twenty meters away
The rink was brighter than you expected.
Not painfully bright, just washed in white light. The ice reflected everything back in thin, pale layers. People passed through the edge of your vision and left quick lines behind them, gone almost as soon as you noticed.
You put your bags in one of the small lockers near the entrance, then brought only your jackets to the bench by the rink. She kept her phone in her jacket pocket. You slipped your phone and earbuds into the inside pocket of yours before folding it beside her.
Neither of you brought anything onto the ice.
She stood by the entrance, looking down at the skates on her feet.
You had already stepped onto the ice. You held the railing and glided back to her.
“You okay?”
She glanced at you.
“Still alive so far.”
You laughed.
“That’s a little pessimistic for the first thirty seconds.”
“I’m just being realistic.”
Then she reached for the railing and carefully placed one foot on the ice. The second the blade touched down, her whole body shifted just slightly, like the floor had betrayed her.
You held out your hand.
“Come here.”
She looked at your hand.
“You’re sure you can hold me?”
“You’re not a refrigerator.”
“Maybe I’m heavy.”
“Then don’t suddenly become a refrigerator.”
She looked like she wanted to smile, but tried not to. Finally, she put her hand in yours.
You didn’t grip too tightly at first. You just gave her something to lean on. Her other hand stayed on the railing as she moved forward in tiny, careful steps.
Her posture was painfully stiff.
“You look like a baby deer leaving the house for the first time.”
“A baby deer has four legs.”
“Then you’re a two-legged baby deer.”
“That sounds like an animal that would go extinct.”
You laughed. She glared at you, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
You slowly skated backward, leading her forward. Every step she took was careful, and whenever she started to lose balance, your hand was already there.
“Bend your knees a little.”
“I am bending them.”
“Emotionally, maybe.”
She laughed once, and that was enough to distract her. Her foot slipped, and she fell forward toward you.
You caught her quickly.
She landed against you, not hard, but close. One of your hands was at her waist, the other still holding hers. Her shoulder pressed against your chest for half a second before she pushed herself upright.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” You smiled. “That was progress. At least you fell in the right direction.”
“That counts as progress?”
“Yeah. You knew to fall toward me.”
She opened her mouth like she was going to argue, but her eyes dropped to your hand, still at her waist.
You noticed it too.
Then you moved your hand away and pretended it was completely natural.
“One more time.”
She looked like she wanted to say something, but in the end, she just took your hand again.
This time, she held on a little tighter.
She still wasn’t good at it, but she wasn’t fighting the ice with every single step anymore.
When you led her a little farther from the railing, she noticed immediately.
“Are you taking me too far?”
“No. This is safe.”
“That’s usually what people say right before something is not safe.”
“You trust me so little.”
“Reasonably.”
You smiled and let go of one of her hands.
She looked at you at once.
“Hey.”
“I’m here.” You kept your hand near her, close enough for her to grab, but not touching. “Try one step on your own.”
“I refuse.”
“Refusal denied.”
“You’re really mean.”
“But I’m not leaving you alone.”
She looked at you for a moment, like she was checking whether that was true.
You didn’t move away.
She tried.
One step.
Two.
On the third step, she wobbled and immediately grabbed your sleeve.
“You did it,” you said. “You skated by yourself.”
She looked down at her feet, a little surprised.
“I guess I did.”
“Again?”
She was quiet for a second.
“Again.”
After a while, she got tired.
Not tired in a dramatic way. More like tired from holding her whole body too carefully for too long, from being afraid of falling, from using muscles she clearly hadn’t planned on using.
You brought her back to the side. When she sat down, she let out a breath like she had survived something difficult.
You leaned near her.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” She wiped her forehead with a tissue. “I just have a new respect for walking.”
“The foundation of human civilization.”
“Yeah. I underestimated it.”
When she wiped her face, a tiny piece of tissue stuck to her cheek.
You noticed.
“Wait.”
She looked up.
“What?”
You didn’t explain. You just stepped closer and leaned down. She probably thought you were checking something on her face, because she didn’t move away.
