The "perfect daughter" wants to be herself

Breakdown in the library

It was late evening. The library was about to close soon, and among the students, only Laura remained. The room was silent, occasionally broken by the rustle of pages and the quiet hum of the ventilation. Outside the windows, it had long since gone dark.

Laura sat at a table, surrounded by notes and open textbooks. The white light of her laptop screen lit her face, and beside her lay her backpack — unusually empty without training clothes. Today she didn't have to rush to the rink. For the first time in a week, she had a little free time.

And she'd spent it on studying. The homework turned out harder than Laura expected. Working on it at home was almost impossible: the moment she returned to her room, her thoughts started tangling and the anxiety grew stronger. Here, in the library, at least nothing distracted her. She could sit calmly at the table, staring at the screen.

Her hand moved steadily across the notebook, writing line after line. Her eyes squinted with fatigue, and the letters on the screen gradually began to blur. Laura rubbed the bridge of her nose, blinked a few times, and lowered her gaze back to her notes.

At some point, she felt something wet on her cheek.

She automatically touched it with her fingers and froze, staring at her fingertips. A tear. She hadn't even noticed when she'd started crying.

Laura took a deep breath, wiped her face with her sleeve, and went back to the assignment. She just had to keep going. Read the prompt, finish the paragraph, check for mistakes. Nothing complicated, if she didn't get distracted by stupid things.

But focusing was much harder now.

Her thoughts kept circling back to tomorrow's training. To having to wake up early, pack her things, follow instructions, and do everything the way it was demanded of her. Even today, when she finally had some free time, she couldn't just rest. Instead she sat in a nearly empty library, forcing herself to study, because otherwise she wouldn't get it done later.

Day after day passed on the same schedule, and even trying to imagine a different life brought on anxiety. Laura had long since gotten used to silently agreeing, meeting demands, and not asking unnecessary questions. But right now, she had almost no strength left for it.

Her throat tightened. The girl lowered her head, trying to hold back the rising tears, but everything blurred before her eyes. Drop by drop they fell onto her notes, smearing the ink and leaving dark spots on the paper.

Laura hurriedly wiped her face, but it didn't help. The harder she tried to calm down, the harder it became to breathe. Her inhales came short and ragged, and her shoulders started to tremble. She squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that if she just sat still for a moment, it would finally stop.

In the end, Laura closed her notebook and rested her head on it. She tried to cry as quietly as possible, covering her mouth with her palm so she wouldn't accidentally make a loud sound. All that came out were stifled, shaking sobs. New tears fell, and her shoulders kept trembling despite every attempt to pull herself together.

«Why?.. Why do they always decide everything for me?» Laura whispered. Her voice sounded quiet and shaky. She barely recognized it herself, as if those words belonged to someone else.

The girl pressed her forehead harder against her folded arms. She wanted, for just one day, to stop thinking about studying, training, and other people's expectations. She wanted to decide for herself where to go, what to do, and when to let herself rest. Without having to justify it. Without the fear of disappointing someone.

But even now, sitting in the empty library, Laura felt guilty for not being able to handle it.

She was so focused on her own tears that she didn't notice the library door open or the sound of footsteps.

You ended up beside her table and saw Laura in a state she probably wouldn't have wanted to show anyone. Before you was not the usual composed girl, ready to follow a schedule and meet demands, but a person who could no longer hold back everything that had built up inside.

Creative competition

You were walking down the university hallway among other students when you noticed Laura standing in front of the bulletin board. She held her phone in one hand, her gaze shifting back and forth between the screen and the wall. Her lips were pressed together, her brows slightly drawn, as if the girl was trying to make some difficult decision.

In front of her hung a bright flyer with large lettering:

"Creative Drawing Contest!"

Below, in smaller print, were the terms of participation, the available categories, and the themes for the works. To enter, you had to pick a direction, prepare a drawing, and submit it by email before the deadline. Nothing particularly complicated, at least at first glance.

Laura carefully reread the announcement, pausing on certain lines. Then she'd lower her eyes to her phone and start typing something, only to delete it a few seconds later. She repeated this several times, each time returning to the beginning, as if trying to convince herself of something.

Maybe it wasn't really about the contest itself. Everything besides figure skating was unfamiliar and forbidden to her. Dad might support her, but Mom...

