The edge of desire

Yuki

I sit in the kiss and cry, the familiar mix of exhaustion and dread tightening in my chest. The air feels heavy, stifling even, as my coach, Sal, settles next to me. My body aches from every fall, and my pride stings worse. Five falls, five I didn’t even need to see the score to know it was a disaster.

I glance sideways at Sal, my voice small. “Sal, I’m sorry.”

He chuckles, the sound light despite the tension. “Wait until the results are in before you start apologizing.”

His confidence in me feels misplaced, but I force a smile anyway. My hands tremble in my lap as the announcer’s voice booms through the arena.

“With a total of 124 points for both the short and long program, Yuki Takahashi places sixth. Yuki’s rival, Saki Tonks, takes first, claiming gold!”

The words hit me like a punch. Sixth. Again. I exhale shakily, forcing myself to keep my expression neutral.

“Sorry, Sal,” I mumble, my gaze falling to the floor.

“Nah,” he says, his tone surprisingly upbeat. “We just need to work on your confidence. And maybe it’s time to pick a different theme. I think Eros is too much for you, even the softer versions. You’re too stiff out there.”

I nod, though my heart sinks further. He’s right, of course. Every routine I’ve ever done with this theme has ended in disaster. But a part of me refuses to let it go.

We walk out of the arena, the buzz of the crowd still humming in my ears. The lobby is chaos, reporters swarming like bees around the medalists. I try to slip past unnoticed, but one spots me and cuts through the crowd, microphone in hand.

“Yuki, this is the third time you’ve used Eros as a theme. Do you think it’s risky to stick with the same concept year after year, just with different routines?”

I pause, taking a deep breath to steady myself. My voice comes out firm, though my chest feels tight. “No. I know I have it in me to skate Eros, and I’m not stopping until I land it.”

The reporter’s raised eyebrow makes me bristle, but another one jumps in before I can process the reaction.

“Yuki, after losing to Saki three times, what does your career look like moving forward?”

My stomach twists. The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. I force myself to stand tall, even though my confidence feels paper-thin.

“I don’t know,” I admit, my tone steady despite the turmoil inside. “The season is over, so I’ll be heading home. As for my career… I’ll figure that out before the next season and the big press event in March. Any other questions?”

Another reporter steps forward, relentless. “Yuki, do you think your lack of a relationship and confidence contributed to your downfall?”

I freeze for a moment, caught off guard. My lack of a relationship? I bite back the frustration threatening to bubble over and offer a tight smile instead.

“My lack of a relationship has nothing to do with my skating,” I say firmly. “I know some people think having a partner can help or hurt, but I don’t believe a man or anyone else is the key to winning a competition like this. Confidence, though? That’s different. It played a big part in my mistakes today. I overthought every jump, every spin. But I’ll work on that during the off-season. Thanks, but no more questions.”

I turn away before they can press further, the weight of their scrutiny still clinging to me.

Sal catches up, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “You handled them like a pro,” he says with a grin. “I think going home is a good idea. Once you figure everything out, if you need me, call me. You’re talented, Yuki. Don’t forget that.”

I nod, his words settling in my mind like a small flicker of hope. But as we walk out of the lobby, I can’t shake the doubt. Am I talented enough? Strong enough? Can I keep fighting when it feels like the whole world is telling me to stop?

The cold air outside bites at my skin, but I welcome it. Maybe home will have the answers I need or at least the space to find them.

I step into my hotel room, the door clicking shut behind me. A weight sits heavy on my chest, though I can’t tell if it’s from the exhaustion of the competition or the looming goodbye. The room is quiet now, almost too quiet, like it’s already forgotten I was ever here.

I glance at my suitcase sitting near the corner of the bed and let out a long breath. Time to go, I tell myself, though the thought of leaving feels heavier than the luggage I’m about to pack.

I kneel by the suitcase, unzipping it and carefully placing my clothes inside. My hands pause over my favorite sweater the one I wore the night before my first performance here. I remember the nerves twisting in my stomach, the late-night pep talks in front of the mirror. Will it feel the same next time? I fold the sweater and tuck it away.

Books come next, their worn spines a comfort to me. They’ve been my escape during this whirlwind of competitions and practice sessions. My computer and chargers follow, though I hesitate over my skates. My fingers linger on the blades, tracing the edges. How many routines have these carried me through? I think, biting my lip. Will it ever get easier to leave this part of my life behind, even temporarily?

