Chapter 2
We all live to regret—regret not saying something, regret not being genuine, or regret not working hard enough. In life, these regrets shape who we are. But I regret regretting. Regretting is part of human nature, yet I've wasted so much time on it that I question its worth. Time is far more valuable and should be spent doing the things you enjoy...
* * *
"You're here. Zamin already informed us about you. We can postpone your training," Zakira said, pointing toward Owais.
"My doctor said I can continue training. I just have to be careful..." I replied.
"Fine. This will be your sensei then... but since you're already familiar with Owais, your coach will be Sensei Omar. Good luck, and take it easy."
"I will," I said, waiting for this so-called coach to arrive.
"Don't hold him back," Owais muttered, following her.
What was that supposed to mean? A sensei needed a subordinate—it helped them understand their skills better.
Speaking of an Omar, I've only ever known one Omar in this lifetime: my high school sweetheart—or at least, he was on my end. The rejection only sank in after the fourth time. I left their training space and waited in the fitness room for this mysterious Omar. If it were the same boy I used to like so much, I wouldn't know how to avoid being awkward or pretending I wasn't still hurt. Imagine getting rejected from eighth grade right up until twelfth. It was one of the worst experiences I'd ever had.
"Let's start. Ten frog jumps and fifteen laps," he said with a straight face.
Not even a hello. No *"I'm hungry—we should have sushi after this."* He went straight into it. Talk about no-nonsense. I followed the instructions, but I was dead by the third lap and could hardly do a proper frog jump. After panting my lungs out, I began to question if my poor fitness was why my knees felt so heavy. It only got worse, and I only got one water break after an hour. My core, legs, and back ached the most, and only—*only*—when he saw he was about to kill me did the torture end. He began his own training while I rested.
This certainly wasn't the high school Omar. This was some iced Viking dressed in an angelic demeanor. Heartless, silent, and cold... but it isn't good to judge a book by its cover. Still, it's best to keep things professional, so even though we hardly spoke, I took it lightly.
Later that day, I went out with Zamin. He was going to announce another disappearance—his usual routine by now. No one expected him to stay long.
"You must be hungry. Should I order more food?" he asked, holding out the menu.
"I'm fine. What did you want to tell me?"
"I got selected for the national team!" he said with a huge smile. "Lunch is on me today."
*Pinch me, Lord...*
I squealed like a little squirrel, forgetting I was in public. After realizing how embarrassing I must have looked, I sat back down, covering my face with the menu.
"I'm so happy for you—finally!" I whispered, feeding him some of my food.
"There's bad news too..." he said awkwardly as he swallowed.
"What is it?" I asked, looking into his eyes.
"I'm leaving for a few years. Three, to be exact."
"Oh... three is quite a while..."
I was a little upset by the arrangement, but there wasn't much to be done. I mean, being a man with one human leg and one artificial one, still working hard despite a physically damaged body to achieve his dreams—that's something not many can do. That's why he was destined for glory.
"It's just three years," I said, punching his shoulder. "Make us proud."
After dropping him off at Owais's place, I went to the nearby lake. It wasn't much of a lake anymore, with global warming making rain as scarce as possible. But the sky's beauty was always something else—though it had been even more stunning when I was younger. I called it *my thinking place*, where I went to empty my mind. I'd never shared it with anyone before.
Yet, strangely, that night, I noticed my new sensei nearby. And the next day, he was there again—in the exact same spot, right on time.
His mystery really got to me. I'd never struggled to approach anyone before, but he was something else. Now I understood why curiosity almost killed the cat...
* * *
It takes approximately 21 days to get used to something, even if we're reluctant to change. I do miss Zamin, but I know he's happy, regardless of the separation. Time is all I need to adapt to not having him around. Poor Saleema—she won't be too happy about it either.
Owais occasionally bought me lunch but was too busy training for nationals to spare much time, so I spent most of my days investigating this sensei of mine. Stalking his social media, checking his status... but nothing made sense. He was openly private—if that even makes sense. So much for the saying *you can find everything online these days.* The only solution left was to talk to him—which was prohibited unless necessary.
"I hope you've gotten used to me now," he said, handing me my leg guards. "Leg work."
"Leg work?"
"Show me what kicks you learned in taekwondo. I'll explain them in kickboxing terms."
After warming up, I stepped into the ring and effortlessly showcased my legwork. Today's class was the longest and most silent. It got to me... and once again, class ended with a cold shrug and a *"See you tomorrow."*
This wasn't as fun as I'd anticipated.
* * *
Omar took me to the lake that night after listening to me whine about my new instructor. He was a good listener, even when I rambled nonsense.
"Do you know why I always come here with a tub of strawberry ice cream?" I asked, turning toward him.
"Why?" he replied, setting his phone down.
"When I was younger, I used to train with my father, his close friend, and his son near the water. I hated the sport back then, but that boy always brought me strawberry ice cream, so I looked forward to class..."
"Wait—Sensei's rival's son?"
"Jeez, Owais, you have selective hearing. That's beside the point."
"You mean Omar—your new instructor—is the boy you always tell me about!" he said, standing up.
"Omar? I don't think that was his name back then."
"He converted. I'll join your class from now on."
"You know your girlfriend won't allow that. Besides, I think you're mistaken."
"For the last time, I don't like Zakira. And I'm sure it's him. Ask him if you think I'm lying. Also, this ice cream is mine now."
"You can have it," I rolled my eyes as he left.
* * *
He arrived again that afternoon, this time with breadcrumbs for the ducks.
"Are you going to keep pretending you don't see me here every day?"
"Men and women shouldn't freely interact alone."
"Are you Sensei Jacqa's son?"
"Jee, I am."
"So why pretend you don't know me?"
"I did no such thing. Besides, our fathers aren't on good terms anymore."
"This isn't about them. Can you give me a direct answer for once?"
"And can you stop being so nosy?" he snapped, turning toward me.
"No!" I shot back. "I won't. Not when you're the one who gave meaning to something I once hated—and now you make me feel like there's something wrong with me."
"You're making things up. I never said that. I'm leaving. You feed the ducks," he said, shoving the breadcrumbs into my arms before storming off.
"I do *not* want to feed your ducks!" I yelled at his retreating figure before turning to the ducks.
Now I'd have to take public transport. I wasn't even sure what to call that exchange—a fight? A *listen-to-me-ignore-you-out-loud* session? I couldn't believe I'd thought this would be easier than dealing with a high school crush. At this point, *that* would've been simpler to resolve.