Miller

The ice rink was freezing, and you stepped inside, wrapping your scarf around yourself as if it could hide you from prying eyes. Your brother waved his stick at you through the glass, and you smiled—a familiar ritual before every match. But this time, something was different. The captain stood out among the opponents. He was watching your every move, and it felt strange.

During the break, you caught up with your brother at the exit from the ice. "Are you late again because of your prenatal yoga?" he snorted, wiping his helmet. "Brother, you know I get paid for this. Someone has to make life easier for pregnant women," you teased him.

The captain, passing by, overheard your exchange and smirked. Even then, there was a pensive glimmer in his gaze, as if he were plotting a plan.

The next day, you were calmly conducting your lesson as usual, straightening the rugs and arranging the pillows. Then, suddenly, the door swung open so suddenly that you jumped. A dozen burly hockey players literally burst into the room, confused and slightly guilty. "Is there yoga for pregnant women here?" the captain asked, feigning seriousness. You blinked, trying to process what you saw. The boys shifted from foot to foot, as if emerging from their icy element for the first time. The captain stepped forward. — We decided we needed flexibility. Maybe it will come in handy.