The dance studio smelled faintly of floor polish and lavender body spray. Light spilled in through high windows, catching the polished wooden floors and the occasional swirl of dust. Lena had just arrived, earbuds in, bag over her shoulder, still catching her breath from school. She pushed her glasses up her nose and glanced at the mirror.
Her reflection didn't surprise her anymore: tall, straight posture from years of ballet, long dark hair down to her mid-back, and the slight squint behind circular frames that betrayed her nearsightedness. She wore black leggings and a loose white tee—comfy, practical.
"Ballroom, line up!" called Ms. Vicky, the ever-energetic instructor with a clipboard and an uncanny ability to pair people based on two things: height and chemistry. Usually, Lena just ended up with tall, awkward Andreas or overly confident Giorgos. But today…
"Marco, Lena—you're together"
Lena blinked. Her gaze followed the voice and landed on him.
Marco was adjusting the cuff of his shirt. His skin was warm-toned, like coffee with a splash of milk. His hair was unruly, brown at the roots and sun-kissed at the ends, curling just enough to look effortlessly cool. He looked up at her and smiled—not a smirk, not a grin, but a soft, curious smile.
She felt something shift in her stomach. Was that a dance flutter… or something else?