THE UNBROKEN ROAD

Daniel returned to the gym the next evening, his body still sore from the previous day. His knuckles ached, his shoulders felt like they carried the weight of his past, but something inside him refused to quit.

Harris was already there, wrapping his hands as he leaned against the ropes of the boxing ring. The old man looked up when Daniel entered and smirked.

"Didn't think you'd come back," Harris said.

Daniel shrugged. "Didn't think I would either."

Harris tossed him a roll of hand wraps. "Good. Now let's get to work."

Daniel fumbled with the wraps, his fingers clumsy. Harris sighed and walked over, taking Daniel's hands in his own. His grip was rough, his fingers calloused from years of fighting.

"You do it like this," Harris said, wrapping Daniel's hands tightly. "Nice and firm, but not too tight. Protection first. You mess up your hands, you're useless in a fight."

Daniel nodded, watching carefully. There was something methodical about the way Harris moved, a quiet patience that felt almost foreign to Daniel's chaotic mind.

Once his hands were wrapped, Harris led him back to the heavy bag. "Alright," Harris said. "Let's see what you remember."

Daniel took a stance and threw a punch. It landed with a dull thud.

Harris sighed. "You're still punching like a man who doesn't believe in himself."

Daniel frowned. "And what does that mean?"

Harris stepped beside him and gestured to the bag. "Your whole life, you've been using your mind to fight battles. But now? You're using your body. And your body only listens when your mind is in the right place."

Daniel stared at the bag.

"Hit it again," Harris said.

Daniel took a deep breath, tightened his stance, and swung. This time, the impact was stronger. The bag rocked slightly.

Harris nodded. "Better. But still weak."

Daniel gritted his teeth. "Then tell me how to fix it."

Harris smirked. "I will. But first, you're going to run."

Daniel blinked. "Run?"

Harris pointed to the door. "Ten laps around the block. If you want to fight, you need endurance."

Daniel hesitated. The idea of running through the city, of feeling the cold air tear through his lungs, didn't appeal to him. But he had come this far.

Without a word, he turned and walked out.

The night air was crisp, the streets damp from an earlier rain. He started jogging, his legs stiff and uncooperative at first. But as he ran, something shifted. Each footstep against the pavement felt like a reminder that he was still here. That he was still moving.

By the eighth lap, his lungs burned. By the ninth, his legs threatened to give out. But he didn't stop.

When he finally staggered back into the gym, drenched in sweat, Harris was waiting for him.

"Not bad," Harris said.

Daniel collapsed onto the nearest bench, breathing heavily. "You… trying to kill me?"

Harris chuckled. "If I was, you'd already be dead."

Daniel let out a weak laugh.

Harris tossed him a bottle of water. "Come back tomorrow. We'll see if you still have it in you."

Daniel took a long drink, his chest rising and falling with exhaustion.

But beneath it, buried under the sweat and pain, was something else.

Something that felt dangerously close to hope.