The Gym Trainer's Secret
"He trains Somali women at the women-only gym in Finsbury Park. She's the client who booked him for 6 AM sessions—hijabi, serious, and way too focused on his hands when he corrects her form. The steam room is private at that hour."
The 6 AM sessions are mine.
Everyone else at Nisa Fitness is asleep. Just me, the weights, and whoever books the early slot.
For three months, that's been Sumaya.
"Again," I tell her, watching her deadlift form. "Keep your back straight."
She adjusts. Her abaya is traded for modest gym clothes—loose tracksuit, long-sleeved top, hijab pinned tight. She's covered head to ankle, and I still can't stop noticing her.
"Better?"
"Better." I step behind her, touch her shoulders. "Like this."
She shivers.
Neither of us acknowledges it.
Sumaya is twenty-nine.
Bank manager. Unmarried. Lives alone in Crouch End. She joined the gym because her doctor said she needed to exercise, and Nisa is one of the only women-only facilities with male trainers available.
"I'm paying for your expertise," she said in our first session. "Don't go easy on me because I'm wearing hijab."
I didn't go easy on her.
Three months later, she's stronger, more confident, and increasingly dangerous. Because somewhere between the squats and the bench presses, I started noticing things I shouldn't.
The curve of her waist under loose fabric.
The determination in her eyes.
The way she looks at me when she thinks I'm not watching.
It happens on a Tuesday.
She finishes her last set, breathing hard, sweat dampening her hijab. The gym is empty—just us.
"I need to cool down," she says. "Steam room?"
"I'll wait here."
"You could come." She holds my gaze. "Make sure I don't overheat."
The steam room is separate. Private. No cameras. No witnesses.
I should decline.
"Five minutes," I say.
She smiles.
The steam room is thick with heat.
She's already inside when I enter, wrapped in a towel, her gym clothes folded on the bench. She's still covered—the towel reaches her knees, her hijab is still on—but it's more skin than I've ever seen.
"Close the door."
I do.
"Sit."
I sit.
"I've been trying to figure out how to do this," she says. "For weeks. How to tell you that I think about you constantly. That I booked 6 AM sessions so I could have you alone."
"Sumaya—"
"Let me finish." She stands, walks through the steam toward me. "I know this is unprofessional. I know you could lose your job. But I also know that when you touch me to correct my form, you linger. When you spot me on the bench, you look. You want this too."
"I'm your trainer—"
"Then stop training me." She sits next to me. Close. "Cancel my sessions. Refer me to someone else. Do whatever you need to do so this isn't wrong anymore."
"And then?"
"Then teach me something that's not on any fitness program."
She leans in.
I meet her halfway.
Kissing her feels like finally exhaling.
The steam swirls around us as her hands find my chest, my shoulders, the towel around my waist. I pull her onto my lap, feel her thighs through her towel, feel the heat of her even through the fabric.
"Idris—"
"Tell me to stop—"
"Don't you dare." She pulls at my towel. "I've been thinking about this every night. Touching myself to the thought of you."
"Sumaya—"
"Show me if reality is better than fantasy."
I lay her down on the bench.
Her body is everything I couldn't let myself imagine.
Under the towel, she's soft and strong—the muscles I built, the curves that are all her own. Her breasts are full, her hips are wide, her belly has the softness of a woman who lives well.
"Don't look—"
"I'm going to look." I kiss down her stomach. "I'm going to look at every part of you."
She gasps as my mouth finds her center.
The steam makes everything hotter, wetter, more intense. I taste her through the heat, feel her body respond, hear her moan echo off the tiles.
"Yes—oh God—"
I work her until she's shaking, until she's grabbing the bench, until she's begging me for more.
"Please—inside—I need—"
I rise over her.
The bench is narrow.
She wraps her legs around me for stability, and the position pushes me deep as I enter her. Her eyes roll back, her mouth falls open, and the sound she makes is worth every risk.
"Idris—"
"I've got you."
I move.
The steam hides nothing—every thrust, every moan, every moment is ours in this private world. She moves with me, matches my rhythm, digs her nails into my back when the pleasure builds.
"Faster—"
I give her faster.
"Yes—yes—I'm going to—"
"Come for me." I reach between us. "Let go, Sumaya."
She comes with a scream.
The sound bounces off the tiles, fills the steam room, announces to no one what we've done. I follow her over, spilling into her, both of us clinging to each other as the pleasure crests and falls.
After, we sit side by side.
The steam begins to clear. Reality seeps back in.
"Tomorrow morning," she says. "You'll cancel my sessions?"
"I will."
"And then?"
"And then I'll ask you to dinner. Properly." I take her hand. "No gyms. No sweat. Just us."
"Is that what you want?"
"I want to see who you are outside these walls." I turn to face her. "I want to know the woman who gets up at 5 AM to work on herself. Who pushes through every set I give her. Who looked at me and decided I was worth the risk."
"You are worth the risk."
"Then let me prove it."
I cancel her sessions the next day.
Refer her to a female trainer. Create the professional distance that lets us be something else.
Our first proper date is at a Somali restaurant in Seven Sisters. She shows up in a dress—still modest, still covered, still herself. But different somehow. Free.
"This is weird," she says over tea.
"Good weird or bad weird?"
"Good." She smiles. "I keep expecting you to tell me to do squats."
"Only if you want to."
She laughs. "Maybe later."
A year later, she moves into my flat.
Her gym membership at Nisa is still active—she trains with the woman I referred her to. I work my own clients. We keep our worlds separate but come home to the same bed.
"You changed my life," she tells me one night. "Not just my body. Everything."
"You did the work."
"You believed I could." She curls against me. "No one had ever believed in me like that."
"They should have." I pull her close. "You're the strongest woman I know."
"Strong enough to do anything?"
"Anything."
"Then I think it's time I taught you something." She climbs on top of me. "My turn to correct your form."
I let her.
It's the best workout of my life.