A few hours later – ILLEGAL FIGHT CLUB – 7:45 p.m.
I sigh in front of the place I know so well. I’ve spent countless hours here. Sometimes celebrating victories, other times nursing bitter defeats.
I remember the first time I set foot here.
I was only twelve when my father forced me to come and made me fight a sixteen-year-old girl who weighed at least twenty kilos more than me.
I held back my tears because I knew I was doomed.
Khalid made it clear that if I lost, he’d personally make me pay.
So I fought her, brutally, under the screams and cheers of the crowd betting on one of us.
It was my first fight and my first loss. She destroyed me, but the worst was yet to come.
My father whipped me with a riding crop. I wasn’t allowed to cry because “tears are for the weak,- yet I suffered
