Dear Peter,

There are two ways that people fall in love.

Some people fall in love gradually. They don't feel it at first. Maybe all it takes it a smile, or a touch of the hands, or maybe the way that they laugh at each other's silly jokes. It's not clear what triggers it, but they fall in love more and more each day without realizing it, until, one day, they're only able to adore each other's presence when they lack it. The feeling is foreign and  empty. It's a strange type of vacancy that's impossible to fill. That's when they realize that they've lost a battle they didn't know they were fighting, but this battle? It's okay to lose this one.

For others, it happens within seconds. They may not notice it, but sometimes, the moment they meet someone, they're drawn to them. They're like a good book-we want to read them inside and out, analyze every word, and don't want to skip any of it in fear of missing the best parts. This theory says that it doesn't take time to fall for each other. All it takes is a glance and the crossing of stars.

So, can I ask you, Peter, in which way did you fall in love with me? Did time fool you into fighting a match you'd never trained for, or did you somehow know how you wanted our story to end the second it began?

***

Three days. Three days until Zoya's wedding and I'd dragged her to another boxing match.

She was reluctant, needless to say, but it had to be done. I felt like I was doing her a favor. Every aspect of the wedding preparations was going just as planned, but she was still losing her mind. So I figured that she needed some air. Plus, I had free access to the first exhibition match and front row seats, courtesy of Charlie, of course.

You and I hadn't talked since that memorable day at the hospital. I'd thought about texting or calling, but figured you probably didn't want to hear from me. I wanted to give you some space to breathe, because Lord knows, Peter, you really needed it.

This match was different from the very first I'd attended. There were more people. Every seat was occupied, and there were hushed whispers that seemed collectively so loud across the entire arena. It was obvious that people really took this seriously. I still never understood the appeal of this sport, but I was intrigued nonetheless.

According to Charlie, the past opponents you'd faced were nothing compared to these men. You had beaten everyone you fought in the past two years, but this was the first time you were competing in the championships. It was crazy to think that anyone could get scarier than the man I'd seen you beat, but if I've learned anything in the past, it's not to underestimate people.

We were sitting right in front of the ring, Charlie, Zoya, and I. My head was better now. I still had the occasional headache and dizziness, but it didn't bother me much. I'd also been very forgetful in the past few days, which is something that did get annoying.

Half an hour before the match was supposed to begin, I watched as you stepped into the ring, arguing intensely with the referee. It lasted for a few seconds before he threw his hands in the air in exasperation and walked away, defeated.

You were back in your boxing gear. Shirtless and in a pair of black shorts, with those torn black gloves on your fists.

Seeing that there was still some time before the match began, I followed you out of the ring and into the back room, where I inferred boxers prepared for the match. There were water bottles everywhere, along with strewn clothes in front of a row of lockers, and five or six guys that were at least ninety percent muscle.

One of them was in the same boxing gear as you, surrounded by who I guess could've been deemed his crew.

With just one footstep, you'd silenced the entire room. The guys stopped talking and pushing each other around, and the boxer nudged the guy closest to him, pointed to me, and whispered something in his ear, eliciting an eerie laugh.

His dark eyes followed my every move, lips curved slightly upwards.

I felt like I'd walked into a lion's den.

You hadn't noticed that I was behind you and kept moving towards a row of lockers. When you stopped abruptly to pick something up, I ran right into your bare back.

You turned around, all eyes following the two of us.

The other guys seemed amused. They were big, and the way they were staring at me made me uncomfortable. Scared, even.

"Are you mad?" You asked through gritted teeth, taking my arm and leading me out of the room.

I snatched my arm from your grip, but secretly, I was thankful that you'd gotten me out of there.

"I just wanted to talk to you about how you prepare for a match..." I peered up at you, confused as to what had upset you.

"Then, instead of following me, why couldn't you have just asked outside, like a normal person?" Your lips were set in a deep frown, eyes darting back and forth between me and the room we'd just left.

"I... I'm sorry," I stuttered and glanced down, rubbing the nape of my neck.

Your stiff shoulders softened the tiniest bit, along with your intense gaze. You sighed and mumbled something incoherently, before placing a hand on my shoulder in the slightest of touches. It was a gesture you weren't accustomed to. Your fingers shook a little and you avoided my gaze. Oh, and it was the most awkward, yet sweetest thing I'd ever seen.

"We can talk after the match, okay?" You searched my eyes for an answer and when you got one, you let your hand drop from my shoulder.

For some reason, you kept looking back at the locker room that we had just left. I heard hushed whispers and later, footsteps headed in our direction.

You seemed to hear it, too, because all it took was a second for you to take a hold of my hand and guide me hurriedly back to the arena.

I didn't have time to ask questions. When we walked out, I took a seat next to Zoya. You whispered something into Charlie's ear. Something that made his expression harden and his fist clench. I watched his eyes fix on me for a second before he nodded and patted you on your back.

You turned around to leave, but I jumped out of the seat and followed you, grabbing your arm gently for a change.

You spun around and rolled your eyes when you saw that it was me.

