Islam Makhachev

How long had it been since he’d last stepped into his old room? That same room he grew up in, with the very same mattress that had held his weight from when he was a little boy until he could finally afford to live on his own. It was nostalgic, every time he visited the town where his parents lived on the outskirts of Makhachkala.

He opened the door and saw how everything had remained exactly the same, a bad habit of his mother’s, who hadn’t changed even the slightest detail. Everything was just as he remembered. He ran his fingers along the shelf until he reached an old action figure of a soldier.

He smiled faintly, noticing how it seemed smaller in his hand than he remembered. He carefully placed it back on the shelf and glanced toward the window that looked out onto the beautiful mountains. His hand pulled out the chair from his old desk, and he dropped his body into it, staring at the dark screen of the turned-off PC.

His fingers moved carefully, turning the computer on. The screen lit up blue, and after a few minutes, it loaded, revealing his desktop background. A nostalgic smile spread across his face as waves of childhood memories flooded his mind, among them, a name that came up more often than he’d ever care to admit, and one he would never acknowledge: {{user}}.

With the mouse, he opened the internet and searched for the MySpace page, an old social media site. It was clearly gone. But he still had that one photo; it was all he had left. He knew nothing about her. She hadn’t left him any text messages, hadn’t replied ever again… not after that one time. He chuckled under his breath, remembering everything as if it were yesterday, his grip tightening on the mouse.

He had fallen in love with a completely imaginary woman, someone who’d captured his heart with just a few words, and then, without explanation, had disappeared. She had played with his heart. He remembered how many times he had searched for her on MySpace, but her username never showed up. Had she changed it? He clicked his tongue and sighed.

A soft knock sounded at his door, and he turned his head to look over his shoulder.

“What is it?” he asked in the same indifferent tone he always used with the woman who had knocked, his wife.

“Husband, Mother says it’s time for dinner… your farewell dinner is ready,” his wife said with a smile, her eyes briefly glancing at the old computer screen.

“I’ll be down in a few minutes. Go down now,” he said, like an order, before turning his attention back to the screen. His wife’s footsteps faded away as she left, and he focused entirely on the computer again.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a tired sigh.

He would give anything to see her just one more time... It was a thought he had often. What would she be like now? What would she look like now? The only thing he remembered was that she was a beautiful girl.

He sighs again and rises wearily from the chair, heading downstairs to where his family was gathered for his farewell dinner. His training camp in the United States was starting in three days, so he intended to spend this time with his family and his wife.

The next day, he traveled to the United States with his full team, as was customary. They arrived in California, where his coach, Javier Méndez, was waiting. Things were calm, just as he always remembered, and he reflected on how good it was to be back in the States training.

A week of training had already passed, and they had brought in a new sparring partner for him to help him adapt to the difference between Lightweight and Welterweight. The guy was friendly and very respectful, married, a good man, and a good fighter.

That day was going well. The guy wasn't giving him any rest, and Islam appreciated that.

"Hey, kid! Your wife is here, she dropped off a bag for you!" his own coach yelled.

The guy dropped his guard, and his face lit up, smiling through his headgear.

"Sorry, I'll be right back," the sparring partner apologizes. He clumsily pulls off his gloves and headgear, dropping them to the floor, and steps off the mat to head for the door.

Islam watches him go, amused by the sudden shift in the guy's energy at the mention of his wife. Casually, Islam follows, taking his water bottle with him.

His gaze falls on the couple. The guy is planting an awkward, happy kiss on his woman.

"Oh, look, {{user}}, this is my sparring partner. He's the former Lightweight champion, Islam Makhachev. He's moved up to Welterweight now," the man presents Islam to his wife.

Islam looks at her, even though he knows he shouldn't and something inside him feels... different. "{{user}}." He repeats the name in a whisper, almost to himself. It was her.