Heartbreak and Happiness

"Skating, Stumbles, and Something Else"

After the warmth of adrak chai and the laughter-filled tent-building session, the evening air had grown colder—crisper, almost sharper—as if reminding us that night in the mountains held its own kind of adventure.

That's when the seniors gathered us again, their voices full of excitement.

"Alright juniors," one of them announced, "next up on your itinerary—ice skating!"

A cheer rippled through the group, loud and enthusiastic. Everyone seemed thrilled by the idea. Everyone… except me.

I smiled weakly, trying to blend in, but my stomach had already twisted into nervous knots. Ice skating? That sounded like a guaranteed disaster for someone like me. I had never even worn skates before, let alone stood upright on ice.

Still, I went along. I didn't want to seem scared or left out.

The skating rink was set up near a clearing, smooth and shimmering beneath fairy lights strung between the trees. The snow around it glowed under the soft golden hue of lanterns. It looked magical… and terrifying.

I stood at the edge, skates in hand, watching as others began to glide across like it was the most natural thing in the world. Simmi and Ruhi were already out there, holding each other and laughing every time they stumbled. Even Aarvi, who had never skated before, was giving it a go—shaky, but determined.

I, on the other hand, just stared at the ice like it might swallow me whole.

And then… a voice behind me.

"Need a hand?"

I turned around.

It was Nikhil.

His hair was slightly tousled, his cheeks pink from the cold, and that familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his lips—but his eyes? They were soft. Kind.

I hesitated. "I've never done this before," I admitted, my voice quieter than I meant it to be.

"I know," he said simply, already kneeling down beside me to help with the skates. "That's why I'm here."

He tied the laces for me, making sure everything was snug and secure. Then he stood, offered his hand, and without waiting for me to overthink it, gently pulled me onto the ice.

And just like that… I was skating.

Well, wobbling.

My legs felt like jelly, my arms flailed slightly, and my balance was a complete mess—but Nikhil never let go.

"Look at me," he said, his voice low, steady. "Not your feet. Not the ice. Just me."

So I did.

And something strange happened.

The world stopped spinning. My legs still trembled, but there was an anchor now — his hand in mine, his calm guiding voice, his reassuring presence.

"You're doing fine," he murmured.

"I'm barely moving," I replied, half-laughing, half-panicking.

"But you're not falling," he countered. "That's a win in my book."

With every careful step, I grew a little steadier. Every time I thought I'd slip, he caught me — sometimes with a quick grip on my hand, sometimes with a hand at my waist, and once… with his arm completely around me.

That moment stretched a little longer than necessary.

Neither of us said anything about it.

We just kept skating—together.

At one point, we reached the center of the rink, where the light was softest, the crowd thinner. I wasn't holding his hand anymore, but I could still feel the warmth of it like an echo.

"You're better than you think," he said quietly.

I glanced at him. "Or maybe you're just really good at not letting me fall."

He looked at me then—really looked. The kind of look that stays with you long after it's gone.

"Maybe it's both," he said.

And in that moment, surrounded by snow and lights and the hush of winter, I felt something shift inside me.

Not just excitement.

Not just thrill.

But trust.

A quiet, growing trust in someone I once thought I should avoid.

Maybe this trip was more than just tents and tea and skating lessons.

Maybe it was about falling… and learning who'd catch you.

And maybe — just maybe — I wasn't as scared anymore.

"Where Falling Meant Flying"

The sun had begun its slow descent behind the snowy peaks, casting golden light over the icy plains. After our tea break, Sobhit sir announced with a booming voice, "Time to test your balance — quite literally! Everyone, gear up! We're going skating!"

Excited cheers filled the air — mostly from those who already knew how to skate, or at least thought they did.

Me?

My heart sank.

Skating had always terrified me — the idea of slipping, of falling in front of everyone, of not having control over my own feet. I tried to smile and act casual, but inside, anxiety began curling like cold smoke in my chest.

I watched as Ruhi and Simmi raced ahead, laughing and challenging each other to who could skate faster. Others followed with confidence, their shoes gliding over the frozen surface like it was second nature.

And me?

I stood there, clutching the skates in my hands, unmoving.

That's when I heard his voice. Low. Steady. Unmistakable.

"Don't worry. I got you."

I turned to see Nikhil standing beside me, already laced up, his hands in the pockets of his jacket, his eyes calm… reassuring.

"I don't know how to skate," I admitted, the words tumbling out too quickly. "I'll fall. I'll make a fool of myself."

He smiled — that same maddening, gentle smile that made my heart skip a beat every time.

"Then fall," he said, "but fall with me."

I blinked. "What?"

He stepped closer. "I'll be there the whole time. You won't fall alone. Trust me."

There was something in his voice — something that made it impossible to say no. A quiet promise. A strange kind of safety.

So I nodded.

He knelt down and helped me wear my skates. Tightened the laces like he'd done it a thousand times before. His fingers brushed against my ankle, and I shivered — not from the cold, but from the touch.

Once we were on the ice, he took both my hands in his. His grip was firm but gentle.

"Just look at me," he said softly. "Don't look at your feet. Don't look around. Just me."

And I did.

Step by shaky step, I let him guide me. At first, I stumbled, my legs wobbling like they didn't belong to me. I clutched his hands tightly — maybe too tightly — but he didn't let go.

Not even once.

"You're doing fine," he murmured. "Just breathe."

I laughed nervously. "You say that like I'm not about to collapse."

"You won't," he said, smiling. "Because I'm here."

And somehow… I believed him.

The cold wind whipped around us, but I barely felt it anymore. All I could feel was him — the warmth of his hands, the steadiness of his presence, the way his eyes held mine like they could keep me from falling not just on the ice… but in life.

After a while, I began to loosen up. We moved slowly, rhythmically. It wasn't graceful — not yet — but it was something. A beginning. A rhythm shared.

And just when I was starting to smile for real…

I slipped.

Hard.

My feet gave out, and I braced for the crash — for the cold, for the embarrassment, for the ache.

But I didn't hit the ice.

Because Nikhil caught me.

In one swift motion, he pulled me into his arms, holding me so close I could hear his heartbeat.

We stood there like that.

Breathless.

Still.

And then, his voice — softer than snow — said, "Told you… I wouldn't let you fall."

I looked up at him.

And for the first time, I didn't just feel safe.

I felt… cherished.

Skating didn't teach me balance that day.

It taught me something else entirely.

That sometimes, falling isn't the end of control…

Sometimes, it's the beginning of trust.

And as the sky turned a deeper shade of twilight, and Nikhil helped me glide across the frozen ground with slow, patient care, I realized…

Maybe I was already falling.

And maybe… just maybe…

He was ready to catch me.

To be continued…