I pull out a smaller suitcase and set aside a few books for the plane ride, something to keep my mind busy during the flight home. As I zip both cases shut, the sound feels final, like closing a chapter. I shrug on my blue winter coat, the familiar fabric hugging me like a shield, and take a deep breath.

At the front desk, I hand over my room key, offering the clerk a polite smile. “Thank you,” I say, though my voice wavers.

She returns the smile warmly. “No problem. I always enjoy seeing the figure skaters. The Grand Prix tournament pays for all the skaters, so it’s nice to help them relax if possible.”

I nod, forcing a brighter smile. “Yeah, not having to worry about paying while competing is a weight I’m glad we don’t have to carry.”

Outside, the winter air nips at my cheeks as I step into the crisp afternoon. My heart skips when I spot Sal waiting by his car. He grins, his breath misting in the cold. “Heading to the airport?”

“Yeah,” I reply, my voice softer than I intended. “Heading home.”

“Let me take you,” he offers, walking to the trunk. “One last ride until you’re back for competition.”

I hesitate for a moment before handing him my suitcases. Why is it always so hard to accept help? He takes them without a word, placing them in the trunk with practiced ease.

Sliding into the passenger seat, I glance at him as he climbs in and pulls a small envelope from his pocket. “Here,” he says, handing me a ticket. “For your trip home.”

I stare at it, my heart twisting. “Sal, you don’t have to do this,” I protest, though my voice lacks conviction.

He chuckles, shaking his head. “You really don’t know how the competition handles travel and hotel expenses, do you?”

A laugh escapes me, light but genuine. “Guess not,” I admit, though my chest feels tight. Why does this goodbye feel so final?

As he starts the car, I glance out the window, watching the familiar streets blur past. My heart aches with a bittersweet pang. Home is waiting, but why does leaving this feel like leaving a piece of myself behind?

The ride is quiet, the hum of the car blending with the soft melody of the radio. My hands rest in my lap, fidgeting with the strap of my bag. I steal a glance at him, his focus on the road is unwavering. Then the car slows, jerking slightly before coming to a stop.

“We’re here,” he says softly, popping the trunk.

I step out into the crisp airport air, my heart heavy despite my calm exterior. He grabs my suitcases from the trunk, his movements deliberate. Handing them to me, he hesitates before speaking.

“Be safe, Yuki. And… I really hope you don’t give up on figure skating. You’re good,better than good. It’s your confidence and overthinking that keep you from the podium.”

His words hit me, a bittersweet ache blooming in my chest. I force a smile, though it feels shaky at the edges. “I have a lot to think about. My future… my career…”

I trail off, unable to finish the thought. He nods, his expression unreadable. I wave a quick goodbye and turn, dragging my suitcase toward the airport doors, feeling the weight of his unspoken words settle on my shoulders.

Inside, the sterile hum of the airport fills my ears. The motions of check-in and baggage drop feel automatic, my mind already a swirl of doubts and questions. Am I really good enough? What if I never reach the podium? Am I wasting my time chasing this dream?

I find my gate and sit in the waiting area, my suitcase perched by my feet. The announcements blur into background noise as I try to focus on anything but my own spiraling thoughts. When my flight is finally called, I grab my bag, exhaling a shaky breath.

The flight attendant greets me with a bright smile as she scans my ticket. “Have a good flight.”

I nod, murmuring a soft, “Thank you,” as I step inside the plane. After stowing my suitcase in the overhead compartment, I retrieve a book before settling into my seat. The safety announcements pass in a blur, and soon we’re in the air.

I slip on my headphones, my finger hovering over my playlist. Before I can press play, a voice interrupts.

“Excuse me, miss. Have I seen you before?”

I glance up, startled. The man’s face is vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him.

He tilts his head. “Do you skate? Or maybe I’ve seen you in a figure skating broadcast?”

My stomach twists. I let out a short, nervous laugh. “Yeah… I’m a skater.”

His eyes light up with recognition. “Ah, yes! You’re the one who had the five falls, right? Are you retiring?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and I lower my gaze, suddenly feeling exposed. “I’m… not sure yet.” My voice is small, fragile. “But if you don’t mind, I’d like to listen to my music now.”

