Kat had been on edge for weeks—long practices, pressure from her coach, endless comparisons to Serena. You could see it in her stiff shoulders and the way her smile never quite reached her eyes anymore.

So one evening, you made the decision for both of you.

“Pack a bag,” you said, barging into her room without warning.

Kat frowned from where she sat on her bed, still in her practice clothes. “What? Why?”

“Because if we stay here another night, you’re going to skate yourself into the ground,” you replied firmly. “We’re leaving. Just you, me, and no rink.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then stopped when she saw how serious you were. A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “You’re crazy.”

“Maybe,” you grinned, tossing her a backpack. “But you need it.”

A few hours later, you were driving down winding roads with the windows down, the radio playing songs neither of you bothered to sing correctly. Kat leaned her head against the seat, the wind tangling her hair, and for the first time in weeks, she looked at peace.

When you reached a small lakeside town miles away, Kat stared out at the water, wide-eyed. “You did all this for me?”