Beyond the Blue Line

The Ghost of You

Three days passed like a morning mist for Daniel. The apartment, usually silent and cluttered, now felt more alive and pristine. Lisandra had truly kept her word. She appeared every morning with a warm breakfast, ensuring Daniel took his medication right on schedule.

However, the stifling boredom made it impossible for him to focus. While reaching for a water bottle on the nightstand, he accidentally knocked over the desk lamp.

Crash!

"Daniel, are you okay?!"

"Yeah, just stop startling me."

Lisandra stood frozen at the doorway. Instead of responding with anger, she let out a long sigh and grabbed the first-aid kit from the table.

"It’s time to change the bandage. Sit down," she commanded softly, gesturing toward the bed.

"I’m fine, Lisandra."

They were so close that Daniel could catch the faint scent of bluebells from her hair. When Lisandra’s cool fingertips touched the skin of his forehead, Daniel reflexively closed his eyes.

His heart raced faster than it ever did during a sprint on the hockey rink. There was an unfamiliar tenderness there—something he had never received from Lirena, who usually complained whenever Daniel came home with an injury.

"Finished," Lisandra whispered.

She didn't pull away immediately; her eyes remained locked onto Daniel’s, who was now staring back intently. For a few seconds, time seemed to stand still in that room.

"Thank you," Daniel murmured.

"If you want to thank me, get well soon."

"You sound like you’re already bored of taking care of me, Lady."

"On the contrary, I want to see you win again."

"I want to get back on the ice too."

When the clock struck one in the morning, moving slowly to avoid triggering the pain, Daniel grabbed his jacket and his hockey stick. He headed to a small lake on the outskirts of town where the surface had frozen perfectly—his secret spot since childhood.

The dim streetlights reflected off the rough surface of the ice. Daniel glided slowly, trying to regain the feel for the balance of his blades. However, every time he tried to pick up speed, his body—not yet fully recovered—nearly gave way.

"I told you, you’re stubborn."

Daniel flinched, turning toward the edge of the lake. Lisandra stood there, clad in a thick jacket and a knitted scarf.

"What are you, a stalker?"

"I have to be, knowing you can’t stay still in bed. For God's sake, Daniel. It’s only been three days. You won't die just because you aren't playing hockey."

But hockey was Daniel’s lifeblood. The itch to strike a puck had become unbearable. Lisandra walked toward her motorcycle parked nearby. She opened the seat and pulled out a white leather bag.

"But I came prepared. Instead of you passing out here alone, I’ll join you," she said with a sweet smile.

Daniel stood paralyzed as he watched Lisandra pull out her white figure skates. The girl sat on an old wooden bench, skillfully lacing up her boots, then glided onto the center of the ice with immense grace.

"Don't just stand there staring, let’s practice." The girl with the shoulder-length hair skated closer, then reached for Daniel’s arm. "Focus on using your legs as your anchor. Let me be your support."

Daniel was mesmerized. Under the pale moonlight, Lisandra seemed like a completely different person. If in the apartment she was the clumsy, diligent girl, out here, she looked like an ice goddess from a legend.

As Daniel reached for her fingers, a wave of awkwardness washed over him. Lisandra’s hand was small, yet her grip was firm. They began to glide. The heavy, sharp scrape of Daniel’s hockey skates clashed with the smooth hiss of Lisandra’s blades, creating a strange harmony in the silence of the night.

Daniel usually viewed the ice as a battlefield—a place where he had to be ambitious, colliding with others and shattering the opponent’s defense. But following the girl’s rhythm, the ice transformed into a vast ballroom.

Lisandra guided him to feel the flow of the wind, never rushing as if they were in a race. Every time he winced from the jolt in his ribs, Lisandra would draw their bodies closer, letting her shoulder serve as a steady anchor for him.

In those slow, circling glides, Daniel seemed to forget the pain. He was captivated by the way Lisandra’s hair danced in the wind and how she looked at the ice with a shimmer in her beautiful eyes.

For fifteen minutes, they moved together under the cold moonlight. Daniel, who usually moved with raw aggression, now tried to match Lisandra’s calm rhythm. Her hand felt warm inside her thick glove, contrasting with the biting chill of the night wind.

Once Daniel’s breath began to grow heavy, they pulled over and sat at the edge of the lake, letting their feet dangle over the ice.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a figure skater?"

"I’m not an athlete, I just happen to know how."

"Liar. Even the way you lace your skates is different. How long did you train, Lisandra?"

"Six years."

"Impressive."

"No, you're the one who's impressive." Lisandra stared at the dark surface of the lake. "I mean, in hockey, you have to defend yourself while attacking the opponent to win. In figure skating, you control yourself so you don't shatter when you land. You also rely on each other in a team; that’s hard for me."

"Isn't it harder when you're alone? Besides, you're very skilled. Why haven't I ever seen you at the campus competitions?"

Lisandra fell silent for a moment, the shimmer in her eyes dimming slightly. "I only practice for myself now. There are too many expectations out there that make me feel... burdened."

Daniel wanted to ask more. However, he felt a great wall standing between them. He also just realized that even though Lisandra had been caring for him for several days, he knew absolutely nothing about this girl.

"Tomorrow, you must take a total rest. If not, I’m confiscating your hockey stick."

"Deal. But you always surprise me, Lisandra."

"I am full of surprises, Daniel."

"Just don't go suddenly hitting people again."

"Don't worry," Lisandra laughed, as crisp as a child's. "Hitting you just once was enough to change my world."