All Chapters of Skating With Hearts : Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

I stared at my reflection like someone who’d forgotten how to breathe.The girl in the mirror wasn’t the same one who once stormed out of a rink crying, or the one who hid behind sarcasm and silence because she didn’t know what to do with her pain and fear. This version of me—hair straightened and softly curled at the ends with a swipe of my gloss over my lips catching the light—looked fragile. Hopeful. Terrified.She looked…beautiful even as she was wearing her old hoodie for the sake of familiarity.“Absolutely not,” June declared as if on cue while bursting through the dorm door like a colorful tornado with a brush clenched between her teeth and a pile of clothes in her arms. Her backpack was on her back, showing she was just coming back from class. “You’re not wearing that tragic hoodie. God, Skylar, I can not believe you would be wearing that if I didn't come in. I had an idea you would do this which is why I bought some clothes as I was coming back from classes but I was sincer

I woke up the next morning smiling like an idiot.It was the kind of smile you can’t fight even if you tried. The morning sunlight poured through the blinds in a warm and soft manner and kissed my face like it was in on my secret…like it was sharing in my happiness.I clutched my phone against my chest, the same one I’d fallen asleep scrolling through. Ryans’ text from midnight was still glowing faintly at the top of the screen. Seeing it made me yearn for him in the most profound manner.I read Ryans’ text again: Get some sleep, sunshine. I like knowing you’ll wake up smiling.And damn it, I did. How I did. “Someone’s glowing,” June’s voice suddenly sang from across the room before I even opened my eyes fully. She was standing by the mirror, toothbrush hanging from her mouth, wearing her ‘Drama Queen in Progress’ T-shirt and one sock. “I can literally see the hearts floating above your head.”I groaned, burying my face in my pillow. “Go away, June.”“Nope.” She yanked the pillow off

By the time I reached the gym that same night, I was shaking. Badly. It was not the nervous kind of shaking. Rather, it was the kind that comes from rage so sharp it feels cold.After the cafe, Ryans had dropped me off at my dorm promising to call me later. Then he left. June was not around when I entered and so there was no one to interrupt my raging thoughts of Caleb as I paced to and fro the sitting room. After fifteen minutes of restless pacing, I knew one thing:I had to go see the bastard called Caleb because I had had enough of his nonsense. I had had enough!It was with that thought in mind that I left the dorm room and pounced to the gym. After one year of dating Caleb, I knew that if it was not yet time to indulge in reckless partying with his friends, he was either at class, or at the rink practising, or at the gym toning up his body. So I went to the gym first. The doors slammed behind me, echoing off the walls. The place was nearly empty except for Caleb and a few o

To me, today's classes were the craziest I had in a while and by the time I dragged myself to the dorm, my brain felt like mashed potatoes. The sun was already dipping low, painting the campus in that warm orange glow that made everything look deceptively peaceful and it was definitely unlike my schedule, which was currently a flaming wreck.I kicked the door shut with my foot, muttering under my breath, “I swear, if I see another Photoshop layer today, I might cry.”Majoring in graphic design and art had sounded romantic when I first picked it—visions of creativity, color palettes, and digital freedom. In reality, it was a caffeine-dependent roller coaster of deadlines, critiques, and professors who thought students were nocturnal creatures that lived on Adobe software.Today had been a prime example of chaos. My morning class had started with a surprise quiz on design principles because apparently, torture is a valid teaching method. Then my art theory lecturer spent forty minutes

It was now three weeks to the championship, and the air in the rink felt like static — charged, relentless and impossible to ignore. Literally everyone was running on fumes.The sound of blades slicing ice filled the arena as we ran through drills for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Coach Donovan’s whistle pierced the air again and it was sharp enough to make even Liam flinch.“Faster transitions!” he barked. “You’re skating like you’ve got anchors for legs!”Peter muttered, “Well, technically we do and they’re called exhaustion,” earning a jab from me as I skated past.“Shut up before he hears you,” I hissed, barely catching the puck as Liam passed it my way.We’d been at it since dawn. The rink lights hummed overhead, reflecting off the ice like fractured diamonds. The cold bit through my gloves, the kind that no amount of movement could shake off.Coach blew the whistle again, pacing the edge of the rink. He looked… off. His posture wasn’t as sharp as usual and there