DISCLAIMER: This story is a work of fiction and fan-created fantasy. All characters, settings, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictional context for the purpose of fan enjoyment. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
The sun had barely risen when Alia Bhatt walked into the upscale Mumbai gym. Clad in sleek black workout tights and a simple ponytail, she moved through the lobby without fuss—just another early riser, ready to train.
Except, of course, she wasn’t “just” anyone.
Whispers followed her like perfume. Some gym-goers gave polite nods. Others gawked. But in one corner near the treadmills, a trio of bulky men barely suppressed their snickers.
“Yeh dekho, Alia has come to lift dumbbells,” one of them chuckled.
“She’s barely five feet. Hope she doesn’t trip on the treadmill,” another laughed.
Alia heard every word. She didn’t flinch.
She walked right past them, stretching calmly, her eyes on the machines—not the mockers. But when one of them called out, “Careful! The treadmill might be too fast for princesses,” she turned slowly and smiled.
“Wanna bet?”
The men paused. One raised an eyebrow. “Bet what?”
“A three-round challenge,” she said. “Treadmill sprint, weightlifting, and—just for fun—a light kickboxing match. Winner takes the bragging rights.”
The men laughed out loud. “You’re on. But don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
Round One: Treadmill Showdown
They set the treadmills side by side. Each man took his place, stretching dramatically, while Alia adjusted her speed and incline settings like she was tuning a piano.
“First to quit loses,” she said.
The machines roared to life.
Five minutes in, the men were sweating.
Ten minutes in, they were panting.
At fifteen, one stepped off, gasping. The second followed three minutes later. The third pushed himself—until Alia, still calm, glanced over and said, “You alright, bhaiya?”
He stumbled, hit the emergency stop button, and collapsed onto a mat.
Round One: Alia.
Round Two: Weights
They moved to the lifting area. The men watched her approach the rack, assuming she’d pick up light dumbbells.
Instead, she slid 20 kg plates onto a barbell and began deadlifting with perfect form.
“Sure you’re not a stunt double?” one muttered, watching her knock out reps.
Each man tried to match her—one groaned, another dropped the bar, and the third wobbled before giving up entirely.
Round Two: Alia.
Round Three: Kickboxing Match
Padded mats. Gloves. Light sparring, they said.
The first challenger stepped up. He threw a lazy jab—she sidestepped and tapped his shoulder with a kick that sent him stumbling.
The second was cockier. He tried a high kick. She ducked and swept his legs.
The last one didn’t even make it to contact. “I’m good,” he said, raising his hands. “I believe you.”
Round Three: Alia.
Victory Lap
The men sat on a bench, catching their breath and nursing bruised egos. Alia walked over, sipping water, calm as ever.
Then, with a smirk, she said, “Last round. Let’s see how heavy you guys are.”
Before they could respond, she crouched and hoisted the lightest one over her shoulder with ease.
The other two burst out laughing—until she picked up the second.
Then the third. “A bit heavier,” she said with mock strain, “but manageable.”
She placed him down gently and dusted off her hands.
All three men stood, hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay! You win. You’re the strongest here.”
Alia grinned and gave them a playful flex. “Told you. Strength doesn’t come in one size.”
She laughed, picked up her gym bag, and waved as she walked off, her voice drifting behind her:
“Next time, maybe try encouraging people instead of underestimating them.”
They nodded like schoolboys.
And just like that, the girl they mocked walked out as the strongest person in the room—not just in body, but in spirit.
