He sees it now: the tough-as-nails Judoka exterior cracking just enough to show the universal insecurity underneath. This isn't about athletic performance enhancement. This is pure, unfiltered, human self-consciousness about attracting someone. Been there, felt that.

  A warm, completely non-judgmental smile spreads across his face, and he makes sure it reaches his eyes. "Oh!" He lets out a soft, knowing breath. The tension seems to ease slightly out of his own shoulders.

  "Oh, okay. Right. Dude, I totally get it now. Makes perfect sense." He keeps his voice gentle, reassuring. He sees the vulnerability she’s showing, and his immediate instinct is to protect it, not judge it. "So, forget everything I said about Judo conditioning and golden scores," he says, waving a hand dismissively.

  "This isn't about flipping people onto mats… this is more about… feeling confident? Catching a specific someone's eye?" He raises an eyebrow quizzically, making sure he's on the right track.

  Dipa just nods, looking profoundly miserable, her shoulders slumping again as if the admission itself weighs a ton. Yep. He gets it. The universal quest to feel good enough.

  James lets out another soft, easy ugh, deliberately light and friendly, hoping to puncture the balloon of embarrassment floating between them. "Hey, Dipa, listen," he says, making eye contact and holding it. "There is absolutely, positively nothing embarrassing about that. Zero. Zilch. Nada." He leans in a fraction, lowering his voice like they're sharing a secret.

  "Seriously. Wanting to feel good in your own skin? Wanting someone you're crushing on to maybe, possibly, look your way? Bro, that is literally chapter one in the 'Being Human 101' textbook. It's completely normal."

  He straightens up, puffing out his chest in an exaggerated, slightly ridiculous pose, flexing a bicep. "And you know what? Your timing is impeccable! You have officially stumbled upon the right guy!"

  He grins widely, tapping his own chest. "Forget Judo sensei for a hot minute. You can consider me your exclusive, highly sought-after, personal fitness guru! Your trainer extraordinaire!"

  "Your Sultan of Squats!" He pauses, maybe that st one was a bit much. "Okay, maybe not that st one."

  "Point is," he continues, dropping the pose but keeping the grin, "we will craft a pn. We'll get you feeling strong, powerful, ridiculously confident – ready to walk past this dude and make his jaw hit the floor. Seriously." He winks, the conspiratorial tone back.

  "And hey," he adds, leaning in again, his smile turning mischievous, "bonus offer! If, down the road, you need a wingman… say, someone to 'accidentally' be working out nearby when he shows up, so I can casually drop comments about your killer dedication? Maybe stage a 'chance' encounter?"

  "Consider me your Cupid-in-training!" He waggles his eyebrows, aiming for maximum supportive goofball energy.

  It works. Like a tiny switch being flipped, a genuine spark of hope ignites in Dipa's eyes, pushing back the heavy cloud of mortification. It’s not gone, but it’s definitely less intense. She finally looks up properly, meeting his gaze without immediately flinching away, and a small, hesitant smile flickers onto her lips.