She reached home that evening with a heart so light it felt unreal.
The moment the door shut behind her, she dropped her bag and laughed—out loud, to no one but herself. She spun around her room, humming half-remembered tunes, replaying the day again and again like a favourite scene.
"I can't believe this actually happened," she whispered, smiling at her own reflection.
"I'll be with him… I'll actually be with him."
For the first time in days, the heaviness in her chest loosened. This wasn't hope built on imagination—it was real. Tangible. Earned.
The happiness refused to sit still inside her.
She opened her cupboard, suddenly serious.
If she was going to stand beside him, she wanted to look right—not perfect, just herself.
The first dress slipped over her shoulders beautifully. She turned once, twice, then shook her head.
"Too much," she muttered. "This is not a party."
Next came jeans and a neat top. She studied herself again.
"Too formal," she sighed. "I'll look like I'm going for an interview."
Finally, she pulled out cargo pants, a simple T-shirt, and a jacket. She smiled—this felt right. Comfortable. Confident. Her.
After a few nervous bites of snacks, she checked her phone again and again, waiting.
At exactly 7:00 pm, it buzzed.
Him: Here's the address.
Her heart skipped. She grabbed her bag and left almost immediately.
But excitement soon turned into confusion.
Streets started looking unfamiliar. Turns came too quickly. Names meant nothing. She stood in the middle of the road, phone in hand, panic creeping in.
It's already 7:10…
What if he thinks I don't want to come?
And then—her phone rang.
For the first time.
She froze before answering.
"Where are you?" he asked, his voice calm but direct.
"Don't you want to come?"
"I do," she said quickly. "I really do. I'm just… I think I'm lost."
There was a pause.
"You're joking, right?" he said. "You've lived here for years."
"Yes," she admitted softly.
"And you're still lost?"
"…Yes."
Another pause—this one heavier.
"Tell me where you are."
She looked around desperately.
"There's an ice-cream shop… and a balloon shop… with flowers."
Silence.
"Am I supposed to find you with this information?" he asked flatly.
She had no answer.
The call ended.
Her shoulders dropped. Embarrassment burned her cheeks.
A few minutes later, footsteps approached.
She was staring at a tree, pretending it held answers, when his shadow fell beside her.
"Come," he said simply.
She followed without a word.
They stopped.
She looked up—and froze.
"You live here?" she asked, shocked.
"My house is literally right in front of this. My balcony faces this building."
He raised an eyebrow.
"And still, you couldn't find it?"
She laughed awkwardly. "I didn't know I was this careless."
Inside, his place was neat, calm—so him.
"It's nice," she said quietly, meaning more than just the house.
He leaned slightly against the table, watching her for a moment before asking, almost casually—
"So… what kind of performance do you think we should do?"
Her heart fluttered.
She wasn't just here to dance.
She was here because she still believed—
that maybe, slowly, something broken could be fixed.