He closed the laptop.
Two years ago, Maya had sat beside him on this same worn-out couch, her feet tucked under his thigh, laughing as Adonis Creed stumbled through the snow. "He fights like you," she had whispered. "All heart, no plan." He had kissed her temple during the final bell.
A Funko Pop of Viktor Drago. She would have called it "adorably terrifying."
There it was. Michael B. Jordan, fists up, snow in his hair. A digital ghost. Searching for- creed II in-All CategoriesMovies...
He was fighting for himself.
Then, at the very bottom of the page, under something he had never seen before.
He pressed play.
The search bar blinked, patient and indifferent.
The recording ended.
A boxing timer app. He had downloaded it once, then deleted it. He installed it again. He closed the laptop
Then she was gone. A summer accident. A phone call that turned the world to mute.
Arjun typed slowly, the cursor a ticking clock in the quiet of his studio apartment. Searching for- Creed II in-All Categories...
Now, Arjun used the search as a ritual. All Categories. Not just Movies. He wanted to see if Creed II had leaked into Music—maybe the soundtrack she hummed while making coffee. Or into Books—a novelization she would have mocked. Or into "Home & Garden," because once, they had joked about naming a cactus "Rocky." "All heart, no plan
He clicked.