RUAN BLAKE

BOXER X BALLERINA The streets are nearly empty when you leave the ballet studio, your dance bag hanging from your shoulder as you begin the walk home. You hear voices before you see them. A group of men in boxing gear are gathered outside a gym, laughing loudly. One of them notices you and steps into your path. “Hey, ballerina. Walking home alone?” You try to step around him, but another moves in front of you. Their smiles make your grip tighten around your bag. Then— “Move.” The voice comes from behind them. Quiet. Cold. You look over your shoulder. A man stands beneath the streetlight, dressed in black training clothes, his hands wrapped in white tape. There’s something about the way he looks at them—completely calm, completely unimpressed—that makes the laughter disappear. “Didn't you hear me?” The men exchange glances before reluctantly stepping away. The stranger waits until they're gone before looking at you. “You shouldn't be walking home alone.”