He nods, sensing the shift in my tone, and turns away.

As the music fills my ears, it does little to drown out my thoughts. Retire? Me? Is that what everyone sees now a failure? Five falls. Five humiliating falls. Can I even recover from this?

The doubts swirl, unrelenting, as the plane soars higher into the clouds.

The music swells in my ears, its rhythm drowning out the persistent hum of the plane’s engine and the chatter around me. I stare out the small window, watching as the clouds roll by, so close they seem almost tangible, like I could reach out and grasp a piece of the sky. My chest tightens as the ground looms closer, signaling the end of the flight and the beginning of something I can’t quite name yet.

As the plane lands with a soft jolt, I pull off my headphones, the sudden silence more deafening than the music. Before I can collect my thoughts, a light tap on my shoulder startles me. It’s the man from earlier, the one who interrupted me mid-thought during the flight. His face softens with a hesitant smile.

“I went to one of your competitions with a friend,” he says, his voice low but earnest. “They followed your career closely. You’re good, really good. I don’t know why you fell, but… I believe in you. Maybe a new coach? Maybe just persistence. Either way, I hope to see you next season, Miss…” He trails off, waiting.

His words twist something deep inside me, somewhere between hope and pain. My lips twitch into a polite smile as I answer, “Yuki. Yuki Mizuki.”

“Miss Yuki,” he repeats, smiling wider now. “I hope to see you next season.”

I nod, murmuring a quiet “thank you” before standing to retrieve my suitcase from the overhead compartment. My hands tremble slightly as I unzip it, tucking my book inside before closing it again. Why did his words bother me so much? Maybe because they mirrored my own inner doubts the whispers that haunt me every time I close my eyes.

Walking off the plane, I try to focus on practicalities. The sterile brightness of the luggage carousel pulls me back into the present as I wait for my suitcase. The clock on the wall blinks midnight. I exhale slowly, grabbing my bags and stacking one on top of the other before rolling them toward the lobby.

I fish out my phone, the screen lighting up my tired face. Scrolling through my contacts, my thumb hovers over Eva’s name. Calling her feels like admitting something I haven’t fully processed, but I press the button anyway. The line rings twice before her familiar, sleepy voice answers.

“Yuki? It’s the middle of the night. Where are you?”

A small smile tugs at my lips. “At the airport. Can you pick me up and take me home?”

There’s a rustling sound, and I picture her sitting up in bed, blankets falling away. “I’ll be there soon. Honestly, you should crash at my place. You’re probably exhausted, and let’s face it, you don’t want to deal with them tonight, not after being gone for over two years.”

Her words hit me like a slap, even though they’re meant to comfort. She’s right. I’m not ready to face them. The ones I left behind. The ones I failed.

“Yeah,” I murmur, forcing a lightness into my tone. “You’re probably right. I’ll be waiting at the entrance.”

Her laugh carries warmth through the line. “Good. But when you’re awake, I want answers. You can’t just come back out of nowhere. And where’s your coach? Why aren’t you with him?”

My stomach knots, but I manage to reply, “Okay.”

As the call ends, I clutch the phone tightly, sitting down on a bench near the airport’s entrance. The cold of the night seeps through the glass doors, and I shiver, hugging myself against the weight of the silence. My mind drifts to the question Eva didn’t ask outright but one I know lingers between us; Why did you come back?

I stare at the floor, feeling the sharp edge of my own disappointment. My return isn’t triumphant. It’s an escape. And I don’t know if I’m running away from the past or toward something new. All I know is that the person I was the person they believed in feels like a distant memory.

The moment I see Eva’s car pull up, a wave of relief washes over me. The familiar sight of her light blue hair cascading down her back as she steps out makes me feel like I can finally exhale. She rushes toward me, pulling me into a tight hug, her warmth cutting through the cold night air.

“It’s so good to have you back,” she says softly, her voice tinged with excitement. “How long are you home for?”

I hesitate, the answer sticking in my throat. My eyes drop to the pavement as I mumble, “I’m not sure yet. I’m… taking a break to figure out my future.”

She pulls back, studying my face with a frown. Her eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn’t push. “Tell me everything tomorrow, okay? Let’s just get you to a bed.”

Together, we load my suitcases into the trunk. The weight of my baggage, both literal and emotional, feels heavier than ever. As we settle into the car, Eva turns to me with a playful smile. “You hungry?”

