When Nina finally reached the last hold, the applause startled her. She had been concentrating so hard on keeping her feet in place that she had forgotten anyone else was in the gym. Then she heard one voice beneath her. “There you are!” She knew who was clapping before she looked.

For three weeks, Leah had met her after work on Tuesdays. Nina climbed. Leah watched, learned the names of holds she couldn’t keep straight, and offered commentary that was enthusiastic rather than useful. “The purple one!” she had called the week before. Every hold on Nina’s route was purple.

Tonight, Nina had nearly canceled. Her day had run late, she had eaten lunch standing up, and another evening failing the same move didn’t sound inviting. Leah’s message had arrived while she was shutting her laptop: I’m here. They’ve moved the purple one. Nina called her. “Which purple one?” “I knew that would get you.”

At the gym, Nina sat beside her on the padded bench and changed her shoes. “You don’t have to keep coming just to watch me.” Leah looked toward the wall. “I don’t come just to watch you.” “What else is there?” “You ask how my day was while you put those ridiculous shoes on.” Nina paused with one heel halfway in.

They had both been saying they should meet more often for months. Somehow, these Tuesdays had become the part they actually kept.

On the wall, Nina tried the move that had been sending her back to the mat. This time she waited, adjusted her foot, and made room before reaching. The hold stayed beneath her fingers. She found the next one. Then the last.

Leah’s voice reached her before the others joined in.

After she returned to the mat, Nina held up one hand to celebrate, then noticed a small tear beside a callus. She lowered it. “Give me a minute.” Leah picked up her water and followed her to the wash area. While Nina cleaned and cared for her hand, Leah described the look on her face at the top. “Like you’d found your keys after three weeks.”

“That is exactly the feeling.” “I knew it.” Nina laughed. She had spent so long thinking about the move that she hadn’t imagined this part: someone who knew every failed attempt, standing there for the one that worked.

They left together, Leah carrying Nina’s shoes while she finished putting on her jacket. At the door, Nina looked back at the purple holds. “What am I going to complain about next Tuesday?”

“Your lunch. You still haven’t told me why you ate standing up.” Nina pushed the door open with her uninjured hand. “That might take dinner.” Leah grinned. “Good. I’m hungry.”

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