You reached out.
Your palm settled against her cheek.
You had only meant to remove the tissue, but the second you touched her, your movement slowed. Her skin was a little cool from the rink. Your hand was warm from skating.
She went still.
You brushed the tiny piece of tissue away with your thumb.
“You had tissue on your face.”
“Oh.”
Her answer was short.
But when you started to pull your hand back, she leaned her cheek lightly into your palm.
Very lightly.
Almost like it could have been an accident.
But you knew it wasn’t.
Your hand stopped.
You looked down at her.
She didn’t look away. She didn’t pretend it hadn’t happened, either. She just looked at you with that calm expression, like she was saying, yes, and?
You suddenly had no idea what to do.
She was the one who spoke first.
“Your hand is warm.”
Just that.
A normal sentence.
So normal it hit harder.
You smiled a little and slowly took your hand away.
“That’s because I’ve been working.”
“Working?”
“Taking care of a baby deer.”
She crumpled the tissue into a small ball and tossed it into the trash.
“The baby deer needs to rest.”
“Okay.”
You straightened and checked the time.
“Twenty minutes left. I’m going to skate a little.”
She nodded.
“Go.”
You didn’t go back onto the ice right away. First, you walked back to the bench and reached into the inside pocket of your jacket for your earbuds. She sat beside you and watched as you put one in. It looked like she might say something, but she only leaned back a little and let you go.
You returned to the middle of the rink.
Once the music came in, your body loosened, as if it had suddenly remembered where it wanted to go. You skated once around the rink, then picked up a little speed. The blades cut into the ice in a rhythm that lined up with the beat.
You weren’t beautiful in a competitive way.
You weren’t doing clean, perfect elements. You weren’t chasing difficulty. You would just suddenly feel like turning, or raising your arm, or going left instead of right because that was where the song seemed to go.
Sometimes even you didn’t know what the next movement would be.
But when you did it, it made sense.
You turned once in the center, then tried a small jump. The landing wobbled, but you caught it and carried the wobble into the next curve, like the mistake had always been part of the choreography.
She watched from the side.
At first, she was just resting.
Then she forgot to rest.
Your phone was still in the inside pocket of your jacket, folded beside her on the bench. She glanced at it, then at the earbud in your ear.
She took out her own phone and called you.
You were near the far side of the rink when the music in your ear suddenly turned into a ringtone.
You slowed down, confused. From across the rink, you saw her reach into your jacket pocket and take out your phone.
For a second, you considered stopping her.
But you didn’t.
She was too far away, you were already moving, and honestly, it probably wasn’t worth making a big deal out of.
She answered the call herself.
A second later, her voice came through your ear.
“Hello.”
You almost laughed, your speed dropping at once.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling you.”
“We’re in the same rink.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you calling me?”
She sat there by the side, looking at you from a distance, her voice completely calm.
“Because you can’t hear me from there.”
You couldn’t help smiling.
“That’s reasonable.”
“And I don’t want to stand up.”
“That’s even more reasonable.”
She laughed once, softly, and it came through the earbud closer than her actual body.
You kept skating slowly.
“Does the baby deer have instructions?”
“No,” she said. “I just thought that one looked good.”
You turned your head toward her.
She was still sitting there, phone in one hand, the other resting on her knee. She looked calm, like she was commenting on the weather.
But you knew she wasn’t the type to hand out compliments for no reason.
“Which one?”
“The one where you almost lost your balance.”
“That was a mistake.”
“But you caught it.”
Your movement slowed a little.
She continued, “That looked better.”
“The mistake looked better?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re weird.”
“Maybe.”
You laughed, but the comment stayed with you.
She hadn’t said anything dramatic. She hadn’t compared you to light, or freedom, or anything like that. She had only said the part where you almost lost your balance and caught yourself looked better.
Because she had seen it.
Not just the clean parts. Not just the parts that looked intentional.
She saw the moment where things nearly went wrong, and the way you made it work anyway.
