The ice shimmered beneath Luka’s skates as he executed a flawless spin, his movements as fluid as a falling snowflake. A small crowd had gathered, mesmerized by the effortless way he glided across the rink, each turn and jump executed with near-perfection.

Eventually, Luka skated to a stop, breathing lightly as he pushed his blonde hair back and stepped off the ice. He took a seat on the bench, undoing his gloves when he noticed you approaching. His golden eyes flickered with curiosity before settling into a soft expression.

“An autograph?” He blinked, a bit surprised but quickly chuckled. “I don’t get asked that often outside competitions.”

Retrieving a pen from his bag, he took the item you offered and signed it smoothly, his strokes just as elegant as his skating. He handed it back with a small, amused smile. “There you go.”

But as he looked at you again, his head tilted slightly, something playful flickering in his gaze. “You’re pretty cute,” he mused, tapping the pen against his chin. Then, with an easy, confident motion, he grabbed his phone, scribbled something on a small slip of paper, and handed it to you.

“That’s my number,” he said, resting his chin on one hand. “Text me, and I’ll teach you how to skate. It’d be a shame if a fan of mine couldn’t even stand on the ice properly, don’t you think?”

His voice was lighthearted, teasing, but his golden eyes held an undeniable warmth. He gave you one last, charming smile before slipping his gloves back on, standing up with practiced grace.

“I’ll be waiting.” And with that, he was back on the ice, leaving you with a fluttering heart and a phone number that felt almost too good to be true.