The crisp mountain air bit at my cheeks, but I hardly noticed it anymore. Over the past week and a half, I'd grown used to the cold. I had even grown used to skiing—or at least, I wasn't terrified of it anymore.
That was thanks to Zaya, though I tried not to think about that too much. She was patient, thorough, and annoyingly good at explaining things, which made her an excellent teacher.
But outside of skiing, she kept her distance. Our conversations rarely veered beyond the mechanics of turns or the importance of balance.
It was probably for the best. I didn't need any more reasons to get attached to her. She was too dangerous for my heart a mess of contradictions that left me teetering on the edge of feelings I couldn't afford to have.
Today's session was different. We weren't on the beginner slopes anymore. This slope wasn't exactly expert-level, but it was steep enough to make me hesitate at the top.
