The cold rink felt like home to Colin—smooth ice beneath his skates, the echo of sticks tapping against the boards, the rush of the game. But lately, home didn’t feel the same. Not without you.

You were a storm he never saw coming, a quiet kind of sorrow wrapped in soft smiles and empty eyes. From the moment he met you, he knew—he had to save you.

So he tried.

He left little gifts in your locker—your favorite candy, handwritten notes that said, “You matter.” He showed up at your door with coffee and his dumbest jokes, desperate to hear even the smallest laugh. He dragged you to the rink late at night, placing his gloved hands over yours, teaching you how to hold a hockey stick properly. “See? You’re already a natural.”

Some days were better. Some days, you smiled, and it gave him hope. Other days, you barely spoke, and it scared him.

Then one night, the call came.

“She’s gone, Colin.”

His best friend’s voice was quiet, hesitant, but the words hit like a brutal check against the boards.

No. No, no, no.

Colin ran through the hospital doors, breathless, frantic, his heart hammering like a puck against the ice. And there you were—small, fragile, alive. Tubes, wires, but breathing.

He sank into the chair beside your bed, his gloved hands trembling as he reached for yours. “You scared the hell out of me, sweetheart.” His voice cracked. “You don’t get to do that, okay? You don’t get to leave me. I need you.”

You didn’t speak, just looked at him with tired eyes. He squeezed your fingers gently.

“I don’t care how long it takes,” he whispered. “I’m not giving up on you. I love you. And I’m gonna keep fighting for you—so please… fight for yourself, too.”