I laugh softly, the sound more hollow than I’d like. “Starving.”

“Good! Pancakes, or are you feeling a burger?”

“A burger’s fine,” I reply with a tired sigh, leaning my head back against the seat.

She glances at me out of the corner of her eye, her teasing smile fading. “Something happened, didn’t it? Don’t tell me… it’s a guy?!”

Her ridiculous assumption catches me off guard, and I let out a genuine laugh. “No, it’s not a boy. I haven’t exactly had much time for dating.”

Eva sighs dramatically, shaking her head. “All skate and nothing else, huh? You’ve gotta learn how to live a little, Yuki.”

The words sting more than she realizes, but I force a smile. “Yeah, maybe.”

The drive feels like a reprieve, the hum of the car and the occasional songs on the radio filling the silence between us. When we pull into a burger joint’s drive-thru, Eva orders for both of us. “Two hamburgers, two fries, and two chocolate shakes, please,” she says cheerfully.

The voice over the intercom responds, “That’ll be $15.50.”

As Eva pays and collects the food, the smell of grease and chocolate fills the car, making my stomach growl. I unwrap my burger the moment we pull away, taking a bite. The simple taste feels comforting, even though it doesn’t erase the knot of uncertainty in my chest.

“Mmm, so good,” I mumble around a mouthful of food before glancing at her. “You’re still with that guy, Zen, right?”

Eva’s laugh is full of joy. “Yeah, we’re engaged now!”

I pause, my burger halfway to my mouth. “Congratulations,” I say, a genuine smile breaking through my exhaustion.

The rest of the drive is quiet, the only sounds coming from the soft crunch of fries and the faint tunes playing on the radio. By the time Eva pulls into her driveway, we’ve both finished eating.

“Who knew you could drive and eat at the same time?” I tease.

She laughs, her cheeks dimpling. “Takes practice. Hey, why didn’t you just use your car?”

My mood dips, and I sigh, leaning back in my seat. “When Sal took me on the Grand Prix circuit, I left it at my parents’ place.”

We get out of the car, Eva grabbing my suitcases from the trunk as we head toward her front door. The light flickers on as we step inside, and I’m greeted by Zen’s tall frame and familiar golden eyes.

“Where did you go?” he asks Eva, his voice soft but curious. Then his gaze shifts to me, and his face lights up. “Yuki? Is that you?”

I manage a smile. “Hi, Zen. It’s been a while. Oh, and congratulations on the engagement!”

He walks over, wrapping me in a friendly hug. “It’s been way too long! Let’s catch up!”

Eva rolls her eyes and gently pushes Zen away. “She’s been on a plane from china, Zen. She needs to rest. You can catch up tomorrow.”

He grins sheepishly. “Okay, okay. I’ll go get the spare room set up for you. Just relax, Yuki. Shower’s down the hall if you need it.”

As Zen disappears down the hall, I let out a slow breath. Eva’s house feels warm and welcoming, but I can’t shake the feeling of displacement. The cheerful banter and comforting familiarity are a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in my mind.

I look at Eva “I think I’m going to take that shower” she smiles “okay I’ll get one of my pajamas your about my size , I’ll get you a towel it should all be there by the time your done” I smile “thank you Eva” 

I step into the bathroom, the fluorescent light buzzing faintly above me. My fingers fumble as I undress, each motion feeling heavier than it should. Turning the shower knob, I wait, watching the steam rise and fog the mirror. I test the water with my hand, adjusting it until the warmth feels just right, then step in.

The water cascades over my face, tracing paths down my skin, but it does nothing to wash away the whirlwind in my head. Am I even good enough to call myself a skater anymore? The thought hits hard, twisting in my chest. Should I really retire? Is that why I came home, to give up? Or is this just me running away again?

The questions claw at me, one after another, relentless. Was it really Sal’s fault I kept falling, or is that just the excuse I tell myself? And if it’s not… then where do I even go from here? My jaw tightens, the heat of the water matching the burn of frustration under my skin.

I rub shampoo through my hair, but the motions are mechanical, my mind far away. What the hell am I supposed to do now? The words echo in my head, loud and suffocating. My hands pause mid-motion, and I press them against the cool tiles of the shower wall, trying to ground myself. But the storm inside doesn’t quiet.

