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Harper's POV: "Ayla! A moment?" I called after her, weaving through the crowd. She paused, her eyes wide as if I were the devil himself. Up close, her intensity was striking—not just in her sharp features but in the way she carried herself, guarded yet poised.

"I don’t do interviews," she said, her voice trembling but firm. She clutched her hockey stick like a lifeline.

"C’mon, it’s just a few questions," I said, holding up my hands in mock surrender. "What are you afraid of?"

Her gaze turned icy. "Not you."

"Then humor me," I replied, leaning in slightly. "Your fans want to know what makes Ayla tick."

She looked past me, her jaw tightening. "I play for myself, not for fans. Excuse me."

She brushed past me, leaving me with more questions than answers. But I wasn’t about to give up. Ayla was a story waiting to be told, and I was determined to uncover it.

Ayla's POV: Harper had this way of pulling words out of you, like he knew where to dig.

I hated the way he looked at me—like he could see every fear, every flaw.

But what unnerved me the most was the flicker of curiosity I felt toward him. Why did he care? And why did I care that he cared?

I hurried to the locker room, willing my heart to stop racing. He was just a reporter, I told myself.

Just another person trying to pry into my life. But his persistence lingered in my mind, making it harder to breathe.

~Thankyou have a good day ahead!!!