You suddenly felt a little embarrassed.
“Were you watching the whole time?”
“What else was I supposed to watch?”
“Other people?”
“I don’t know them.”
Flat. Simple. Obvious.
Your ears felt warm.
You skated back toward her and stopped by the side wall. You were still on the call. So was she. You could have spoken normally from that distance, but neither of you hung up.
It was stupid.
It was also strangely intimate.
“Do you want to come back out for a second?” you asked.
She frowned slightly.
“I just sat down.”
“One last thing.”
“You always say one last thing.”
“This time I mean it.”
“Not very convincing.”
“I want to try a pair move with you.”
She stared at you.
“No lifting.”
“No lifting.”
“No fast spinning.”
“No fast spinning.”
“Don’t let go.”
You paused, and your smile softened.
“I won’t let go.”
She looked at you for a few seconds, then ended the call and stood up.
When she stepped back onto the ice, she was still unsteady. You skated over to meet her, and this time she gave you her hand naturally, like she was already used to finding you there.
You led her to a quieter part of the rink.
“It’s simple,” you said. “Face me. I’ll hold your hands and we’ll turn slowly. Don’t look at your feet. Look at me.”
She looked down at the ice.
“That sounds like a scam.”
“It’s real.”
“Scams also say they’re real.”
“Then trust the pretty rink fairy.”
“I trust the pretty rink fairy about seventy percent.”
“Good enough.”
You held both of her hands and slowly skated backward. She followed, still clumsy, but much better than before.
You started turning.
The first circle was slow.
She kept her eyes on you, lips pressed together, trying very hard not to look down. The seriousness of her expression made you smile.
“Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“You’re cute right now.”
Her eyes paused.
“Don’t make me lose focus.”
“Okay. I’ll shut up.”
On the second circle, she relaxed a little. You guided her through a small turn, your hands holding hers. Her fingers were cold, but her grip was steadier than before.
You wanted her to feel how smooth it could be.
So you added just a little speed.
Just a little.
Her blade caught.
You felt her body pitch forward. You pulled her toward you immediately, trying to bring her back, but your own skate slipped as your weight shifted wrong.
Both of you went down.
You instinctively pulled her onto you so she wouldn’t hit the ice directly. Her knee scraped against the surface. Your hand hit the ice hard.
Pain shot up from your palm.
You inhaled sharply before you could stop yourself.
She pushed herself up at once.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
You answered too quickly.
Then she saw your hand.
Blood was starting to come up along the side of your palm, from a scrape that wasn’t deep but was very visible under the rink lights.
Her expression changed.
Not dramatically. She didn’t gasp or panic loudly. She just went very quiet. The little bit of laughter from before disappeared completely, and her eyes fixed on your hand like someone had paused the scene.
“You’re bleeding.”
“It’s small.”
“Get up first.”
Her voice was even, but her hand was already around your wrist.
You could tell she was trying very hard to stay calm because she moved too quickly. So quickly she almost forgot she couldn’t skate well. When she stood, she nearly slipped again.
You reached to steady her.
“Slow down.”
She frowned.
“Don’t use that hand.”
“This one isn’t hurt.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“How does it not matter?”
“Don’t argue with me right now.”
So you stopped talking.
The two of you made it back to the side. She crouched by the bench and started checking her jacket pockets for tissues and wet wipes. Her movements were quick, but when she tried to open the wet wipe packet, her fingers caught on the edge.
You noticed.
She got it open on the second try.
“Your hands are shaking,” you said.
“They’re not.”
“They are.”
“It’s cold.”
“Okay.”
You didn’t argue.
She pressed a tissue against your palm first to see if the bleeding would slow. Her brows drew together slightly. Her face looked a little paler than before.
“Does it hurt?”
“It’s okay.”
“How okay?”
“Not that bad.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
She looked up at you.
That look made you stop joking.
It wasn’t that she didn’t believe you. It was that she was checking whether you were making it sound smaller just to make her feel better. Her eyes were steady, but you could tell the steadiness was being held in place.