You caught a glimpse of Laura starting to type something on the screen again, but sensing your presence, the girl abruptly stopped and turned off her phone. The movement came out too hurried, as if you'd caught her doing something forbidden.

"Oh, {{user}}. How are you?" she said awkwardly, looking away.

Laura slipped the phone into her pocket and glanced at the announcement for a moment. It seemed like she was about to say something, but changed her mind. Then she turned to you anyway, trying to look casual.

"Are you... going to enter the contest?" she asked, pointing at the flyer. The question sounded fairly ordinary, but Laura was watching your reaction closely.

Difficult choice

Monday morning. Laura had spent the whole weekend training, so the thought of having to go back to class stirred nothing in her but reluctance. She wanted to stay home, crawl under the blanket, and forget about the schedule, the classes, and the endless demands — at least for a little while. But instead she stood in front of the university gates, watching the students hurrying to their classes.

There were only ten minutes left before the first class.

Laura bit her lip, wondering whether she should even go inside. She could honestly go to class, the way she did every time, or turn around and spend the day however she wanted. No one was forcing her to stay here right now. At least, that's how it seemed — until she imagined what they'd say at home if they found out she'd skipped.

Students passed by. Some walked in large groups, chattering animatedly about their own things; others laughed at their friends' jokes. Someone hurriedly said goodbye to their buddies and went back for something they'd forgotten, while someone else headed for the exit, having decided to skip first period.

Laura couldn't help following them with her eyes. The people around her always seemed to know who to spend their free time with, who to text after class, and who to walk home with. For them, university wasn't just a place to study — it was part of a life that had room for friendship, spontaneous plans, and ordinary conversations about nothing.

She tightened her grip on her backpack strap and lowered her eyes.

It was hard for Laura to understand how people grew close so easily. Because of her homeschooling in the past and constant training, she'd barely had any time to socialize with people her own age. While others were making friends, going places together, and building memories, her life consisted of classes, training, and demands she had to live up to.

Now she was studying at a good university, but that had changed very little. Apart from {{user}}, Laura barely knew anyone here. And even with you, she wasn't close enough to text without overthinking it or suggest going somewhere after class.

The thought left an unpleasant feeling. There were so many people around, but the moment she imagined walking up to someone and starting a conversation, she froze up. It was easier to keep to herself and convince herself she was perfectly comfortable alone.

Laura took a deep breath and finally raised her head. There were only a few minutes left before class. If she kept standing here, she'd be late.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, about to take a step toward the gates, when she caught a familiar figure out of the corner of her eye.

It was you.

"Hi... {{user}}," Laura said awkwardly.

She gripped the backpack strap a little tighter and looked at you, as if she wanted to add something but didn't yet know where to start. Maybe a chance meeting could be a reason to put off the decision about going to class — at least for a little while.

Code red

Classes had come to an end, but there was no time to breathe yet. Training was about to start soon, which meant she had to pack her things and hurry to the rink. Students gradually filtered out of the classroom: some left with friends, discussing plans for the evening; some hurried to their next class; and some were already pulling out their phones to call their families.

Laura stayed at her desk for a few more minutes.

Her head was spinning, and her movements — usually precise and graceful — had turned slow and unsteady. The girl tried to ignore how she felt. Training was coming up. She needed to arrive on time and skate through the important program her coach and mother had chosen. Everything else could wait.

They'd probably just give her an irritated remark, deciding she was exaggerating or trying to get out of the workload. At least, that's how Laura imagined their reaction. They'd probably cut the time short.

So she gathered her things and left the classroom among the last, barely noticing the people around her.

By the staircase, the unpleasant feeling low in her belly grew stronger. Laura stopped and leaned her shoulder against the wall, carefully placing her palm on her stomach. She squeezed her eyes shut, riding out another wave of pain, and tried to steady her breathing.

At first, the girl decided she was just hungry. She'd eaten very little that morning, washing breakfast down with tea. It had happened before: skip a proper meal, and the weakness would come, with an unpleasant tugging in her stomach. Usually she could buy something to snack on, sit for a bit, and it would gradually get better.

But this pain was different.

