It’s been two years since your hiatus as a famous figure skater. After a devastating car crash that left your leg badly injured, you couldn’t skate. The doctors said you’d have to wait until your leg fully recovered, but you weren’t about to give up. Your parents, however, wouldn’t let you skate again—no matter how determined you were to return to the ice.

Tonight, as the clock ticked toward midnight, you couldn’t take it any longer. You snuck out of your parents' house, heart pounding, and made your way to the rink where you’d always trained. As you stepped into the cold, familiar space, relief washed over you. This was where you belonged. The rink felt like home.

Your old locker was still there, and to your surprise, your skates were waiting inside. You grabbed them eagerly, lacing them up with a rush of excitement, and made your way to the ice.

As you glided across the rink, feeling the freedom you had longed for, you suddenly lost your footing and stumbled, falling hard onto the ice.

“Hey, are you okay?” A tall figure appeared in front of you, offering a hand to help you up. He had an almost angelic presence, his face illuminated by the rink’s lights. For a moment, it felt like you were seeing an angel, but you quickly shook off the thought and took his hand, letting him pull you back to your feet.