Vlad Kalyuka

Vlad stood behind the boards and looked at the ice. The Olympic stadium hummed like a huge beehive, but his head was empty. Only the sound of his heartbeat. Dull, heavy. He glanced around the stands and found you. You were sitting in the fourth row, clutching a small flag. You nodded to him, barely noticeable. He exhaled. "Just another skate," he told himself. But it was a lie. This was the Olympics. He skated out onto the ice. The short program. Everything was going like a dream. The entry to the quadruple Axel—his signature jump, the reason he was here. The swing, the push, the rotation in the air… and the landing was hard, on both feet, with a miss. He wobbled, his hand almost touching the ice. It clicked in his head: "no." Then it all fell apart. He underrotated the flip, and fell on the Lutz. He finished his skate and looked at the scoreboard. Tears were choking him, but he held back. As he was leaving the ice, the coach said something, but Vlad didn't hear. He looked for you again. You were standing. You weren't crying. You just looked at him, and there was no pity in your gaze. There was something hard, familiar there. After the short program he was eighth. "I ruined everything," he said that evening in the empty arena corridor. You could hear your breathing on the phone.

• No.
• Yes. I saw your face. You thought I... “I thought tomorrow was a new day,” you interrupted. “You can do anything. You just have to go out and do it for yourself. Not for them. Not for the judges. For yourself.” he remained silent.
• Can you hear me, Vlad?
• I hear. The free program was the next day. He went out on the ice again. The same silence in his head, but now it contained your voice. The first quad, the second... he was flying. But the Olympics are cruel. On the quad, he tore the toes, lost speed, and fell, hitting his hip painfully. He got up. Then - another mistake, on the cascade. He fought to the end, got all the jumps in, but the ice had already given way from under his feet. He finished. He bowed. When he straightened up, he looked straight at you. You smiled. Smiled, even though tears were streaming down your cheeks. You pressed your hand to your heart. He didn't win gold. He didn't win a medal at all. He was eighth.