𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭

three

Delphine

It's Thursday, and I'm halfway through my early morning practice. By the time I step off the ice, my legs are burning, and my arms ache from a dozen lifts and spins. But it's worth it. Each perfect glide, every turn, every routine—it makes me feel like I'm in control, even if it's just for these few hours.

I walk over to the benches, where Eliza's waiting for me with that usual soft smile on her face. She's been my friend for ages, one of the few people I trust to be around me when I'm skating. 

Eliza pulls off her gloves and stretches her arms over her head. "You looked great out there," she says, slipping into her skates. Her long brunette hair is tied back in a neat braid, her hazel eyes shining with that ever-present warmth.

Unlike me, Eliza has this effortless charm that makes her well-loved by everyone, and she radiates kindness in a way that I just don't.

"Thanks," I mutter, tossing my water bottle into my bag. "You're up for your solo?" 

She nods, but there's something behind her eyes that says otherwise. "Yep. But, honestly, my nerves get the best of me sometimes. Especially knowing that everyone expects us to be perfect." She sighs, then brightens up as if forcing herself to shake off the nerves. "But hey, I'm just glad to have a break from all the noise and chaos for once." 

I can't help but laugh. "Aren't you dating a hockey player? Your life is basically chaos on speed." 

She smirks, brushing it off. "Ethan? Yeah, he's a piece of work sometimes. But he's good to me." Her smile turns a little dreamy, and I catch her stealing a glance at the doors to the rink. "Besides, he's not just a hockey guy. He's different." 

"Sure, he is," I tease, rolling my eyes. Hockey players—there's no end to the ego in that world.

And I get it; the game demands confidence, but the cockiness that comes with it is exhausting to witness.

Not my type, not my world. 

As Eliza finally steps onto the ice, she moves with a certain elegance, the kind that draws everyone's eyes.

I take a moment to watch her as she starts her routine. She's fluid, graceful, the opposite of everything I am. Where I'm sharp and precise, she's all smooth lines and softness.

Watching her, I can't help but feel a pang of something—jealousy, maybe? Or envy?

I'd never admit it out loud, but sometimes I wonder what it would be like to skate like her.

To be as gentle, as well-liked as she is.

After a few minutes, she glides back to the bench, her face flushed and glowing. "Okay, that wasn't so bad." She slides her hand over her braid, looking pleased. "I've got a lecture at ten, so I need to rush, but we should meet up later."

"Yeah, sure," I say, grabbing my bag. "Maybe at lunch?"

Eliza nods, a bright smile lighting up her face. "Perfect. I'll see you then, Dels."