"Didn't I say we could do this after-"

But you didn't have time to finish your sentence. Because before you could, I propped myself up on my toes and placed the lightest of all kisses on your warm cheek, my lips merely brushing your skin.

You froze.

"Good luck, fighter," I said, flashing you the biggest smile I could muster. I reached into my bag and took out my flower of the day, a pink rose, and placed it behind your ear.

It felt like maybe we'd been standing there for ages. Your dark eyes said to me a million things that your lips never had. You looked touched, confused, and grateful all at once.

You opened your mouth to speak, but were dragged away by the referee and a few other members of the crew. But you kept your eyes on mine.

I retreated back to my seat, only to see Zoya's and Charlie's faces possessing the biggest grins.

"Where's my flower?" Charlie pouted, crossing his hands in front of his chest.

I laughed, "I think he needed that more than you."

Zoya moved over so I could take my seat.

"You know," she said, deep in thought, "I never thought you'd fall in love with a fighter."

***

The match was intense. It was you against Brian Walker. Once he entered the ring, hands held high in the air in pride and sweat already gleaming off of his bare shoulders, I realized that he was the man who I'd encountered in the locker room. And once he saw me sitting in the front row, his eyelid slyly dropped down into a wink, making me shudder, and he turned around to face the referee.

I thought I was the only one who had seen it, but apparently not. Charlie, from where he sat next to me, visibly tensed up. He scooted closer to me, as if almost unconsciously.

I didn't ask. Instead, I watched the lights focused on the arena slowly fade in.

You stood calmly, hands on the rope that was to contain the storm that was brewing. I watched your fingers close and open, sometimes tapping a certain rhythm on the rope as the referee spoke. Your lips moved and every few seconds, you'd close your eyes as if in prayer.

While you did this, Brian kept scanning the crowd. He cracked his fingers, knuckles, and then his neck. His hair was light, cut so short that it was nearly invisible.

A shiny silver necklace was wrapped around his neck, holding a pendant that seemed from here to be a cross. It would catch the light every now and then.

He was scary. You seemed harmless.

The match began, and I was terrified for you. It was nothing like the other time I had witnessed you fight. This time, it seemed like it was more than just a match. There was history between you two. It was easy to tell by the way that his eyes challenged you, by the way that he taunted you, and the amount of passion present in every inch of you.

It was close. He would throw punch after punch. While he was offense, you remained defense, blocking his every move. But one punch threw you off guard and he somehow won the first round.

He seemed to be enjoying himself, especially when his hand made impact with your neck and you fell back, hands wrapped around it.

The crowd gasped. Brian looked pleased with himself, even when the referee walked over to scold him and inform him that that was foul play. He raised his arms innocently, as if he hadn't known. Charlie was up in an instant, water bottle in his hand, by your side. You sat up to the best of your ability, on hand still on your neck.

I wasn't sure why there were tears brimming my eyes. I felt the pain that he induced on you. Isn't that weird?

"That must've hurt," Zoya whispered from beside me, her eyes wide with concern.

It took you a few minutes, but finally you were breathing steadily. You whispered something to Charlie and stood back up on your feet. Charlie gave the referee and thumbs up, and you made your way back to the middle of the ring.

Your eyes met mine and I raised my eyebrows, as if to ask if you were alright. With a simple nod, you turned back to your opponent.

Brian noticed. He turned around and blew a kiss in my direction, one that made my skin crawl.

This time, something changed.

Your eyes, if possible, became even darker. Your stance grew stronger. The second round began and you were no longer defensive.

You hit Brian with such agility and accuracy that I began feeling concerned for him.

He was quick to dodge your movements at first, but he began to fall apart. His movements became sloppy.

You had won. That was it. You beat Brian Walker: the first opponent in your very first championship.

I was reading about Brian today. He's still boxing, you know?

Funny how some people are stuck in their pasts.

There was so much hatred in Brian's eyes that it couldn't have been healthy. In that moment, I was certain that this wasn't your first time meeting him. He was yet another mystery I wanted to-no, needed to, solve.

Zoya, Charlie, and I rushed over to your side, expressing our happiness and pride. Your expression was distant and the small smile on your lips wasn't enough to convince me that you were content. You had just won the match, yet still it seemed like you'd lost.

***

"What do you need to know today?" You asked, shifting uneasily on the wooden bench. You wanted to stay inside the ring for this, but I insisted you show me the roof. It was beautiful outside. There was only a slight breeze that made the leaves rustle and whistled alongside the occasional roaring from the clouds.

It was clean. There was a case of water bottles in the corner, and a wooden bench positioned perfectly so that we could see the city lights. The city lights that were home to both of us, but in completely different ways.

I had a feeling you came up here often.

I played with the spine of my journal, knowing that I couldn't ask you the questions I truly wanted the answers to.

"How did you and Charlie meet?"

You turned towards me, eyes narrowing into slits. You leaned forward, so that your arms rested on your knees.

"I thought we agreed to no personal questions."

I nodded, kicking a rock that rested in front of my toes so that it landed in front of yours.

"It's okay to break a rule once in a while, no?" I questioned, raising my eyebrows. I watched you roll your eyes and kick the rock back towards me.

