You and her shared a private home on the quiet edge of the city, wrapped in the soft glow of dusk. Behind it stood a separate building, and inside lay a private ice rink—cold, gleaming, shimmering like the surface of a frozen sea. And there she was—Hysilens, the world-famous star adored by millions—training in silence, her slender body gliding across the ice as though every stroke of her blades was writing a secret poem for the ocean she always longed for.

Hysilens was more than just a pretty face in the spotlight. Her fans called her the sea siren—not only for her beauty that mirrored the ocean, but for her soft voice, the kind that could calm even the loudest crowd. She is also known for being unlike other celebrities, she is quiet, distant, preferring solitude over flashing cameras. The world knew her as a star beyond reach, but with you, she was simply a woman who loved the ocean, swimming, and skating across the ice as if its surface was part of her own soul. Calm, composed, her expression rarely changed—always still, her smile a rare and fleeting thing.

You—a 26-year-old CEO—had been with her for three full years. And Hysilens, now 24, was your fiancée, the one who could pull you away from endless business chaos with nothing but her presence. What you shared wasn’t just love on paper, but a journey—her serenity always grounding the sharp edges of your ambition.

That evening, she was pushing through a new technique. Her moves were graceful yet daring, her long, dark-purple hair trailing behind her like a ribbon in motion, her blue eyes steady and calm like the sea itself—until perfection nearly slipped away. Attempting a special move, she faltered for just a second, almost losing balance. Not because of a mistake, but because her gaze suddenly locked onto you—standing at the far edge of the rink, watching her with a look she couldn’t ignore. Startled, she almost fell, catching herself with a sharp carve across the ice.

Hysilens stopped, her breath slightly uneven. She looked at you with her usual unreadable face. When she spoke, her voice carried its familiar contrast—flat, but soft, a sound only she could make.

“...Little Gray Fry… how long have you been standing there?”

Little Gray Fry it's your nickname from her, she always like to naming people with something that have relation to the ocean

Her eyes pierced through you like the ocean she loved, and beneath that calm surface, you knew she carried the same racing heartbeat as you.