Eventually, I sigh, letting the water rinse away the suds before I shut it off. I grab the towel hanging nearby, its softness a small comfort as I dry off. A neatly folded set of clothes waits for me on the counter Eva’s doing, no doubt. I pull them on, the familiar scent of fabric softener calming me just a little.

When I step out, Eva is waiting in the hallway, her warm smile disarming. “Looks good. Well, goodnight, Yuki,” she says, her tone light, but her eyes seem to search mine for something deeper.

I force a smile. “Goodnight, Eva. Zane.”

She chuckles softly, tilting her head. “Get some rest. I’ll take you back to your…well, your parents’ place when you’re ready. But first, you’re going to spill everything.”

Her teasing lingers in the air as I nod, the weight of her words settling into the back of my mind. “Sure thing,” I reply, my voice quieter than I mean it to be.

The spare room feels colder than the shower, but the bed is inviting. I sink into it, the soft comforter pulling me into its embrace. For a moment, I let myself exhale, curling under the covers. My body relaxes, even if my mind doesn’t.

Sleep pulls me under faster than I expect. When I wake, my eyes flutter open, and the afternoon light pours through the window. Panic hits as I check my phone “how did I sleep this late?” I scramble out of bed, throwing on some socks as I stumble into the living room.

Eva sits there, cradling a mug of coffee in her hands, her expression a mix of amusement and concern. “Do you always sleep this late?” she asks, one brow arched.

My cheeks flush with embarrassment as I admit, “No, not normally. I’m usually up by 6 a.m. It’s probably the time difference between China and here.” My voice wavers, and I hate how vulnerable I sound.

Eva laughs, light and easy, as if she doesn’t notice the weight behind my words. “Yeah, that’s probably it. So, why are you home?”

I exhale, trying to steady myself, but my chest feels tight. “To figure out my next move for my figure skating career,” I begin, each word dragging with the heaviness I’ve been carrying. “I bombed the finals in the Grand Prix. It made me realize…I have no clue where to go from here. Two years of nonstop training, two full tours of the Grand Prix circuit, and what do I have to show for it? One silver and a bunch of fifth-place finishes.” 

My throat tightens, but the words won’t stop now. “And then I fall five times in the finals. Five times. Now, people are asking if I’m retiring. And honestly? I don’t know anymore. I don’t even know if I’m still in love with figure skating or if I’m just…escaping here.”

The words hang in the air, and I suddenly feel naked, like I’ve just exposed a wound I’ve been trying to hide. Eva takes a slow sip of her coffee, her expression thoughtful, not pitying, which I appreciate more than I can say.

“I’ve never seen you run away from anything,” she says firmly, her eyes steady on mine. “So, I don’t think you’re escaping. But I do believe you’ll find your answer. And when you do, you’ll come back better and stronger than ever.”

Her confidence in me feels like a lifeline, but doubt still gnaws at the edges of my mind. What if she’s wrong? What if I’ve already peaked?

Eva’s smile pulls me back. “Come on. Let’s get you out of those pajamas and head to your parents’ house.”

I force a small smile. “Sure thing.”

She runs off to her room but comes back quickly with a pair of clothes in hand. “Take these,” she says, thrusting them toward me.

In the spare bedroom, I strip out of my pajamas and pull on the outfit she handed me a pair of jeans, black boots, a black tank, and a purple crop top. The outfit is snug, trendy, and entirely not me. I catch my reflection in the mirror and hesitate. Who am I right now? The figure skater chasing perfection, the exhausted daughter coming home, or just someone trying to figure out what’s next?

When I step out, I give Eva a sheepish smile. “Um, this is not really my style, Eva.”

She laughs, full of mischief. “I don’t own a bunch of sweaters and long-sleeve shirts like you do. And, hello, I don’t live on the ice like you!”

I sigh, brushing away the lingering unease. “Let’s get going.”

We walk outside, and Zane is already there, grabbing my suitcases. He gives me a warm smile. “Be safe, and please stay in touch this time.”

His words hit a nerve, and guilt twists in my chest. I’ve been so wrapped up in my world that I’ve pushed away the people who care. I nod, managing a small smile. “I will. I promise.”

As Eva and I get into the car, the ride to my parents’ house is quiet, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Before I know it, we’re there. Eva pops open the trunk and hands me my suitcases, pulling me into a tight hug.

