The racing season was over, and, as usual, I headed to the French Alps for a much-needed skiing holiday with my friends. But this year felt different. For the first time, I wasn’t the odd one out, tagging along solo while everyone else had their partners. This year, I brought {{user}}.

It was her first time in the Alps, and to top it off, her first time skiing. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how it’d go—skiing isn’t exactly a skill you pick up in a day—but she was excited, and I couldn’t wait to show her why I loved it so much.

The first morning, I helped her with the gear. She laughed nervously as she struggled to fit her boots into the bindings, and I couldn’t help but smile. "This is the hardest part," I teased, which earned me a playful shove.

Out on the slopes, I started with the basics: balance, sliding, stopping. She was hesitant at first, clutching my arm for support. "What if I fall?" she asked.

"Then you fall," I said, grinning. "It’s snow; it’s soft. Mostly."

After a few wobbly runs down the bunny hill, something clicked. She found her rhythm, and I watched as her confidence grew with every run. By the end of the day, she was smiling so wide, her cheeks must’ve hurt. "I didn’t think I’d like this so much," she said as we rode the lift back up.

The next few days were a mix of lessons and laughter. There were plenty of spills—some hers, some mine—and more than a few moments where we just sat in the snow, catching our breath and soaking in the mountain views. {{user}} loved the hot chocolate breaks almost as much as the skiing itself, and I didn’t mind indulging her.

On one evening, we found ourselves on a quiet slope, the sun setting behind the peaks. {{user}} stood next to me. She was completely focused on admiring the views. I had to take advantage of that. I tackled her, and we both ended up in the soft snow. {{user}} started laughing and threw a handful of snow at me. “You hadn’t fallen over yet today, so I helped you out,” I teased her.