The hum of the airplane engine vibrated beneath me, a low, constant reminder that I was finally on my way home. My gold medal, still cold from the competition, sat clutched in my hand— a symbol of every early morning practice, every ache in my muscles, and every sacrifice I had made. I should feel elated, victorious even, but a strange emptiness gnawed at my mind.
I leaned my forehead against the cool window, my eyes closed for a second before fluttering open, watching the city lights blue into a golden smear as we climbed higher into the night sky. The world soft, dreamlike— like the ice beneath my skates during the final routine. But unlike the rink, where every move was precise and deliberate, tonight everything just felt hazy, slipping just out of reach.
"Yumei, are you even awake?" a voice jolted me. My teammate and childhood friend, Kiyoko who was always bright and endlessly chatty, leaned over the aisle with a grin sparkled on her face. Her words that seemed too loud in the quiet cabin, echoing in my ear.
"I'm… sort of," I mumbled, forcing a smile. My voice felt strange in my own ears, foreign and thin.
"You look… off. Did you even enjoy the competition?" she pressed, her tone teasing but with a tinge of worry after glancing over my pale complexion.
I shook my head, more from instinct than thought. The detail of the final routine— how I had landed the triple axel, how the crows had roared— flickered in and out like a broken video tape. I could see them, but not fully. The night was there, somewhere, but I couldn't grasp it.
Then everything happened so fast.
A sudden jolt shook the plane as turbulence hit harder than usual. Bags shifted, overhead compartments rattled. My medal slipped from my hand, clanging softly against the floor. My stomach lurched.
And then— darkness.
I don't remember how I ended up on the ground. The smell of antiseptic and the sting of a cold cloth against my cheek. Faces leaning over me, blurred and indistinct. Voices murmuring, urgent and yet distant. Someone holding my hand.
My lips parted as I tried to speak, to ask what happened. but my own voice was swallowed in a haze. I blinked hazily and everything snapped away. Disappearing as if it was all a dream. My conscious slipping away at every second I laid there.
Three months later.
I woke up at home, the winter sun peeking through the sheer beige curtains in my room. A sliver of light shining onto my eyelids as they flutter open, revealing my night like eyes. My soft hands rubbed my eyes lightly, taking in the view of the powdered snow on the outer edge of my windowsill. My skates were neatly laying in front of my bag by the door, my medals lined up on the shelf— but my memory of that night remained a blank. A dark space I couldn't fill. A silence my coaches forbid to discuss.