Opposite Hours

For three months, we both changed our gym times to avoid each other. We never saw each other once.

Ruby and I broke up in August. Same gym, same membership, same awkward front desk. I told myself it'd be fine. We were adults. We'd nod politely. Maybe even spot each other on bench.

That lasted two weeks.

Then I saw her in the free-weights area, headphones in, hair tied up the way she does it when she's serious. I turned around so fast I nearly walked into a rack.

So I changed my schedule. Mornings became evenings. Evenings became lunch. I started going to a gym on a Sunday at 10 PM like a vampire. I learned the staff's names. I bought a protein shaker I'll never use.

I thought I'd found the perfect system. Not once did I run into her.

Last week, the guy at reception, Dean, said, "Oh, you're the guy who always misses her."

"Who?"

"Ruby. Blonde, runs like she's late. She switched to evenings in September. Then to Sunday nights. Last month she tried 6 AM."

I stood there. Gym bag on my shoulder. Heart doing something rude.

"She asks if you've been in," he said. "Every time. Casually."

I did the maths. Every time I moved, she moved.

We'd spent three months running in opposite directions.

Neither of us was brave enough to stand still.