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Amara hadn't expected to see Liam that evening, but as she stepped off the rink, cooling down after a long practice, she spotted him leaning against the bleachers, his silhouette half-lit by the soft arena lights. He was gazing at the empty ice with a contemplative look that seemed oddly out of character. She was used to seeing him composed, always collected and self-assured. But tonight, there was something different—a weight in his posture that made her pause.

"Liam?" she called out, unsure if she was intruding.

He looked up, startled, as though pulled out of his thoughts. A small, tired smile crossed his face, and he nodded her way. "Didn't expect to see anyone here this late."

She approached him, her curiosity piqued. "I could say the same about you. Everything okay?"

He chuckled, but it lacked his usual warmth. "Just... thinking. Sometimes it's good to get lost in a quiet place." He glanced at the rink, his expression pensive. "Funny, I haven't been around ice like this in years, but it brings back memories."

Amara sat beside him, feeling an odd but comforting silence settle between them. She'd known him as a steady, encouraging figure, always confident and in control. But tonight, his guard was lowered, and she couldn't resist the urge to know more.

"Do you ever regret it?" she asked gently, sensing there was more to his mood than he was letting on.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze fixed somewhere far off. "More than I let on," he admitted. "It's easy to appear composed, Amara. I've learned how to show the world only what I want it to see."

Her brow furrowed as she studied him. "Why would you need to hide anything? You're... successful, respected. People admire you."

He shook his head, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

"It's easy to admire someone when you don't know their scars." He paused, searching for the right words.

"My parents were everything to me. When they passed... it was like the ground had been pulled from under me. I had to grow up fast, to learn how to survive without leaning on anyone."

Amara felt a pang in her chest as she saw the shadow of pain in his eyes. She couldn't imagine the weight he must have carried alone, the pressure to succeed, to be strong in the face of loss.

"I always assumed you'd had it all figured out," she said softly, her own voice tinged with empathy. "I didn't think... well, I didn't realize you had your own struggles."

He glanced at her, a hint of surprise in his eyes.

"That's the thing about success, Amara. People think it erases your past, that it somehow makes you immune to doubt or fear. But the truth is, I still question myself every day. No matter how much I've achieved, there's a part of me that wonders if I'm enough, if I'm really doing the right thing."

She studied him, realizing just how deeply she'd underestimated the weight he carried. He was so polished, so sure of himself—or so she had thought. But now, in the quiet vulnerability he was showing her, she saw the real Liam, the man who'd spent years building walls to protect himself from the hurt he'd never fully healed from.

"Liam," she said gently, "you don't have to pretend with me. You're allowed to have doubts, to be imperfect. I think... sometimes we're our own worst critics."

He smiled, a soft, almost grateful look in his eyes. "It's easy to say that now, sitting here. But in my world, people don't look at you kindly when you show weakness. They see it as an opportunity to pull you down."

She nodded, understanding. In a way, she knew what he meant; she'd spent years battling expectations, the need to prove herself in a sport where one mistake could undo months of work. But to hear it from him—someone she'd assumed was untouchable—made her see just how much they had in common.

"Maybe that's why I admire you so much," he continued, his voice softening. "You're not afraid to fall, Amara. You push yourself, even when it's hard. You don't hide who you are."

She felt her cheeks flush, a warmth spreading through her chest at his words. "Trust me, I'm not as fearless as you think. There are so many times I've thought of quitting, of giving up because I didn't think I was strong enough."

"But you didn't," he said, his gaze intent. "You stayed. That's what matters."

They held each other's gaze, a quiet understanding passing between them. For so long, she'd seen him as someone beyond her reach, a man who was in control, with no room for weakness.

But now, seeing him unguarded, she realized that he was just as human as she was, navigating his own fears and insecurities.

"Thank you for telling me," she said softly. "I don't think people realize how much strength it takes to be vulnerable."

He chuckled, the tension in his expression easing a little. "You know, I didn't expect to share all this tonight. But something about you... it makes me feel like I don't have to pretend."

Her heart fluttered at his words, the softness in his gaze making her feel seen in a way she hadn't felt before. She reached out, resting her hand on his, offering a silent comfort.

"Liam, you don't have to carry everything alone. I know it's not easy to let people in, but... you have people who care about you."

He squeezed her hand gently, a warmth in his eyes that made her heart race. "Maybe I'm starting to believe that," he murmured, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

They sat in silence, their hands intertwined, each lost in thought.

Amara felt a shift between them, a quiet bond that went beyond words, built on shared pain and understanding.

In that moment, she realized that their connection ran deeper than admiration or friendship—it was a connection born from seeing each other's hidden scars and accepting them without question.

And as they sat there, side by side, she knew that her feelings for him were no longer something she could ignore. But for now, she was content to stay in this moment, letting their shared vulnerability speak the words they hadn't yet dared to say.