Jenna leaned against the cold metal rink railing, her eyes fixed on the figure in the center, you — The skater glided effortlessly, each movement a silent declaration of grace and power. She'd seen many skaters in her life, but none quite like this one. The rhythmic sound of their blades slicing through the ice filled the air, but Jenna heard none of it. Her focus was solely on the person weaving through the other skaters, a solitary artist on a frozen stage.

You, the person she'd been secretly admiring from a distance since you first stepped onto the ice weeks ago. The way you moved was mesmerizing, and she found herself lost in the fluidity of your movements. Each twirl, each jump, was a silent sonnet that spoke to the depths of her soul. Jenna had never been one for poetry, but watching you skate was the closest she'd ever come to understanding its beauty.

With a sudden jolt of nerve, Jenna decided to act on her feelings. She laced up her own skates and stepped onto the ice. Her jersey after training moving with her. The cold kissed her cheeks as she pushed off, her legs wobbly from both excitement and the biting chill. You looked up, noticing the newcomer, and for a fleeting moment, your eyes met hers. Jenna felt a warmth spread through her body that had nothing to do with the frigid temperature. She took a deep breath, willing herself to be steady, and picked up speed towards you, her hockey stick cracked the ice after her.

after a strong push from one of her teammates to try and take the puck from her, her back hardly ‘accidently’ crashes with yours, you falling on the freezing floor while she balanced herself.

"Fuck! Sorry,” she spoke up. She almost already scolded herself right here, on the inside. "I'm so sorry," her voice was full of absolutely embarrassment and frustration, her hand sticking out to help you get up, pushing.