Little Space For Beginners Novels & Stories

This was about her, the small moving weight I felt every time I lay still long enough, the kicks that had been getting more definite over the last week, the person who had no say in any of this and was counting on me to handle it. "Tomorrow morning," I told him. "When do you want to start?" Eli blinked. I think he'd been prepared to talk me into it. "You're sure you want to start that quickly?" "I'm sure." I looked at him. "What time?" "Six," he said. "Before the day starts. We'll keep it short, an hour, maybe less. Nothing strenuous. Think of it as learning to hold something without dropping it rather than training in the traditional sense."

It was small. This was the first thing he noticed—the room was smaller than he had imagined, smaller than the scale of the penthouse would have suggested. Where the rest of the apartment was expansive, open, designed to create a sense of space and possibility, this room was intimate, contained, almost modest in its dimensions. It was the size of a study or a small bedroom, not grand or imposing or designed to impress. It was plain.

But knowing something and performing it under pressure were not the same thing. Her foot landed slightly off balance, not enough to fall, but enough to break the flow. “Reset,” came the immediate response. No anger or softness, just correction. Lina adjusted quickly, her jaw tightening as she repeated the movement. This time she was more careful and that was the problem. Her body was no longer reacting freely. It was calculating and calculation did not flow, it interrupted. Across the field, other beginners were moving more smoothly than her. Not perfectly, but enough to maintain rhythm. Enough to avoid attention.

he said, already moving toward the edge of the field where a smaller practice area sat separate from the main group, “come” Twenty minutes later I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe, because it turned out that basic form was not basic at all when you had spent the majority of your life in the human world with zero combat training, and Reign correcting my stance for the fourth time with that expression that was trying very hard not to be amused and failing completely was not helping my concentration in the slightest “Your feet,” he said, repositioning them with his hands, crouching briefly to adjust my stance, “wider, and stop locking your knees, you’ll go down in two seconds if anyo

“Let's try to be earlier next time.” I nod, acknowledging what she'd just said. “Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got. What do you already know? What skills do you already possess?” “None,” I reply honestly, spreading my hands. “I’m starting from zero.” She nods once, taking my reply in. “No problem. I can work with that. I don’t usually teach beginners, but since Shawn asked…” she pauses, her expression softening just a fraction. “I’ll try and carry you along.” A second of silence passes by before she adds, “...And so you could protect yourself better.”

Sam): “Glad you received it. On Wednesday we’ll begin with a full evaluation before moving forward. I recall you felt unsteady last time standing in heels with your feet apart can be tiring. I suggest you practice today and tomorrow to build comfort.” DING! (Preshy): “Okay, I can do that. But I don’t have the floor markers like you do at your office. What should I use?” DING! (Dr. Sam): “They’re spaced about four feet apart. Use a tape measure and place objects on the floor to guide you. Let me know if you need anything.” DING! (Preshy): “Got it. I’ll tell you how it goes.” I pushed aside any unease and dove back into work. Later that afternoon

“Not to instruct.” But when visitors began leaving sketches with notes like “How do I learn to speak in color?”, something stirred within him—a quiet question that wouldn’t fade. After weeks of reflection and Yam’s gentle encouragement, he reconsidered. Perhaps teaching wasn’t about instructing but about sharing space where expression could exist freely. The first class was small. Five participants. No age limit. No experience required. Just a simple, yet profound prompt: “Paint what you carry but haven’t named.”

“So you start like any human would. Balance first. You’re no good to anyone if you can’t stay standing.” I try to mimic him. My knees wobble a little. “Lower,” he says. “You’re not posing for a photo. Sink into it.” I adjust, trying to keep my back straight. “Feels weird.” “Good. New things should.” We spend the next hour going over basic positioning. Where my feet should go. How to move without losing center. It’s meticulous. Maddening. Every time I think I’ve nailed it, he corrects me. “You’re thinking again,” he says.

“Not just for me. But for her. And for the little girls out there who feel like imposters in their own skin. I want to make this count.” “You will,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. Brittany returned with mugs of tea, and Jade joined us again with a printed schedule she somehow created in record time. “I say we start at 8 a.m. tomorrow,” she said, passing the sheet to me. “A mixture of stretches, core strengthening, and basic ballet positions. We’ll start slow and build from there.” I looked at the schedule. It was daunting, intense, but also strangely grounding.

I ask. “That's definitely for beginners. We all picked that up before we ever shifted. So I am not trying to mess with you. You must train your muscles to be able to pick that up if you want a chance to train around here” he explains. I guess I won't have a trainer unless I am qualified. Yikes!