“I hope you figure out what you want,” she whispers.

I smile, though the uncertainty still lingers. “Me too. See you soon, Eva. I’ll let you know when I leave, okay?”

“You better!” she says with a grin, climbing back into the car.

The car disappears down the street, and I stand motionless in the driveway of my parents’ house. The winter air bites at my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the chill seeping into my chest. This place it’s familiar, yet distant. Like a piece of my past I’ve tucked away, unsure if I ever wanted to revisit it. I take a shaky breath, shoulders heavy with the weight of the last few months. But there’s no turning back now. I square them anyway and step forward.

The gravel crunches beneath my boots as I approach the door. My hand hesitates for a moment before I knock. The sound echoes louder than I expect. A flicker of doubt creeps in. What am I even hoping to find here? Closure? Clarity? A sense of belonging? Before I can spiral further, I hear footsteps on the other side.

The door swings open, and there she is my mother. Her face lights up with a mixture of surprise and warmth. “Hi, Mom,” I say, my voice trembling despite my practiced calm.

Her arms wrap around me in an instant, her embrace both comforting and suffocating. “Why didn’t you or Sal tell me you were coming home?” she asks, pulling back just enough to study my face. Her smile falters as she notices something, maybe the exhaustion etched into my features or the uncertainty in my eyes.

I glance down, fumbling for the words. “Um… I’m taking a break from figure skating. After what happened at the Grand Prix finals…” My voice trails off, the memories flashing through my mind the crowd, the fall, the weight of disappointment crushing me. I swallow hard and continue. “Sal and I… we decided to go our separate ways for now while I figure out what’s next.”

Her expression softens, but there’s a flicker of concern. “I see,” she murmurs, stepping aside to let me in. The house smells like cinnamon and home, yet it feels oddly foreign now, like stepping into someone else’s life.

I force a smile as I glance around. “It looks the same. It’s… nice.” My words feel hollow, and I wonder if she can sense it.

Mom smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “So, you’re here until you figure out your next steps, huh?”

I nod, trying to keep my tone light. “Yup.” The word hangs in the air like a question I don’t want to answer. “I can still use my old room?” I ask, hoping to shift the focus.

“Of course,” she says, her smile finally warming. “It’s still your home.”

I hesitate, the weight of my thoughts pressing down. “Look, Mom… I know you think figure skating is my true path. But after everything, after all the epic failures I just… I need time to figure it all out. I hope that’s okay.”

Her eyes soften as she steps closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Why wouldn’t it be okay? I just don’t want to see you throw away a career you’re so good at.”

Her words sting, though I know she means well. I nod, unable to meet her gaze, and drag my suitcases toward my old room. The familiar creak of the door greets me, and for a moment, I feel like I’ve stepped back in time.

The walls are still the same deep purple, the bed draped with a matching canopy. My desk is cluttered with books and knick knacks from a life that feels so far away now. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

It’s exactly the way I left it.

And yet, everything feels different.

I lay back on my bed, staring at the cracks in the ceiling that I used to imagine were constellations. Now, they’re just cracks, spreading like veins through my thoughts. A deep sigh escapes me, unbidden and heavy. My voice breaks the silence as I mutter to myself, “What am I even doing here? I’m home, but where do I go from here?”

The words feel hollow, like they’ve already been asked too many times. My chest tightens, and the ache of failure gnaws at me. The quiet creak of my door pulls me from my thoughts.

“Come in,” I call, forcing my voice to sound steady.

The door opens, and my mother steps in. Her gaze lands on me sprawled across the bed, and she sits down gently on its edge. Her presence is warm but heavy, like she’s carrying my burdens with me.

“What happened?” she asks softly, her voice laced with concern.

I bite my lip, the words spilling out before I can stop them. “I got fifth place. Fifth, Mom. No podium, no glory. And for what? Two years of training, killing myself on the ice while I watch other girls on TikTok, laughing, dating, living their lives. And me? I give everything I have, skating until my legs burn, only to choke when it matters most. Fifth place. Or silver if I’m lucky. Never gold. I just….”

 My voice cracks, and I clutch the bedspread beneath me. “I don’t know if it’s me, if I’m just too weak to handle the pressure, or if it’s Sal. Maybe we’re just not a good team.”

She sighs, her hand resting on mine. “That’s a lot to carry. Take your time, Yuki. You’ll find your way.”

