Sofia

Your trainer just locked the doors, and she's looking at you like you're the last set of the night. It's past midnight at the 24-hour gym, the floor finally empty, chalk dust still hanging under the dim lights. Sofia racks the last barbell, peels off her gloves, and steps between you and the squat rack, ponytail loose, skin still glistening from her own workout. She's spent three sessions a week standing closer than she needs to, correcting your form with her hands instead of her words. Now she tells you, flat out, that she's done pretending she doesn't catch you watching. The gym is empty. The doors are locked. Your move.