Chapter 11 Slippery Start
Slippery Start
Many would’ve dubbed me an idiot for asking an Olympic gold medalist—the one who holds the world record for the youngest figure skating champion in the world—to be the one to teach me how to skate. But if anyone could guide a ballerina on the ice, it would be him.
I got up early that morning, did my skincare routine, and sat through an interrogation from Sydney about my intended whereabouts.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she gasped, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. “I can’t believe you actually managed to convince him to do this.”
“Well, there’s no backing out now despite how nerve-wracking it is.” I brushed my hair in the mirror. “I have to do this.”
“Yesoh, babe, I say this with all due respect, but you don’t know the first thing about balance. Be it on ice or in your real life, it’s the one thing you’ve never quite mastered.” Sydney sighed, placing her sleeping mask back on.
“Okay ouch.” I scoffed but swallowed her words regardless. “That’s where Wynter and I have always differed I guess.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, he knows everything about balance and being still. I’ve been turbulent my whole life.” I grabbed my bag.
“Then maybe this will be good for you, Soh,” Sydney pondered in a sleepy haze. “Maybe Wynter can teach you how to be still.”
I pulled my scarf tighter around my neck, the cold biting through my layers as I stepped into the rink.
The air was sharp, with that unmistakable, metallic chill of ice, and my breath curled out in soft clouds.
It was barely dawn, the soft pink of early morning just beginning to creep through the high windows.
I’d thought I’d have a moment alone, a chance to steady myself and breathe. But he was already there.
Wynter.
He moved across the ice as if gravity barely applied to him, each glide a smooth, silent stroke that made it seem like the rink was his and I was just…
a visitor. It was unnerving to watch him—someone so completely at ease, so at home, while I felt like I was about to fall over with each step closer to the ice.
It felt overpowering to witness him like this, in his frosty secluded domain.
Here on the ice he was a master of his own craft.
I glanced away, I couldn’t watch. It felt too personal.
This was the world he was locked in and I’d never truly be invited in.
Be it in the woes of our youth of braces and dewy freckled skin or in our adulthood with his sharp jawline and calloused palms. He was impenetrable. And it was an intentional effort to be so.
When he noticed me, he slowed and skated over, wearing all black that cradled his body in all the right places.
His gaze was cool and assessing. Standing in front of me, he crossed his arms, and the way he looked down at my skates made my cheeks burn.
I felt as though he could decipher every miniscule detail I’d fumbled with that morning—every uneven lace, every awkward knot.
“Those are your skates?” His voice was quiet, but there was an unmistakable smirk playing at the edges of his mouth.
I looked down, cheeks warm despite the chill, at my admittedly unimpressive rental skates.
I opened my mouth to defend them, or maybe just to come up with something witty, but he moved before I could get the words out.
His silence spoke volumes; you are not like me, out there you may be in control but here, on the ice, in my domain—I own you.
“Your laces,” he pointed out.
With a smooth, effortless grace, he knelt down in front of me, his fingers working over my laces. His hands moved with this careful, practised confidence, tightening each strand, checking the fit, adjusting the tension around my ankles.
“It’s too tight,” I complained in discomfort.
“It’s supposed to be,” he assured me, “if they’re loose you’re going to find it difficult to have direction.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. Therefore,” he tightened them even more, and I sucked in a sharp breath, “tighter is better.”
I could feel the heat radiating from his hands even through the layers of fabric, and the closeness was…unexpected. I held my breath, caught between nervousness and an odd, tingling awareness of how close he was.
“There,” he said softly, standing up in one fluid motion, his face hovering a little too close to mine. His eyes lingered on me, calm and unreadable, like he was sizing me up. He extended a hand, his fingers outstretched. “Ready?”
Ready? Not in the slightest. But his hand was there, warm and steady, and something about the way he looked at me—like he was daring me—made it impossible to say no. I swallowed and nodded, not quite slipping my gloved hand into his yet.
“Before we start I need to know why,” he insisted.
“Why what?”
“Why you want to learn how to skate.”
“Because it looks…fun,” I lied through my teeth. “And I need some fun in my life right now.”
“Then go out to a club like most university students do, don’t put blades under your feet and hope to balance.”
“I’m not a drinker and neither are you,” I reminded him, and he paused.
“You remember that?” he queried in surprise.
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” I assured him as a beat of silence lingered between us. “So just…teach me I want to learn.”
The moment our fingers met, a jolt ran through me.
His grip was firm, grounding me, yet his fingers were gentle enough and so very careful.
There was nothing reckless about his touch.
Wynter held me as I took that first, unsteady step onto the ice, the cool surface meeting my blades with a slight, terrifying give.
Instantly, I could feel my balance shift, my knees wobbling as I tightened my grip on his hand.