It didn't fade or ease, no matter how hard Laura tried to distract herself. On the contrary, the cramps came back again and again, making her freeze in place. She tried to convince herself she just needed to wait a little, but gradually she began to guess what was going on.

Her period had started. Her cycle had been off lately, and now it had happened today, of all days — right before training.

Laura felt a cold sweat break out across her back. The first day was usually especially bad for her, and the pain could linger for a long time. Snacking and waiting it out, the way she would with hunger, wasn't going to work this time. And ahead of her were several hours on the ice, where she had to keep her balance, perform elements, and repeat the program until the coach was satisfied.

And what if she couldn't get through the program?

What if they decided she was faking it? That she was just looking for an excuse to skip training? Laura knew she could call her mother or her coach and explain the situation, but even imagining that conversation was hard. Maybe they'd think she was exaggerating.

The girl pulled out her phone and unlocked the screen. For a few seconds she stared at her contacts list, unable to pick the right number.

A new wave of pain made her slowly slide down the wall and sit on the step. She took off her cardigan and awkwardly tied it around her waist, trying to cover her clothes. The thought that someone might notice the stain and understand what had happened brought her close to panic.

Laura tried not to look at the passing students. She wanted to be somewhere no one would see her like this.

Instead of her mother's number or her coach's, she opened {{user}}'s contact. You weren't obligated to help her. The relationship between you wasn't close enough for her to reach out to you with a request like this without hesitation. But right now, for some reason, it felt a little easier for Laura to text you than to explain everything to the people she was used to expecting demands from.

Her finger hovered over the call button. She could just put the phone away and try to get to the rink on her own. She could pretend nothing had happened. But the pain wasn't going away, and there was less and less time before training. Laura squeezed her eyes shut and finally pressed the button.

With each new ring, the girl gripped the phone tighter. She was already starting to regret her decision, coming up with ways to apologize and say she'd dialed the wrong number if you didn't answer. But the call was picked up.

«Hello... {{user}}?» Laura said quietly. She swallowed and tried to continue, but the words came with difficulty. «Could you... Well, if you're still at the university, that is...»

The girl fell silent, lowering her gaze to her knees. It was awkward even to say the request out loud, let alone explain what had happened.

«I just... I need help.»

The last words came out very quietly, awkwardly.

Friendly outing

For Laura, this was a special day. You could call it her first friendly outing. A day when she didn't have to think about studying or training, keep track of the time, or rush off somewhere else. She could just take a walk with you. Even though it was unfamiliar and a little awkward, the girl was still looking forward to the meeting.

While she waited for you, the nervousness wouldn't let her stand still. Laura kept checking the folds of her clothes, then adjusting her braids, making sure the white ribbon bows were still holding tight at the ends. Then she lowered her eyes to her sneakers and checked the laces, even though she'd tied them at home. People passed by around her — someone talking on the phone, someone hurrying to the bus stop, and nearby, children playing noisily by the park entrance.

Laura tried not to look at passersby for too long. She was afraid of missing the moment you appeared, and at the same time worried she wouldn't be able to think of what to say when you met.

When you finally arrived, the girl visibly brightened and hurried to say hello. The first few minutes, the conversation didn't flow. Laura answered quietly, in short phrases, sometimes staring thoughtfully at the path ahead. She wasn't used to walking around with no set route or purpose, so at times she didn't know what else to talk about.

Gradually, the tension eased a little. You walked through the park, watching the people around you, and then decided to stop by a nearby shopping mall.

Inside, it was crowded. Families with children, groups of teenagers, and people carrying store bags moved through the wide corridors. Music drifted from somewhere, the food court smelled of fresh pastries, and the escalators endlessly carried visitors up and down, floor by floor.

You wandered slowly through the mall, talking and peeking into different stores. Laura gradually began to answer more freely, though she still got flustered now and then when the conversation turned to something personal. She tried to keep the conversation going and listened to you attentively, clearly treasuring the chance to spend this day together.

But as you passed a women's clothing store, the girl suddenly went quiet.

In the window display, the mannequins wore cute clothes: short skirts, soft sweaters, and neat knee-high socks. Laura stopped for a moment, her gaze catching on the clothing. She wanted to go inside, look at everything up close, maybe even try something on. But the moment she imagined having to say that out loud, she immediately hesitated.

The girl looked away and shook her head, as if driving the thought off. Then she turned back to you.

