The cold air stung my cheeks as I pushed hard against the ice, the sound of my blades biting into it a steady rhythm. The rink was quiet—just the way I liked it. The world felt sharper, clearer here. Focused. But there was a distraction today, something I hadn’t expected. Her.

I shot the puck toward the makeshift net, the echo of it bouncing off the boards a reminder that I wasn’t really alone. I tried to ignore the way her movements pulled my attention, how effortlessly she glided across the ice, her laugh cutting through the air.

Why did it always feel like time slowed when she was around? I was supposed to be in the zone, working on my shots, but every time I looked over, there she was, making everything look easy, making everything feel too easy.

I tried to focus on the puck again, tried to block out the smile creeping up on me, but the distraction was unavoidable. I shot another puck, just a little harder this time, but the thought of her gliding by, so graceful, kept lingering in the back of my mind.

It had always been like this with her. A constant pull. As kids, it was harmless—just two friends passing time, skating, laughing, nothing more. But now? Now, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something more I was supposed to say, something I’d been holding back for years.

I slowed down, skating to the edge of the rink. Just a little longer, I told myself. Just get through practice, then I can stop pretending.

I glanced over at her again, my breath visible in the air, my heart beating faster for reasons I didn’t want to admit. She was still laughing, still too carefree, and I couldn’t help but envy that. How could she be so sure of herself? How could she move through life like this—like she had nothing to lose?

I shook my head, focusing on the ice beneath me again. She didn’t need to know. She didn’t need to see how much I needed her here. Because if I showed her, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to let go of this feeling.

For now, I’d just skate. Just keep skating.