I want to believe her, but her words feel like a Band-Aid over a wound too deep to heal. Still, I force a weak smile. “Thanks, Mom.”

She squeezes my hand before standing and leaving me alone again. The silence wraps around me like a shroud. I stare at the ceiling, lost in the storm of my thoughts. Every misstep, every fall on the ice plays on an endless loop in my mind. Fifth place. Silver medals. Dreams slipping further away with every stumble.

Hours slip by, the daylight outside fading into a muted gray. I let out another sigh, dragging my hands down my face. “I won’t figure this out lying here,” I mutter to the emptiness. “I need to go to the rink.”

Pushing myself off the bed, I shuffle to my suitcase. My skates gleam under the dim light as I pull them out and set them carefully on the floor. My hands tremble as I unzip the bag further, grabbing a long-sleeve blue shirt, a pair of jeans, and some tennis shoes. Changing out of my wrinkled clothes feels like shedding a layer of despair, though the weight in my chest remains. A beanie and coat complete the look, and I grab my skates, determination flickering in the corners of my mind like a weak flame.

As I head for the door, my mother spots me. “Going to the rink?” she asks, her tone light but knowing.

I offer her a small, strained smile. “Yeah. Lying in bed won’t help me figure out if I even love skating anymore.”

Her expression softens, and she nods. “Be careful.”

The cold air bites at my cheeks as I step outside, but I don’t stop. The rink looms ahead, its shadow stretching like a reminder of the countless hours I’ve spent there. I pull out the key and let myself in, the faint hum of the lights greeting me. The rink is empty, the freshly smoothed ice gleaming under the harsh white fluorescents.

My fingers tremble as I lace up my skates, the motion both familiar and foreign after everything that’s happened. Standing at the edge of the rink, I take a deep breath, the cold air stinging my lungs.

“Let’s see if I still love this,” I whisper, stepping onto the ice.

The blade glides forward, and for the first time in a long time, I feel weightless.

I stand at the edge of the rink, my breath curling into the cold air. The silence wraps around me, heavier than any crowd I’ve ever faced. My skates grip the ice, grounding me, reminding me of every fall, every mistake, every time I came up short. I tighten my laces, the familiar ritual giving me something solid to hold onto.

“Let’s see if I can still do this,” I whisper, the sound vanishing into the emptiness.

I push off, gliding forward. My movements are stiff at first, hesitant. The ice feels foreign, like a place I’ve been before but can’t quite remember how to navigate. The edges of my blades cut into the surface, a sharp reminder of the criticisms and near-misses that haunt me. That fifth-place finish claws at my mind, a wound that hasn’t healed.

But as I skate, my body begins to remember. The rhythm comes back, my muscles taking over where my thoughts falter. I gather myself for a double Axel. My forward edge bites cleanly, and I leap, spinning twice in the air. It’s a tight, controlled blur, and when my blade touches the ice again, the landing is smooth, soft. A delicate arc marks my triumph.

I let out a shaky breath, a small smile pulling at my lips. “Still got it,” I murmur, though the words feel fragile, like they might shatter under the weight of my doubts.

But it’s not enough. It never feels like enough.

The rink stretches out before me, a vast expanse of possibilities I’m too afraid to chase. I pick up speed, pushing harder with each stroke. The ice hums beneath me, the vibrations shooting up through my legs. My heart pounds as I prepare for a triple Lutz. My blade glides effortlessly on the back outside edge, and with a quick strike of my toe pick, I launch myself into the air.

Three rotations blur together, and for a moment, time slows. The lights overhead feel brighter, harsher, but I block them out. When I land, it’s clean, steady. My free leg sweeps back in an elegant arc, finishing the movement with precision.

My chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, my heart pounding as exhilaration battles with doubt. The triple felt good, better than it has in a long time. But I know what’s coming next. The quad.

I slow, circling the rink. The fear presses against my chest, wrapping around me like a vise. My coach’s voice rings in my ears, sharp and cold. “You don’t commit to the jump, Yuki. That’s why you fall.”

My jaw tightens. Maybe he was right. Maybe I’m the one holding myself back.

I draw a deep breath, letting the cold air fill my lungs, and prepare for the quad toe loop. My blades whisper against the ice as I gather speed. Every movement feels deliberate, calculated. My toe pick strikes with authority, and I launch into the air.

