The days before the competition blurred into a quiet, mechanical rhythm, a repetition that dulled everything else.
Wake.
Train.
Perform.
Sleep.
Except I didn't really sleep anymore.
I barely ate.
My ribs started showing again, my hands had fresh calluses, and my eyes were surrounded by shadows that the concealer couldn't hide.
But none of it mattered.
Perfection didn't need rest.
Perfection didn't need to be felt.
My parents visited every other day now, reminding me what was at stake.
They didn't say I love you.
They said, Win.
They said, Do not embarrass us.
They said, You have one job, to be the best.
I nodded, like always.
Because that's what they raised me to do, to nod, to obey, to perform.
They didn't know that every night, after they left, I went back to the stables and rode until the stars blurred and my body went numb.
Pain was easier than memory.
Exhaustion was quieter than heartbreak.
The morning before my last full training day, I stood in the middle of the arena again.
The sunlight hit my face, too bright, almost blinding.
Celeste pawed the dirt impatiently beside me, her breath visible in the cool air.
"You're ready, aren't you?" I whispered, my voice hoarse.
She flicked her ears, and I almost smiled.
At least someone was.
I tightened the reins, mounted, and guided her into a slow trot.
The moment her hooves hit the sand, the noise of the world faded away.
It was just us again, me, her, and the rhythm of movement.
I leaned forward, whispered her name, and urged her to run.
She did.
Fast, powerful, flawless.
But no matter how perfect she was, my mind kept betraying me.
I saw flashes, not of jumps or turns, but of hands.
His hands.
His laugh.
His voice calling my name.
And then that knock.
That girl.
I pulled the reins sharply, and Celeste halted, breathing hard.
I pressed a hand to my chest, angry at myself for feeling it again.
"Stop it," I muttered under my breath. "Stop thinking about him."
But it was too late.
The thought had already taken root, deep and unshakable.
—
When I walked out of the stable later that afternoon, the world looked too bright for what I felt inside.
The sun was still high, the air smelled of hay and leather, and the chatter of stable workers echoed in the distance.
I wanted silence.
But instead, I heard a voice I wasn't ready for.
"Aurora."
I froze.
For a second, I thought I imagined it.
I had trained myself not to hear him anymore.
But when I turned, there he was, Calix, standing near the gate, hands in his pockets, eyes searching for mine.
He looked tired.
Different.
There was guilt all over his face, but also something else, determination.
"What are you doing here?" I asked, voice flat.
He took a step forward, but I didn't move.
I didn't even blink.
"I needed to talk to you," he said.
"About that night—"
"There's nothing to talk about," I cut him off.
He winced at how sharp my tone was, but I didn't care.
I had to protect what was left of me.
"Aurora, it wasn't what you think," he said quickly.
"Please, just let me explain."
I let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Explain?" I repeated. "Explain what? That she was just a friend? That she was drunk? That you didn't mean it?"
His jaw tightened. "She showed up uninvited. I didn't—"
"Enough."
I took a step back, my eyes narrowing. "You don't owe me excuses, Calix. And I don't owe you the benefit of the doubt."
He looked at me like I had just stabbed him.
But I didn't flinch.
"I trusted you," I said quietly, almost to myself.
"And that was my mistake."
He opened his mouth, but I didn't let him speak.
I walked past him, the smell of his cologne hitting me like a ghost I didn't want to remember.
"Good luck at your competition," he said softly as I passed.
I didn't look back.
I didn't thank him.
I just kept walking.
I stayed late again.
The lights in the arena glowed faintly against the dark sky.
Celeste stood beside me, quiet and still.
"Do you ever get tired of running?" I whispered to her.
She shook her head, snorting softly.
"Yeah," I said. "Me neither."
I mounted again, gripping the reins tightly.
And as we started to move, I realized something bitter but true,
The only thing that never left me was the sound of hooves.
The rhythm of control.
The discipline that asked for nothing but everything.
Love made me weak.
But this, this pain disguised as passion, kept me alive.