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Harper's POV: "Another day, another scoop," I muttered, shoving my recorder into my bag.
The bustling city streets were my stage, and I thrived on the chaos. Reporting on a charity hockey game wasn't exactly Pulitzer material, but hey, a paycheck's a paycheck.
The ice rink was packed with spectators, their cheers bouncing off the walls as skaters darted across the polished surface.
The air smelled of popcorn, sweat, and excitement—a cocktail of energy I usually thrived on. But tonight, my attention was elsewhere.
A flash of light caught my eye—the rink’s spotlight landing on a figure skating across the ice.
She moved with an elegance that contradicted the grim determination etched on her face.
"Who’s that?" I asked a fellow reporter. "Ayla Brown," he replied, barely looking up. "The star player. Keeps to herself, though. Good luck getting a word out of her."
Challenge accepted, I thought, smirking. Ayla was an introverted hockey prodigy who avoided interviews like the plague. Lucky me, I was assigned to break her silence. As the final whistle blew, I made my way toward her.
Ayla's POV: The rink was my sanctuary, the only place where I wasn’t Ayla-the-shy-girl or Ayla-the-weird-one, but Ayla-the-player.
The game had been tough, but we’d won, and that should’ve felt good. Instead, my stomach churned as I spotted him—Harper, the reporter who always had a cocky grin and a question ready.
I skated off the ice, my heart pounding. I knew he’d corner me, and I wasn’t sure I could handle it.
Talking to people wasn’t my strength, especially someone as confident and outgoing as him.
"Ayla! A moment?" his voice cut through the crowd. I froze, my eyes darting around for an escape route. Too late.
He was already in front of me, his notebook and pen at the ready.
His smile was disarming, but I wasn’t about to let my guard down.
Harper's POV: "Another day, another scoop," I muttered, shoving my recorder into my bag.
The bustling city streets were my stage, and I thrived on the chaos. Reporting on a charity hockey game wasn't exactly Pulitzer material, but hey, a paycheck's a paycheck.
The ice rink was packed with spectators, their cheers bouncing off the walls as skaters darted across the polished surface.
The air smelled of popcorn, sweat, and excitement—a cocktail of energy I usually thrived on. But tonight, my attention was elsewhere.
A flash of light caught my eye—the rink’s spotlight landing on a figure skating across the ice.
She moved with an elegance that contradicted the grim determination etched on her face.
"Who’s that?" I asked a fellow reporter. "Ayla Brown," he replied, barely looking up. "The star player. Keeps to herself, though. Good luck getting a word out of her."
Challenge accepted, I thought, smirking. Ayla was an introverted hockey prodigy who avoided interviews like the plague. Lucky me, I was assigned to break her silence. As the final whistle blew, I made my way toward her.
Ayla's POV: The rink was my sanctuary, the only place where I wasn’t Ayla-the-shy-girl or Ayla-the-weird-one, but Ayla-the-player.
The game had been tough, but we’d won, and that should’ve felt good. Instead, my stomach churned as I spotted him—Harper, the reporter who always had a cocky grin and a question ready.
I skated off the ice, my heart pounding. I knew he’d corner me, and I wasn’t sure I could handle it.
Talking to people wasn’t my strength, especially someone as confident and outgoing as him.
"Ayla! A moment?" his voice cut through the crowd. I froze, my eyes darting around for an escape route. Too late.
He was already in front of me, his notebook and pen at the ready.
His smile was disarming, but I wasn’t about to let my guard down.
~Thankyou have a good day ahead!!!
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