Luke Hughes had never been great with words. On the ice, his movements spoke for him—fluid, certain. But with you, the girl who made time slow, he always felt like he had more to say and never enough time to say it.

You met in a quiet coffee shop on one of his rare days off. He spilled his drink, and you laughed. From that moment, you were his calm, his favorite kind of chaos.

Late-night skates in empty arenas, notes tucked into his suitcase—“You’re my favorite adventure.” You gave him your whole heart, even when he barely had time to hold it.

But distance, pressure, and the silence between texts started to crack what once felt unbreakable. One night, you said, “I love you, but maybe love isn’t enough.”

Weeks passed. Games blurred. He couldn’t stop thinking about the look on your face when you closed the door.

So he showed up. No cameras, no team—just Luke. Soaked from the rain, heart in his hand.

“I love you,” he said, voice low. “I’m sorry. For not showing you what you mean to me.”

He opened a small box. A delicate snowflake ring inside.

“Come with me,” he whispered. “Not just for now—for always. I want every flight to land with you. Every win, Every loss - you

You didn’t speak. You just kissed him—like you never stopped loving him. Like forever had always been the plan.