THE PEACEFUL CAROL

1. TRIPLE AXEL DREAMS

Sarah

"Matthew! Matthew!" We all shouted, calling for him until his figure appeared in the middle of the rink.

The soft glow of overhead lights shimmers off the ice. It was the perfect kind of winter evening—the air crisp, the crowd now quiet with anticipation.

I sat in the stands, my eyes focused on the figure skating. I could feel the electric tension in the air, a mix of excitement and nerves. But for me, only one person mattered on that rink tonight: Matthew Hayes.

I could hardly believe this moment had arrived. After all these years of watching him practice, the endless hours spent perfecting his jumps, spins, and footwork, it was finally his turn to shine. His dream of making it to the Olympics was so close I could almost touch it.

Matthew was a force on the ice—everything about him seemed effortless, from how he glided across the rink to the precision of his jumps. He was the tallest and the flashiest, and there was always something about him—something in how he moved—that made him stand out. His lean, muscular frame was a perfect balance of strength and grace. His small piece of white hair, a mist silvery blonde, stood out from the rest of his hair, even against the sparkling white of the ice beneath him. He looked like a snow angel, his body slicing through the air with the speed and grace of a bird on a mission.

I made the music choice. He told me he wanted something full of emotion that could make people cry. Perfect for the Christmas season, so we thought that 'The Nutcracker, Op. 71, Act II: no.14a Pas de deux. Andante maestoso' would be perfect for the moment. My love for music had to be paid somehow.

"He is going to do so great," said his mother, Alena, excitedly. She was sitting next to me, holding my hand. I nodded and smiled in response. "Thank you for always being there for him and supporting him in all his crazy ideas."

"Can get hard sometimes, but I manage," she laughed and patted my hand.

"I can see through your eyes, Sarah. I know how hard it can be," she said, and I know what she meant: my love for him is hard to go unnoticed.

He lined up at the rink's edge, his face set in that quiet, determined way I knew so well. My heart fluttered as the music began, a slow, building crescendo that mirrored my racing pulse. I cheered along with the rest of the crowd, but my eyes never left him.

Matthew started his routine, his every movement controlled, each one as calculated as the next. He danced, he spun, his blades cutting perfect arcs across the rink. And then, when the music peaked—when the crowd held its collective breath—he launched himself into the air.

A triple axel.

The jump was smooth, almost effortless as if time slowed down for him. My heart was in my throat as I watched his body rotate midair, each turn precise. My free hand was gripping the edge of the railing, my eyes wide with hope that he would do it.

The moment seemed to stretch on forever, but finally—finally—he landed with a soft, almost imperceptible thud, perfectly balanced. The crowd erupted into applause, but the world was reduced to just him for me.

I wanted to scream, to jump up and run to him, but instead, all I could do was sit there, a silent witness to the culmination of years of hard work. Tears with his mother next to me.

He did it.

He nailed it.

The crowd was on its feet, cheering wildly, but I only had eyes for him. Matthew skated to the rink's center, taking a brief, measured bow before lifting his chin toward the judges. His face was glowing, a mixture of disbelief and triumph. I could see the hint of a smile tugging at his lips, and for a moment, our eyes locked.

He didn't even have to say anything. His look told me everything. He had done it. His dream of competing at the Olympics was no longer a distant wish; it was within his grasp.

As the judges deliberated, my stomach fluttered with excitement. The score was announced, and my heart leaped. 'First place'.

"Let's go to him!" his mother jumped from her seat.

I stood up from my seat, my pulse quickening as I looked toward the rink where Matthew stood, his chest rising and falling in time with his breaths. I knew what came next—the moment I had both longed for and dreaded.

The crowd was still cheering as Matthew skated toward the rink's edge, his eyes scanning the stands. He was looking for me.

He found me.

Matthew skated over to me, his body moving with fluid elegance, his eyes never leaving my face. A smile broke across his features as he slowed to a stop before me, breathing heavily, his body still humming with adrenaline.

He didn't say anything at first—he didn't need to. The world fell away in that instant, the crowd's noise fading as he held out his arms, his expression open and full of emotion.

"Sarah," he said, his voice low but full of warmth. "I did it. I really did it."

"You did it," I respond with gritting teeth, and tears welled up in my eyes.

Before I could say more, Matthew moved to pull me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me like we always had. But just as he was about to close the distance, another figure appeared.

A woman. His girlfriend, Shyla.

She stepped into the space between us with a cool, composed smile as she gently placed a hand on Matthew's arm.

"Matthew," she said, her voice filled with that kind of calm confidence that only comes with being someone's someone. "Let's not keep the fans waiting. They all want to congratulate you."

Matthew looked between me and his girlfriend, a flash of confusion crossing his face. I could see the struggle in his eyes, the pull of loyalty and affection. But his girlfriend was already moving, guiding him away from me.

I sensed my stomach knotting tighter, yet I maintained my composure as usual. This was always how it would be—his best friend, but never his girlfriend.

"It's okay," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. Shyla gave him a small, forced smile, the kind that didn't reach her eyes.

Matthew didn't respond right away. His expression flickered, the tiniest glimmer of pain flashing in his eyes. But then he nodded, slowly, almost reluctantly.

"Thank you, Sarah. This was possible because of you." His words made my heart stop, and they were full of gratitude. I smiled at them.

"I only chose a song, but you did everything, and you did it perfectly. I'm so proud of you. See you later." I was already stepping back, my heart heavier than ever.

After turning around, I felt a hand grabbing mine from behind. I turned to see Matthew, who hugged me from behind—sending shivers down my spine.

"Everything I do. I do it for you," he whispered in my ear. I felt a soft kiss on my cheek. Those kisses burnt my heart for minutes. I closed my eyes immediately. "See you at the house. We still have a Christmas tree to decorate,"

"See you then". His warm arms left me and walked in a different direction from mine.

This moment would be immortalized in my notebook, which is filled with songs—or, more precisely, small fragments of our experiences together, but in the most abstract way possible.

What can you expect? I have known Matt since birth. Our parents are best friends, business partners, and family. Alena's parents adopted my mom when she was ten. They both grew to love ballet and dancing, so they both chose that path. On the way, they both fell in love with our dads.

If that wasn't enough, Matthew was born on December 6th, and my birthday was December 25th of the same year. Yes, I am a Christmas baby.

"I think he can manage to go home." Said Simon, his dad, when I got close to them.

"Of course, I would let him in my car after the way he hugged Sarah," my dad replied.

"Paul, cállate." Said my mother, Hailey, in Spanish.

"Don't shut him up, Mom. We get it. Let's go." While we were walking to the exit, my eyes searched for him. I found him in between a group of his school friends. At that exact moment, Shyla was about to kiss him. I turned my face immediately, not wanting to see how someone else had what I was dying to have.