I cross the line.Chest open.Legs shaking.
Eyes blinking.
Number one.
And an impossible time.More than a second ahead of Martin.Sorry, mate.
But I'm not celebrating, not yet.Too many racers will try to beat me.One of them will try hard.
I stand in the finish zone, hands on my knees, trying to regain my breathing.The cold air scrapes in.My legs are buzzing, not with adrenaline.With the slow, creeping realization, I got away with something I shouldn't have tried.
I went full tilt.
And the hill let me live.
Barely.
I slump into the red chair like it might break under me.My gloves are still shaking, so I clench my hands into fists.
Stop it.
Act like a winner.
People are cheering.My name is being called.Flags waving.Cameras clicking.
I wave, shoot them a trained smile, my mind blank.
And then I see her.
Katharina walks toward the mixed zone, tablet tucked under her arm.Calm stride, like always.But there's something off in the way her shoulders hold tension.Controlled, but not relaxed.Not easy.
I can't name it.
But it's not the look I love.
There's something in her eyes, sharp and unreadable.Almost dangerous.
Like she saw more in that run than just a split time.
We don't smile.
We don't nod.
She stops a few steps away, waiting for the green light to flash on the course again.
"Nice skiing," she says, her voice low.
"Dangerous line," I answer.
It hangs between us.
Not flirtation.Not concern.
Just weight.
Distance isn't clarity.It's noise.And after a few days without her, I can't tell what she thinks anymore.I'm not sure she knows either.
And then…