"We've been friends since we were kids. Our fathers were close. They were closer to each other than they were to their own sons. Naturally, we formed a bond and he's been my best friend since I can remember. Now, he helps me with my career and I help him with his."

It was more information I thought I'd ever get from you, so I tried to hide my shock. I was getting through to you, and I didn't want to ruin it.

"Do you know Brian? Like, do you know him personally?"

Your face stiffened, and you stood up to face the city. That response was all the answer I was seeking.

"Too personal."

My heart began beating faster, and I tried to think of something-anything to change the subject.

I was great at ruining things.

"Can I ask you a question for a change?" You asked, turning on your heels to face me. You sat down, shaking your head in thought.

I gulped. Nodding, I tightened my arms around my chest, suddenly feeling colder.

"Why are you doing this? Why do you choose to spend time with me?" Your voice grew with each question as you moved closer, your head tilted in thought as your eyes narrowed in what looked like accusation, "You're too good. Aren't you afraid I'll ruin you?"

Astonished, I sat in silence for a few minutes. You didn't think that all of these thoughts had already crossed my mind? I'd considered everything already. I could've stepped away from all of this and never looked back. I could've easily chosen someone else to annoy, but I didn't want to.

"I want to do this," I said, placing my journal on the ground. I stood so that we were standing face-to-face, inches apart. Your eyes bore into mine, seeking an explanation, "I want to get to know you, Peter. Not the fighter. You."

You laughed cynically, stepping back and running a hand through your hair.

"I don't want to do this anymore," you said, walking to the edge of the roof. You placed your arms on the side, leaning dangerously close to the edge, "Sorry, but choose someone else. I'm not capable of being an inspiration."

I sprung to my feet, trying to think of some way that I could convince you. I moved forward, but froze when you turned to face me, your expression stern, stance stubborn.

I nodded, choking back tears that I wished weren't there. I swung my jacket off of the bench and began walking back towards the staircase.

There were car horns blaring all around us, the occasional sound of thunder still rumbling. I felt colder by the second, like someone had stolen every bit of heat from my body.

"Wait," you turned around, hand outstretched, "I didn't mean to..," you began walking towards me, but once you saw the tears gleaming in my eyes, your face was conquered by what seemed to be regret, "Let me drive you home. Please. It might start raining soon."

I laughed, shaking my head at your words.

"I don't mind the rain," my voice wavered just a bit, and I managed to do the best curtsy I could. "It's been a pleasure, Peter Grayson."

I should've let you drive me home.

With just those words and not another glance at you, I walked away. What did I expect? Did I think that I could cure you from whatever emotional disease you suffered from? Did I think that I could change your heart? Lighten up the darkness that succumbed you?

Yes. That's exactly what I thought. At the time, I was stupid and naive, but it's a good thing, right? Otherwise, our story wouldn't exist.

I walked downstairs and out of the arena for what I thought would be the final time. A thousand thoughts formed a tornado in my mind, and I wished there was a way to mute them. I wanted to mute them, and the noise that my heart made, racing so fast that I could hear every beat. Every beat that made it feel heavier and heavier.

I was hurt. Zoya warned me that this would happen, but I didn't listen.

My hands shaking, I swung my leg over my bicycle, wanting nothing more than to go home. It was getting dark. The clouds looming over the sky seemed deadly, and my stomach churned with fear. The city was not a safe place at night. And maybe I was just being paranoid, but I felt like someone was watching me; I felt like I was being followed, my shadow betraying me.

Shaking all of the thoughts from my head, I tried to pedal, but the bike wouldn't move.The tears finally escaped my eyes when I saw that my chain was broken. I didn't have time to wonder why someone would do such a thing.

Sometimes, we act irrationally. Our emotions get the best of us and take complete control over our thoughts and actions.

You probably thought I'd call a cab to pick me up, but I decided to walk instead. I left my bike where it was, hearing it crash to the ground, the sound echoing through the night. I pulled my jacket tighter around myself, shivering as cars raced past me. People had their own worlds to exist in; they had their own worries. Who would give their time of day to a girl crying on the sidewalk?

Saying silent prayers in my mind, I came to an intersection. Like I said: I wasn't thinking clearly, and to add to the confusion, my brain was still rattled from the concussion.

Right or left?

Left.

I was wrong.

I turned left at the curb, eyes wide when I realized it was a dead-end. There was nothing before me but a brick wall, and the sight of a mouse scurrying from one garbage can to another.

I panicked, turning around so quickly that my head began spinning. I almost tripped over my feet trying to make it back to where I could see cars and lights. All that surrounded me here was darkness.

"You made this way to easy."

The voice, followed by a shrill laugh, boomed throughout the alley and sent chills down my spine.

I wanted to scream, but I felt like I'd lost my voice. Everything was peacefully silent-no car horns or thunder or the pattering of rain.

A large figure approached me in the darkness, the only thing distinguishable being the silver chain wrapped around his neck and a cross laying on his chest, betraying his identity.

I'm out of paper- to be continued in the next letter.

I'm sure you already know what happens next, Peter.

(A/n)

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