You lowered your voice.
“Really. I didn’t hit my head. Nothing feels twisted. I think it’s just a scrape. We’ll ask the front desk if they have a first-aid kit. If it’s dirty, or if the bleeding doesn’t stop, we’ll see a doctor.”
She listened, then nodded once.
“Okay.”
A few seconds later, she asked, “You really didn’t hit your head?”
“Really.”
“Dizzy?”
“No.”
“Nauseous?”
“No.”
“Move your fingers.”
You moved them for her.
Only then did she seem to breathe a little easier. Still, she didn’t let go of your wrist.
Watching her like that made something in you soften.
It also made you want to laugh a little.
“You sound like an ER doctor.”
“Don’t.”
She looked down and kept pressure on the cut.
You stayed quiet for a while.
She was careful with you. Too careful. Like she was afraid that if she pressed too hard, she would hurt you more. You watched the top of her head, the way her lashes lowered when she focused, and the freedom you had felt on the ice turned into something else.
You weren’t moving anymore.
You weren’t turning.
But your heart was still doing something.
“Were you scared?” you asked quietly.
Her fingers paused.
“Yeah.”
This time, she didn’t deny it.
She didn’t look up either.
“When you fell, I didn’t know if you were going to hit your head.”
You looked at her.
“And it was my blade that caught.”
“That’s not your fault.”
“But if I hadn’t—”
“I could have fallen on my own,” you interrupted. “It’s skating. People fall.”
She lifted her eyes, clearly unconvinced.
You touched the back of her hand with your uninjured one.
“I sped up. That was me getting too confident.”
She looked at you.
“So you know.”
“I know.”
“Then don’t do that next time.”
You smiled a little.
“There’s a next time?”
She looked like she had trapped herself with her own words.
After two seconds, she said, “When your hand is better.”
Something about that hit you in the chest.
When your hand is better.
Not don’t skate again.
Not never mind, we’re not doing this again.
Just when your hand is better.
You looked down at her hand still holding pressure over yours and said, very quietly, “Then will you let me hold your hand again next time?”
She gave you a look.
“You’re injured. Don’t use this moment to ask weird questions.”
“This is important.”
“Deal with your hand first.”
“After that?”
She didn’t answer right away.
She checked the tissue, saw that the blood had slowed, then looked back up at you.
“Depends on how you behave.”
You smiled.
“I’ll rehabilitate.”
“You don’t need rehabilitation for a scrape.”
“For holding your hand, I do.”
She finally laughed. Short, but real.
“You’re so annoying.”
“But you didn’t say no.”
She pressed the tissue a little harder.
“If you keep talking, I’ll press harder.”
“Okay. I’ll shut up.”
You did.
The two of you moved slowly along the railing toward the exit.
Strictly speaking, neither of you was really helping the other. She kept one hand on the railing and the other carefully around your uninjured hand. You stayed close enough to shield her from the people skating past. Both of you moved so slowly it was almost embarrassing.
But neither of you let go first.
When you finally stepped onto the rubber mat by the exit, she looked down at her skates like she had only just remembered she had almost fallen too.
“Front desk,” she said.
“Can you walk?”
“Yes. Don’t change the subject.”
You almost laughed, but stopped when you saw that she was still holding your hand.
The front desk wasn’t far, but she walked with intense concentration. She didn’t say much. Every now and then, she looked down to make sure the tissue over your hand hadn’t slipped.
You watched her careful profile and suddenly remembered what she had said on the phone.
The one where you almost lost your balance looked better.
You thought, maybe she was the same.
Someone so steady, almost losing balance for a second, then trying to catch herself anyway.
That looked good too.
But you didn’t say it.
She would probably tell you you were being weird again.
So you just held her hand a little tighter.
She looked down.
“Does it hurt?”
“No.”
“Then why did you squeeze my hand?”
You looked ahead and answered like it was nothing.
“I’m afraid I’ll fall.”
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she held on a little tighter too.
“Okay,” she said.
“Then walk slowly.”