Because Katharina will steal my focus with the Olympics around the corner.
This is the worst timing to fall for a girl.
Chapter 11
In the Shade of the Olympic Torch
Playlist:
Imagine Dragons: Whatever It Takes
Queen: Under Pressure
Torino, Olympic opening ceremony,
February 1
Katharina
The stadium pulses with light, each burst brighter than the last, as if the night itself is crackling under pressure.Spotlights slice through the alpine air, sharp and ghostlike, sweeping across the crowd like they’re searching for something sacred.The cold is real, biting at cheeks, threading under scarves, stiffening breath into clouds.But it doesn’t matter.
Because beneath the layers and the frost, the crowd radiates something hotter—excitement, almost feverish.The kind of charged energy that crackles across your skin and makes you forget your fingers are numb.It’s not warmth exactly.It’s something else.Something bigger.
The Olympic Games are beginning.
And I am here, part of it all.
From the moment I realized that I would not march under the torch, lacking the talent to become an Olympic athlete, I dreamed of writing Olympic stories.To watch it live from the first row, pen and paper in my hand.
The little girl dreamt of pen and paper, and the grown-up woman is here despite everything, not with a paper notebook but a laptop on her lap.Ready to shine with her words, nonetheless.
Drums thunder from the arena floor, echoing through my ribs like a second heartbeat.The smell of fireworks still lingers in the air, smoke and metal, mixing with the scent of snow and thousands of bodies leaning forward at once.
I sit shoulder to shoulder with Maddie, tucked into layers that still can’t quite stop the chill.
“They really don’t hold back, do they?”Maddie murmurs, her eyes catching the light as she watches the dancers below, their sequins sparkling like ice flakes in a snow globe.
“It’s the Olympics,” I say, half-smiling.“Thisisthem holding back.”
She chuckles.A swarm of drones flickers into the sky, blinking into formation, first a skier mid-jump, then the five Olympic rings.The crowd roars.I clap with them, enjoying the moment, but mentally taking notes of every detail.
We’re halfway through the Olympic opening ceremony.Cameras sweep the crowd.Flags wave.Performers whirl in elaborate choreography that probably took six months and three broken ankles to perfect.
Maddie leans into my shoulder, clutching a paper cup of glühwein.“So, which country’s uniforms are giving you hives?”
I smile without turning.“Your Americans with the faux-denim and neon trim.They look like rejected backup dancers for a '90s boy band.”
She snorts."You’re brutal.But right."
Below us, the final stage of the ceremony begins: the Parade of Nations.Delegations are lining up to enter the stadium.The athletes are tight in formation, half-nervous, half-starstruck.Phones in hands, ready.Because who enjoys a moment nowadays?What kind of experience would that be if you cannot make a reel out of it?
