CHAPTER 3

Memories on Ice

Pablo woke with the faint echo of ice lingering in his memory. He had dreamt of the rink—of the lights reflecting off the white floor—and of a pair of eyes watching him from behind the railing. He couldn’t name it yet, but something about Matías had clung to him, like invisible frost on his skin.

The morning greeted him with the same routine as always. His mother in the kitchen, his father flipping through the newspaper as if searching its pages for an answer to the choices Pablo still didn’t have the courage to make.

He ate in silence, dodging the quiet judgment behind every glance. He knew what they thought: that time spent on the ice was time wasted. That skating was just a teenage fantasy. But they didn’t understand. They couldn’t. For Pablo, the ice wasn’t a hobby—it was a secret language. A way of saying everything he was too afraid to shout.

He arrived at Fantasy Skate like someone returning home. The cold air brushed his face, and the emptiness of the rink wrapped around him with a peace he couldn’t find anywhere else. He laced his skates, stepped onto the ice, and in every glide he looked for more than technique. He searched for meaning.

And then he saw him. Or rather—he felt him.

Matías was there, standing off to the side with Verónica. He wore a black beanie and a scarf that covered half his face, but Pablo recognized him instantly. It was him. That presence that had made him spin on the ice as if dancing for someone.

Their eyes met for a second—just enough.
And that was all it took.

Pablo pretended nothing was happening. He finished his practice, stepped off the ice, and hid in the locker room. But he couldn’t stop thinking about those eyes. That flicker that seemed to burn from a distance. Something inside him stirred—something new. Something he didn’t know whether to fear or follow.

As he was drying his hair, his phone buzzed. It was Hugo, the rink manager. He wanted to talk to him about an offer: private lessons for a new student who wanted to learn how to skate. Pablo agreed without thinking much. The extra money wouldn’t hurt. But when he heard the name, his body went tense.

—His name’s Matías, —Hugo said.

Pablo swallowed hard, as if something had cracked inside him.

—Alright, —he answered softly.

Destiny, he thought, sometimes glides on ice blades.
And sometimes, those blades go straight for the heart.