“Relax,” he said, his voice a low, almost amused murmur that somehow cut right through my panic.
He stepped closer, guiding me forward so he was just in front of me, close enough that I could see the faint silver flecks in his eyes.
“You’re thinking too much. Focus on your centre of balance. Trust the ice.”
“I don’t know how,” I admitted suddenly feeling incredibly anxious.
“Mimic my body language, don’t curl in on yourself, open up, Yesoh.”
Easy for him to say. But I forced myself to take a breath, letting his steady grip anchor me.
Copying his stance, my feet trembled, my knees felt like jelly, and every muscle in my body was tight with the urge to grip onto him for dear life.
But there was something about the way he held me—close enough to be reassuring, distant enough to remind me that he wasn’t going to do all the work.
“Just take it slow,” he instructed, his eyes watching me intently, like he was studying my every move. He had this strange way of looking right through me, and it sent another wave of nervousness curling through my stomach.
Somehow, with Wynter holding onto me, I managed to take a few tentative glides forward. My legs shook, my balance wavered, and every time I thought I might tip over, his hand would tighten, steadying me. I couldn’t tell if I was more frustrated or relieved.
“Not bad,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, and that sure as hell did it because the instant he separated from me, I made a sharp turn and fell to the floor. “Well.”
“Ow.” I cursed under my breath, struggling to get up and falling back down every time. Wynter just stood there above me. “This is impossible!”
“Far from it. Just do what your godforsaken pride won’t let you and ask for my help.”
“I’d rather die,” I responded. “I don’t need your help.”
“Then stand up,” he directed, and I attempted once more but failed miserably.
“I…just…do it okay,” I huffed.
“Do what?” he teased.
“Please just help me, Wyn.” My voice came out far more vulnerable than expected. I even let the nickname we all used to call him slip, and I could tell his eyes softened that. “Please, you know I can’t do this without you.”
He then reached out his hand to help me up and anchor me, “You’ll soon learn that a huge part of learning to skate is knowing when to ask for help, and that unlike everything else you cannot and will not be perfect at it on your first attempt.”
“Whatever,” I grumbled.
“You’re truly the most stubborn person I’ve ever come across, Yesoh Yeo.” He shook his head with a smile. “Skate around the rink ten times. For the last five you can’t hold onto the railing.”
“You’re insane,” I huffed, sweating profusely.
“You’re yet to see that side of me, so don’t awaken it so early,” he warned, skating away and leaving me alone in the middle of the ice.
Cold, was indeed his nature. Maybe there was no rewiring that.
“That’s all for today. Try to keep up next time because we’ll be doing a lot more than just balance exercises and gliding.”
I rolled my eyes as Wynter glided away, fading into the distance. And just like that he was gone.
Just then I heard a round of applause and caught a glimpse of Cahya and Soleh sitting by the bleachers with mouthfuls of assorted snacks. Soleh’s fluffy red scarf was practically swallowing him whole. “Yay, go, Soh!” he cheered, and I couldn’t help but smile.
Always my number one cheerleaders.
“How did you guys know I’d be here?” I wondered, making my way over to them as I began to take off my skates.
“Did you not want us to come?” Soleh pouted, looking disappointed.
“No it’s not that, I’m just surprised,” I clarified and hugged him with one arm. “I’m always happy to see you, Soleh.”
“Hey! What about me?” Cahya gasped in offense.
“You are annoying,” I reminded him, “Soleh is normal and peaceful.”
“This is your last year with me on campus, you should appreciate my presence more, after that you’re on your own, baby sister,” he reminded me as if I needed it.
“We brought you the food you wanted.” Soleh handed me a pack from a waffle place nearby. “Honey and Biscoff cookies just like you’ve always loved.”
“Thank you, I’m starving. I hope you didn’t use your pocket money for this, Soleh I’ll pay you back, yeah?” I conceded.
“Oh, we didn’t pay for all this food,” Soleh mentioned, “Dad would never let me buy an all-you-can-eat bag of gummy worms!”
“Then who…” I muttered, checking the note on the pack that read;
Keep pushing
- Wyn
“Oh,” I mumbled, swallowing hard.
“Yeah, ready to head back?” Cahya asked, carrying my bags for me. “You smell like you ran a marathon…in spoiled milk.”
“Gee thanks, pal, I had no idea,” I huffed, taking a whiff and wanting to die at the thought that Wynter had to tolerate me like this. “Yeah, let’s head back.”
The very instant I was back in my room, I couldn’t help but reach for the diary.
I knew it was wrong, but my curiosity—as it often did—got the very best of me.
I couldn’t help but want to know the truth about what happened all those summers ago, and I knew that the only way was to turn every page, to read every word, and this time, there was no turning back.