The sunlight was already spilling through the curtains when Aria stirred. She blinked against it, her head heavy, the air too still. Slowly, she rolled onto her side and glanced at the clock on her nightstand. Her eyes widened.
11:42 a.m.
She sat upright instantly, the blanket sliding off her shoulders. "Seriously?" she muttered aloud, pressing her palm against her forehead. She was an early riser by habit, someone who believed mornings held the promise of discipline and order. To wake up nearly at noon—it was unthinkable.
"Brilliant, Aria," she grumbled, throwing her legs out of bed. "Absolutely brilliant. Half the day wasted."
Her stomach fluttered with irritation, but then the fog of memory cleared, and last night came rushing back. The gala, the stares, the suffocating laughter echoing through the ballroom—and her sudden decision to leave. She inhaled slowly. At least she'd gotten some rest.
Then she remembered. Lila.
"Her date," Aria whispered to herself. A sudden burst of excitement replaced her self-annoyance. She reached for her phone on the nightstand and dialed.
The line rang only once before Lila's bright, bubbling voice answered.
"Aria! Finally! I thought you'd never call—I was dying to tell you everything."
Aria leaned back against her pillows, a smile tugging at her lips. "So? Don't keep me in suspense. How was it? Don't you dare say fine. I'll hang up if you say fine."
Lila laughed, the sound warm and carefree. "It was perfect. We had dinner, walked along the riverside, and—oh, Aria, he's even better than I imagined. Charming, attentive… he actually listens when I speak. Can you believe that?"
"That's already a miracle," Aria teased, her tone dry. "So the date didn't end with awkward silence or you tripping over your shoes?"
"Nope," Lila replied proudly. "Not even once." She lowered her voice conspiratorially. "He walked me home, Aria. And—he asked if we could meet again."
Aria clapped a hand over her mouth to hide her laugh. "You sound like a lovesick teenager. Who are you and what have you done with the pragmatic, sensible Lila?"
"Shut up," Lila said between giggles. Then, as though only now remembering, she added, "But what about you? How was the gala? I want details. Did Henry glare at you all night? Did you trip in those heels? Did anyone faint from seeing you in red?"
Aria rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress the grin spreading across her face. "Oh, you should've seen their expressions. It was as if a ghost had walked in wearing scarlet. Mouths open, eyes wide… I swear one old man nearly dropped his glass."
Lila's laughter rang through the speaker. "I knew it. You must've been stunning. Oh, I wish I could've seen their faces."
"You would've loved it," Aria admitted, chuckling softly. "But let's just say the evening had its… complications. I'll tell you later. How about after your workout? We can meet at our usual café."
"Perfect," Lila agreed. "I'll see you in a couple of hours."
By the time Aria ended the call, her earlier frustration had dissolved into something steadier. She pushed herself from the bed, determined not to wallow. She had a routine, and routines grounded her.
Breakfast was simple: a slice of toast with honey, a handful of berries, and black coffee strong enough to sharpen the edges of her thoughts. Afterward, she changed into leggings and a fitted top, tied her hair back, and slipped into her sneakers.
The gym was only a short drive away. Inside, the smell of polished floors and faint disinfectant greeted her, along with the rhythmic hum of treadmills and clank of weights. She slipped into her routine easily—warm-ups, stretches, focused sets. Her body remembered the motions, the discipline, the structure.
Yet halfway through, as sweat dampened her temples and her muscles burned pleasantly, a thought struck her: Why am I doing this here?
Her gaze drifted toward the mirrored wall, catching her reflection mid-motion. She didn't see herself in the sleek, sterile environment of the gym. What she saw—what she longed to see—was herself gliding across a sheet of ice, arms outstretched, the cold biting at her cheeks, the world silenced by the sharp scrape of her blades.
The longing pierced through her with startling clarity. It wasn't the gym I wanted. It was the rink. Always the rink.
She slowed her movements, letting her arms fall to her sides, her chest rising and falling. The ache of old injuries whispered through her memory, but so did the thrill of freedom. She had been running from that dream since her fall, pretending she was content without it. But she wasn't. She never had been.
Maybe it isn't over, she thought. Maybe I can find a way back.
An hour later, showered and refreshed, Aria slipped into a cream blouse and high-waisted trousers. She packed her laptop into her bag and headed to the café where she and Lila often met. It was a quaint place tucked along a side street, with ivy creeping across its windows and the comforting smell of roasted beans spilling into the air.
She claimed a small table by the window and ordered tea. As she waited, she opened her laptop and began searching.
Chronic ankle injuries in figure skaters. Surgical interventions. Rehabilitation programs.
Article after article scrolled past her screen. Some were technical, others more anecdotal. She took notes, listing out clinics, names of doctors with promising specialties. Each click fueled a spark of hope she hadn't felt in years.
By the time Lila arrived, Aria's screen displayed a carefully curated list of orthopedic specialists. She quickly minimized the window and rose to greet her friend.
Lila slid into the chair opposite her, her cheeks flushed from the walk, her smile impossibly bright. "Okay," she said, barely waiting for her latte. "Where were we? Oh yes—my amazing date."
Aria laughed. "You've been glowing since you sat down. Tell me everything."
And Lila did. She painted the evening in vivid strokes: the candlelit dinner, the effortless conversation, the playful banter that had left her cheeks sore from smiling.
"He's so grounded, Aria. Confident, but not arrogant. And he's ridiculously handsome. Like, unfairly so."
Aria rested her chin on her hand, amused. "I suppose this lucky man has a name?"
Lila hesitated just long enough for suspense. Then she leaned closer, eyes sparkling, and whispered, "Elias."
Aria blinked. The name landed like a stone in her stomach. "Elias?"
Lila nodded eagerly. "Yes! Elias. He's a doctor, young but already successful. We met at a party with some friends, and I swear it felt like fate."
Aria's voice sharpened, though she tried to disguise it. "Elias… Harlow?"
The question hung between them, heavy, pulling the air taut.
Lila's smile widened, oblivious to the storm brewing in Aria's chest. "Yes! That's him. Do you know him?"
Aria sat back slowly, her hands tightening around her teacup. Her pulse quickened, though her expression remained carefully neutral. Inside, her thoughts spiraled.