I’d moved from the treadmill to the rowing machine. My shoulders were in great shape from the boxing and it felt good to use them. I was facing the door when he walked in, a towel slung casually over his shoulder. My hands trembled, but I gripped the pulley hard and moved faster, keeping a rhythm as I watched. He filled his bottle at the fountain and got on the treadmill, plugging in his headphones. He glanced my way and I averted my eyes, moving faster and listening to the fan on the rower roar. I felt exposed; would he figure out who I was straight away? The plan suddenly seemed foolish. But my hair was different, blonde and much shorter than it was before. Plus, I had my blue contact lenses in; the turquoise popped against my pale skin. He didn’t see much of my face that morning, but the pounding of my chest unnerved me. I had the cover of exercise to account for my panting; trying to take steady breaths to avoid the panic attack which was fast approaching.

Wanting to find an angle where I could watch him unnoticed, I went to fill my bottle, staying by the fountain to have a drink. He was in the zone, staring straight ahead, still running on the treadmill. His face was long with a prominent nose which made him look superior. He had brown cropped hair, no sign of any grey and I struggled to age him. His topaz eyes were as I remembered them, cold, with no light behind. Dead inside. A shiver descended my body, turning my legs to liquid and I held onto the fountain to steady myself. I couldn’t believe we were in the same room.

I remained frozen on the spot for a minute before moving to the cross trainer, setting a light programme for ten minutes. My muscles were becoming tired and I worried the adrenaline shooting around my system, coupled with my racing heart, might lead me to pass out. We were opposite each other, across the gym, and I saw him glance my way a couple of times. Surprisingly, I didn’t notice him eyeing up the near-naked woman who was now doing yoga poses in front of the wall of mirrors. Every other man in the gym seemed to be; even Ahmed, who waved at Ian as he walked by, couldn’t take his eyes off her rear. They were all so predictable; men were creatures of habit, they couldn’t help themselves. Except for you Ian, why? I’d seen you glance at her once or twice, sure. But your tongue wasn’t hanging out like the others. Perhaps you weren’t turned on by female flesh on show? No, that would be too normal. You were turned on by fear.