Laila slipped outside the arm and pushed Camille away.
Camille stumbled.
Laila stopped immediately.
There were nearly five feet between them.
Nobody needed to continue.
Camille looked around.
Students were filming.
That seemed to make everything worse.
She rushed forward again.
Laila moved sideways.
Camille grabbed toward the front of her hoodie.
Laila broke the grip.
Camille swung.
Laila countered once.
Short.
Controlled.
Enough to create space.
Camille staggered backward.
Laila stopped again.
“Stay back.”
Camille’s face was red.
Her breathing had become uneven.
She attacked once more.
Laila blocked.
Pivoted.
Camille’s momentum carried her forward.
Laila redirected her and stepped away.
Camille lost balance near the studio rug.
She tried recovering.
Then charged again.
This time Laila caught the incoming arm, turned outside it, and pushed.
Camille’s feet crossed awkwardly.
She fell onto the padded studio rug.
The room went silent.
Laila remained standing.
Her hands stayed raised for a second.
Camille did not get up.
Laila lowered them.
That was it.
No kick.
No strike after the fall.
No victory speech.
Laila stood still long enough to make sure Camille was not coming forward again.
Then she turned toward the equipment table.
Her camera bag was still there.
So was her old Canon.
She picked it up first.
Checked the lens.
Placed it carefully into the bag.
Students stared.
Camille sat on the rug behind her.
“You attacked me,” she said.
Several people answered before Laila could.
“No, you didn’t.”
“She swung first.”
“We recorded it.”
Laila zipped the bag.
Camille stared at the phones.