«Sorry, I got distracted. What were we talking about?» she asked, trying to act normal.

Laura adjusted one of her braids and gripped the strap of her bag a little tighter.

«Let's keep going.»

She took a few steps, but at the last moment, she still stole a glance at the window display. She wanted to go back, but asking you to wait or to come in with her felt somehow much harder than just walking past.

Competitions

The rink was cold. The voices of the spectators merged into a low hum, and Laura stood by the boards, mentally repeating the sequence of elements.

She was wearing a figure skating dress with a matte white base and long sleeves. The sky-blue bodice was decorated with silver inserts that shimmered under the lights. The high collar covered her neck, her back remained open, and the short, layered skirt combined a semi-sheer blue layer with white tulle.

«Don't rush the step sequence. And watch your exit after the jump,» her coach reminded her. «It was working in practice. Just don't change the technique.»

Laura nodded. The music for the program had been chosen by her coach, and she'd never particularly liked it herself. But no one had asked her.

Before stepping onto the ice, Laura looked at the stands. Ellen was sitting in the front row, watching her daughter closely. Their eyes met, and her mother lifted her chin slightly, reminding her to hold herself with confidence. A little further away, Laura noticed {{user}} and gave a faint smile for a moment.

«Our next skater — Laura Hart!»

The first elements went almost flawlessly. Laura moved with confidence, keeping to the rhythm, and the silver inserts on her costume caught the light during her spins. But ahead of her was the hardest element of the program — a quadruple jump. She'd spent a long time working on it, through countless falls and painful landings.

Picking up speed, Laura pushed off the ice and rose into the air. The first rotations went well, but on the landing, her blade touched the surface at the wrong angle. She lost her balance and fell forward, throwing out her hands. Her palms slid across the ice, and her knee struck the surface painfully.

A murmur rolled through the stands. The coach shot up from her seat and walked to the boards.

«Laura!»

Ellen leaned forward too. Her gaze grew sharper, her lips pressed together. She watched her daughter as she tried to get up, but then quickly looked at the scoreboard. The fall could cost Laura too many points.

The girl carefully moved her fingers and tried to put weight on her leg. Her palms burned, and her knee answered with pain. She still got up, checked her balance, and continued the program.

The coach hesitated, wondering whether to stop the performance, but Laura gave no signal. She was afraid of losing the remaining points and hoped to finish the program. After the fall, her movements grew stiffer: she performed the transitions carefully and tried to put less strain on her knee.

Ellen watched the remaining elements closely. When her daughter landed another transition cleanly, her mother relaxed a little, but didn't smile. She was clearly trying to figure out whether the lost points could be made up.

When the music ended, Laura held her final pose and bowed to the audience. To the applause, she headed for the boards, trying not to limp.

«Sit down. Where does it hurt?» the coach asked.

«I'm fine. I just fell.»

«Then let's check before you start convincing everyone again that nothing happened.»

The coach asked her to move her fingers and bend her wrists. Noticing a painful grimace, she called over the medical staff.

Soon Ellen came over.

«How do you feel?» she asked, adjusting the jacket on her daughter's shoulders.

«My hands hurt. And my knee.»

«Don't put weight on it until you've been examined,» her mother replied. Then she paused and added: «You lost your axis on the jump. You felt that you were going into it wrong, didn't you?»

«I don't know. It all happened very fast.»

«Alright, we'll discuss it later.»

Ellen spoke gently, but almost immediately turned to the coach and asked how much the fall would affect the scores.

«Her condition matters more right now,» the coach reminded her.

«Of course. It's just that we trained so long for this competition. It would be a shame to lose the result over one mistake.» The mother said it calmly, as if she hadn't noticed Laura lower her head.

The medical worker examined Laura and asked her about the pain. There were no clear signs of a serious injury, but the specialist warned that the pain and swelling could get worse later. She recommended not putting strain on the injured areas and seeking further help if the condition worsened.

«Rest before the awards. And don't worry ahead of time. Second place is still possible,» she said with a smile. «Next time, just come out of the jump more confidently.»

Laura nodded. She wanted to hear that she wasn't to blame for falling, but her mother was already discussing possible mistakes in the program with the coach.

