Chapter 2 — Sweat, Tears, and Progress

Tess

Tess stood in front of the mirror-lined wall of Momentum Fitness Studio’s quieter workout area, staring at her reflection as if it had just insulted her. Her chestnut hair was already defying the loose ponytail she’d thrown together that morning, frizzing out like a halo of chaos. The bold letters on her graphic tee reading “Nap Queen” now felt like a personal attack, especially paired with leggings she feared might betray her mid-squat. The sleek black Momentum Tracker Bracelet on her wrist shimmered under the fluorescent lights, a tiny judge prepared to catalog every misstep.

“You’re doing great, Tess,” Aiden said, crouching beside her with a resistance band in hand. His voice carried the kind of calm reassurance usually found in ASMR videos or guided meditations. “Let’s try that squat again, yeah? Slow and steady wins the race.”

Tess adjusted her stance, her legs already protesting. “Slow works for me. Fast might involve me toppling into the next county.”

Aiden grinned, demonstrating the movement again with an ease that made Tess want to simultaneously sigh and roll her eyes. “Feet shoulder-width apart, chest up, core engaged,” he said. “Think about sitting back into a chair.”

Tess inhaled deeply, her eyes flicking to the mirror again. Her reflection didn’t look like someone preparing to conquer a squat; it looked like someone plotting their escape route. She bent her knees, lowering herself into what she hoped resembled the right position. Her arms stretched out in front for balance as her thighs vibrated like overworked engines.

“Shift your weight into your heels,” Aiden encouraged, his tone unwavering. “You’re getting there.”

Getting there? Tess stifled a laugh. “If by ‘there’ you mean the afterlife, then sure.” Her legs protested as she straightened with a soft groan. She glanced down at her bracelet, half expecting it to flash “ERROR: SQUAT MALFUNCTION.”

Aiden chuckled, stepping back to give her space. “It’s about progress, Tess, not perfection. Every step counts.”

“Right,” she muttered, shaking out her legs. “Progress currently feels like an army of angry toddlers with hammers are setting up camp in my thighs.”

Aiden’s laughter was warm and genuine, and Tess felt a strange mixture of comfort and embarrassment. “You’re stronger than you think,” he said, flipping a page on his clipboard. “Let’s take a quick break.”

Relief washed over her as she collapsed onto a nearby bench, her water bottle already halfway to her lips. She gulped greedily, savoring the coolness against her parched throat, before cradling the bottle in her lap. Leaning her head back, she let the eucalyptus-scented air fill her lungs. The rhythmic clinking of weights and distant laughter from a group class swirled around her. It was a lot to take in—physically, mentally, emotionally. The gym was like another planet, and she wasn’t sure yet if she belonged.

Her tracker buzzed softly against her wrist, jolting her from her thoughts. She glanced at the small LED screen, reading the words: “Progress, not perfection,” followed by a cheerful green checkmark. It was such a small thing, yet her chest tightened.

“Hey,” Aiden’s voice broke through her moment of introspection. He crouched to her level, his blue eyes meeting hers. “I programmed that into your tracker. Just a little boost when you need it.”

Tess blinked, taken aback. “Oh, so it’s not haunted? Good to know.”

Aiden smiled, holding her gaze. “Not haunted. Personalized. Some of my other clients said it helps to have little reminders like that. Thought you might like it.”

She stared at the bracelet, the words glowing softly. It was absurdly simple, but it felt... kind. Seen. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice quieter than she intended. “That’s... really nice.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, standing again. “When you’re ready, we’ll move on to stretches. I promise they’re more about loosening up than total annihilation.”

“Too late for that,” Tess quipped, earning another chuckle as she braced herself to stand. Her legs wobbled slightly, but she managed to stay upright. Barely.

The stretches were, mercifully, less grueling. Aiden walked her through each one with patient precision, adjusting her form with a light touch or a quick demonstration. When her posture faltered, he corrected her gently, never making her feel inadequate. Tess found herself wondering if the patience was universal or if he’d pegged her as a flight risk. Either way, she appreciated it.

By the end of the session, her legs felt like overcooked spaghetti, but the tension that had gripped her shoulders when she’d first walked in had eased. Progress, not perfection, she thought wryly as Aiden led her back to the front of the gym.

“You survived your first session,” he said, his grin widening. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve been steamrolled by a very polite bulldozer,” Tess quipped, adjusting the strap of her tote bag. “But, strangely, in a good way.”

“Good to hear,” Aiden said. “You should feel proud of yourself, Tess. Showing up is the hardest part, and you nailed it.”

Her first instinct was to deflect, to bury the compliment under a layer of sarcasm. But something in his tone—steady, genuine—made her pause. Instead, she nodded, a flicker of pride warming her chest. “Thanks. I guess I’ll see you next week?”

“Looking forward to it,” Aiden replied. “And don’t forget—progress, not perfection.”

As Tess stepped outside into the late afternoon light, the city buzzed softly around her. The crisp air kissed her flushed skin, and for the first time in a long time, she let herself feel the smallest sliver of accomplishment. Her body ached, her muscles screamed, and she was certain tomorrow would be a festival of pain. But she’d done it. She hadn’t fled. That counted for something.

Later that evening, Tess sat at her usual table in The Painted Bean Café, her sketchpad open in front of her. Around her, the comforting hum of indie music mingled with the scent of lavender lattes and buttery pastries. Across from her, Lila and Nate were locked in a heated debate.

“I’m just saying,” Nate argued, gesturing wildly, “capes are a hazard. How do you not trip over them?”

“Clearly, you’ve never met a properly tailored cape,” Lila retorted, flipping her red hair over her shoulder with dramatic flair. “They’re a statement.”

Tess smirked, letting their banter fade into the background as her pencil moved across the page. She sketched a shaky caricature of herself, knees wobbling and clutching a resistance band like a lifeline. Above her cartoonishly horrified face, she scribbled the words: "Nap Queen vs. Fitness."

“Okay, spill,” Lila said, craning her neck to peek at the sketchpad. “How was the gym? Are you alive, or do we need to write your obituary?”

Tess rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smile tugging at her lips. “I’m alive. Barely. And I think... I might go back.”

Nate arched a brow. “Wow. Did Aiden give you some kind of magical pep talk?”

“He’s just... easy to talk to,” Tess said, her voice soft. “He makes it feel less... terrifying.”

Lila leaned back, smirking. “Well, if he ever needs a sassy muse, tell him I’m available.”

Tess snorted, shaking her head. “Noted.”

As her friends returned to their playful debate, Tess flipped to a fresh page in her sketchpad. This time, she drew a small finish line, shaky but clear. Above it, in bold letters, she wrote: “Progress, not perfection.”

It wasn’t much. But it was hers. And for tonight, that was enough.