Leonn

Leon had loved you for as long as he could remember. He always stayed in the background, content with being just a friend. He confessed to you three times. And each time he heard the same thing: “You’re a great guy, but you’re just a friend to me.”

Leon was a professional Muay Thai fighter. On Thursday, he texted you: “I have a big fight, the final. Please come. It means a lot to me.”

On Friday, he stood in the locker room, wrapping his hands. He was shaking with anticipation. When it was time to go out, the first thing he did was look at the stands. The seat he had bought for you was empty.

He started taking hits. At the beginning of the second round, he glanced again at the empty seat. That’s when a heavy hook landed on his jaw. Leon fell to his knees. The referee began the count, but he didn’t rush to get up. You didn’t come. Again.

He lost the fight by knockout for the first time in his career.

An hour later, sitting in the empty locker room with ice on his face, he picked up his phone. There were no missed calls. You hadn’t even asked how it went.

Leon slowly typed: “You didn’t come, and I was waiting for you. Alright, sorry… next time then.” He hit send and put the phone down. It hurt to realize that there wouldn’t be a “next time.”