, but he wasn't about to take it for granted.

The "good luck" event was equal parts comedy and heartfelt moments. Zahra and Farid bickered constantly, their clash of ideas evident in every detail of the decorations.

"Why is there a dramatic poster of Ali shadowboxing in the corner?" Farid demanded, pointing to a poorly printed image taped to the wall.

"It's called ambiance, you uncultured goof," Zahra retorted, adjusting her phone to live-stream the chaos.

"You mean it's called wasting my printer ink," Farid shot back.

Meanwhile, Crystall sat quietly at the dining table, her hands busy sketching. She had brought her sketchpad, a familiar sight that always calmed Ali's nerves.

"What are you working on?" Ali asked, approaching her.

She looked up, a small smile gracing her lips. "Just something for you."

When she handed him the sketch, Ali's breath hitched. It was a striking image of him mid-punch, his expression fierce and determined. The shading was immaculate, capturing the raw intensity he felt during a match.

"This is... incredible," he said softly.

Crystall's cheeks tinged pink. "It's nothing much. Just a reminder of how far you've come."

Ali swallowed hard, unable to find the right words. He carefully folded the sketch and tucked it into his pocket, vowing to keep it close.

Outside, Jason leaned against a tree, his hands in his pockets. He'd come to drop off some paperwork for Coach Rahman but had stumbled upon the impromptu celebration.

The sound of laughter filtered through the open window. Jason could see Ali surrounded by his friends, their energy infectious.

"Tch," Jason muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. But he didn't move.

He hated to admit it, but there was something about Ali's circle of friends that gnawed at him. It wasn't envy—not exactly. It was more like longing, a distant echo of something he'd never had.

Shaking his head, Jason turned to leave. "Focus on yourself, Jason. That's all that matters."

Later that night, as the party wound down, Coach Rahman arrived, a gym bag slung over his shoulder. His sharp eyes scanned the room, taking in the remnants of the chaos.

"Enjoying yourself, champ?" he asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.

Ali nodded. "They're a handful, but yeah."

Coach gestured for Ali to follow him outside. The two walked silently for a moment, the cool night air refreshing after the stuffy warmth of the party.

"You've got a solid group behind you," Coach said finally. "That's rare. But it won't mean much if you don't back it up in the ring."

"I know," Ali said.

"Do you?" Coach stopped, turning to face him. "Because I've seen fighters crack under pressure, even with the best support. You've got potential, Ali, but potential doesn't win matches. Strategy does. Focus does. And most importantly, adaptability."

Ali frowned. "Adaptability?"

Coach crossed his arms. "The ability to think on your feet. You're not going to know what every opponent brings to the table. Some will be stronger, faster, more experienced. If you stick to one plan, you're done for. But if you can adjust—if you can keep your head no matter what—you'll have a fighting chance."

Ali nodded slowly, the weight of Coach's words sinking in.

"And one more thing," Coach added, his gaze piercing. "You've got a lot of people rooting for you. Don't fight for them. Fight for yourself. That's how you win."

As the group packed up the remnants of the party, Ali lingered by the boxing ring. The moonlight cast long shadows across the ropes, the faint smell of leather and sweat filling the air.

He pulled out Crystall's sketch, running his fingers over the lines. It wasn't just a drawing; it was a reminder of everything he'd worked for—and everything he still had to prove.

His mind replayed Coach's words. Strategy. Focus. Adaptability.

"Next time I'm in that ring, I'll show them who I am," Ali whispered.

As if on cue, a gust of wind rustled the banners still hanging in his living room. For a moment, he felt the weight of the upcoming tournament lift, replaced by something else: resolve.

Ali clenched his fists, his knuckles brushing the ropes of the ring. With a deep breath, he stared into the empty space before him. "This time, I'll prove I belong in that ring."

---

The gym was unusually quiet that evening, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence as Ali wrapped his hands with tape. Most of the regulars had gone home, leaving only a few stray sounds of weights clinking and footsteps echoing in the distance.

Crystall sat cross-legged on a bench nearby, her sketchpad resting on her knees. Ali glanced at her from the corner of his eye, feeling the familiar mix of warmth and nervous energy that always accompanied her presence. She was focused, her pencil moving in rhythmic strokes, and Ali wondered what she was working on this time.

"Hey, Ali," she said softly, breaking the silence.

"Yeah?" He looked up, his movements slowing.

"Can we talk?"

---

Ali's heart skipped a beat as he nodded. Crystall set her sketchpad aside, her eyes meeting his with an intensity that caught him off guard.