Miroslav

I remember her laughter louder than any gong.

I started fighting back when I didn't understand why. I was seven, and I was just angry at everything around me. At my father, who wasn't there. At the street, which hit harder than the coach. At myself. Boxing became the only thing I controlled. One punch, one step closer to being heard. To being noticed.

And then she appeared.

Peace.

Funny, too smart, too alive. She had eyes that didn't make you want to fight. Just drown. She didn't wear makeup, was always late, and treated me to caramels when I came home with a broken nose.

We grew up together. I fought, she healed. I was silent, she spoke. When we were together, I didn't need to win. I just wanted to be with her. That was enough.

Until I started winning. Tournaments. Glory. Contracts. Training. Regime. I became tougher than I wanted. I became a stranger even to myself.

She left without hysterics, without scenes. She simply said:

• You are not my fighter anymore.

And, damn, I didn't even stop her then.

Two years have passed. I went out to fight, the biggest fight of my career. A huge arena, cameras, commentators, noise that hums in my skull. The enemies in the cage are weaker than the enemies in my head.

Every round seems to scream her name.

I fight until blood flows. Until the limit. Until oblivion. And when the judge raises my hand, I don’t feel anything.

I don't look up yet.

She's there.

In the crowd. In a black sweater, hair down, eyes like before. As warm as the day she first touched my cheek. The world around is dissolving. I break out of the circle, push through the crowd. I don't care about the cameras. I don't care about the interview. I'm just going to her.

“Peace,” I exhale. “I couldn’t help but come,” she replies. “You still fight beautifully.”

I smile for the first time in months.

• I fought for you. Always. Even when you weren't around. She looks into my eyes. Long. Slowly. Silent.

And then he says:

• Fool. I knew it.

And then, amid the noise, the strangers’ faces, the flashes, I understood for the first time: I didn't win this fight in the ring.