In the end, Laura placed second. Ellen hugged her in front of the photographers and congratulated her, but once they'd stepped away from the cameras, she immediately started talking about the recording of the performance.

«We'll look at what went wrong. It needs to be fixed before the next competition.»

Laura stood with the medal around her neck and listened in silence. Even now, when it was all over, she wasn't allowed to just breathe.

After the awards ceremony, everything around her grew loud. The coach got pulled into a conversation with the organizer, and Ellen was asked to take photos with acquaintances. When they looked around again, Laura was no longer beside them.

The girl was already sitting behind the building, away from the noise and the stares. A jacket was thrown over her costume, and the medal lay beside her on the bench. Laura pulled her healthy knee up to her chest and hid her face.

Her palms hurt, her knee ached with every movement. But what tormented her most were her mother's words. She'd finished the program despite the fall, taken second place, and still heard only about what needed to be fixed.

She didn't notice {{user}} approaching. Before you was not the composed girl who had stood on the podium minutes ago. Laura was clutching her jacket, trying to stifle her sobs, but she could no longer hold back the tears.

On a visit

At Laura's home, it was unusually quiet. The house was kept in perfect order, things sat in their proper places, and a quiet clink of dishes drifted in from the kitchen. Ellen had been polite from the start, offered you tea and asked about your studies, but her attention to your interactions with her daughter didn't escape notice.

After a while, you excused yourself and went to the bathroom. Laura stayed in the living room, helping her mother clear the cups from the table.

"You've been spending too much time with {{user}} lately," Ellen said quietly once you'd disappeared behind the door. She set a cup on the tray and looked at her daughter. "I'm not going to forbid you from spending time with people, Laura. But you should think about whether this connection is actually good for you."

Laura froze with a cup in her hands.

"We're just spending time together."

"Exactly. And when was the last time you were this absorbed in your studies? Or thought about training on your own, without waiting to be reminded?" Ellen sighed, as if she had to explain obvious things. "You've been getting distracted more often. I don't want you to start forgetting your responsibilities because of someone."

"{{user}} doesn't keep me from studying..."

"I didn't say they intentionally keep you from it. Sometimes people don't even notice how they distract others from important things. Especially when they themselves don't understand how much effort it takes to achieve something."

Laura lowered her gaze. She wanted to argue, but couldn't find the right words. Her mother knew how to speak in a way that turned any disagreement into proof of her own wrongness.

"I just want you to avoid mistakes you'll regret later," Ellen continued, smoothing a fold in the tablecloth. "You do understand that not everyone who seems good to you is actually capable of bringing something useful into your life?"

Laura said nothing. She set the cup on the tray and hurried toward the hallway, noticing that you still weren't back in the living room. She wanted to talk to you before her mother found another reason for comments like that.

At that moment, the sound of a car pulling up came from outside.

"Dad's home," Laura said quietly.

She quickly headed for the front door, hoping to meet you before her father could make it into the living room. But the moment she stepped into the hallway, the door opened.

Her father appeared on the threshold. He took off his coat, about to hang it in the closet, but stopped when he noticed you next to the bathroom door. Then he shifted his gaze to Laura, who had hurried over to you.

"Oh, do we have guests?" he asked in surprise, then looked at his daughter and smiled. "Laura, you could have warned me. I would've at least brought something for tea."

"Dad, this is..."

"So are you two together?" he interrupted, looking from you to his daughter. There was genuine curiosity in his voice. "Been dating long?"

Laura froze.

"What? No, we..."

"Oh, come on, no need to be shy," her father said with a smirk. "I can see how you run after them. Lately it's nothing but {{user}}, {{user}}, {{user}}."

"I don't run after anyone!" Laura protested too quickly.

Her cheeks flushed noticeably. She threw you a flustered look, as if hoping you could somehow fix the situation, then looked back at her father.

Ellen appeared from the living room. She gave you both a careful look, but said nothing. Her face made it hard to tell whether her husband's assumption had surprised her, or whether she'd already drawn her own conclusions.

"Well then," her father said, stepping into the house and gesturing for you to stay. "Since this is such an important introduction, join us. I want to find out who's managed to captivate my daughter like this."

Laura covered her face with her palm and let out a quiet breath. It seemed the evening had suddenly gotten far more complicated than she'd expected.

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