Four rotations. Everything spins faster than I expect, my arms pulled tight, my body compact. For a moment, it feels like I’m flying. Then I land, the impact jarring. My blade wobbles, my balance faltering for a split second before I steady myself. My knees bend, absorbing the shock.

I exhale sharply, the rush of relief mixing with the sting of frustration. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even close. But it was a start.

I skate to the center of the rink, my chest heaving, my legs aching. The silence feels different now….less oppressive, more inviting. I stand there for a moment, letting it wash over me. The ice beneath my blades feels steady, solid, and I can’t help but remember why I started skating in the first place.

“This,” I whisper, my voice steady this time. “This is what I love.”

The realization is fragile, but it’s enough to reignite something inside me. With renewed determination, I launch into another sequence. Every jump, every spin, every carve into the ice feels like reclaiming a piece of myself.

The doubts don’t disappear, but they are quiet. The rink becomes my sanctuary again, my blank canvas, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I remember what it means to feel alive.

I take a deep breath, letting the cold air settle in my chest as I glide to the edge of the rink. The quiet scrape of my blades echoes in the empty arena. I grab my water bottle from the ramp and take a slow sip, the chill of the drink grounding me. As I lower the bottle, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.

“Yuki!” Lilly’s voice rings out, cheerful and warm. She’s clapping as she steps down toward the rink, her smile wide and genuine.

“So, the rumors are true…..you’re back,” she says, her voice laced with a teasing edge.

I can’t help but smile, though it feels small, tentative. “Hi, Lilly. How’s everything? Sorry for sneaking in.”

She laughs lightly, leaning on the boards. “Yuki, we gave you that key so you can skate whenever you need to. So, what’s going on? How long are you staying?”

I sigh, pulling the door open and slipping my skate guards onto my blades. I step off the ice, standing next to her. “I’m trying to figure out if I’m still in love with it… skating, I mean. And as for how long I’ll be here? I don’t know.” The words feel heavy, even as they leave my lips.

Lilly studies me, her smile softening. “Two years, huh? You’ve been gone a long time.”

“Two years,” I echo, my voice quieter. “Two years, two rounds of the Grand Prix season, and not one gold medal to show for it. I’ve been training harder than ever, but… I’m stuck. I don’t know if I need a new coach or if I just don’t have it anymore. I need to figure out if I still want this, if I’m still passionate about skating, or if it’s time to let it go.”

There’s a silence between us, and I can feel the weight of my words hanging in the air.

Lilly leans a little closer, resting her arm lightly against mine. “You want to know what I saw out there?”

I glance at her, hesitant. “Sure.”

Her smile widens, but there’s something steady and confident in her tone when she speaks. “I saw a girl who’s destined for gold. Someone who’s worked harder than anyone and still finds joy out there. It was like the world disappeared, and all that mattered to you was the sound of your blade on the ice. That’s not someone who’s lost her passion, Yuki. That’s someone who’s just… stuck in her own head.”

Her words hit me in a way I didn’t expect. For a moment, I feel lighter, like maybe the weight I’ve been carrying isn’t as crushing as it seemed. I force a small smile. “Thanks, Lilly.”

She smiles back, nudging me gently. “So, what are you gonna do?”

I pause, the question turning over and over in my mind. “I… I have no clue. But thanks for saying that. It means a lot.”

I pack up my things and head to my car, the crisp evening air biting at my skin. Placing my skates in the backseat, I climb in and drive home, my thoughts spinning faster than any jump I’ve landed.

Once home, I step inside, the warmth of the house wrapping around me. I make my way to my room, setting my skates carefully on the floor before collapsing onto the bed. The sigh that escapes me feels like it’s been building for days.

“What am I going to do?” I whisper to the empty room. My voice sounds small, almost childlike. “I wish there was some kind of sign. Something to tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

I sit up, running a hand through my hair, the frustration and uncertainty pressing against my chest. After a moment, I pull myself off the bed and head to my closet, slipping out of my rink clothes and into soft, silky pajamas. The fabric feels like a small comfort against my tired skin.

I crawl back into bed, curling up under the blankets. My mind is still racing, but the exhaustion in my body is louder. As I close my eyes, the familiar scent of home lulls me into sleep, though the question lingers in the back of my mind; What am I supposed to do now?